Afrika Bambaataa
(MUSIC) This is a stupid Suggests because I should not be suggesting something that's so bloody obvious. Afrika Bambaataa?!!! The man who was there at the birth of hiphop, who with the assistance of the now-forgotten Arthur Baker introduced the German electronic band Kraftwerk to the streets of America, who in the mid-'80s produced a powerful nuclear nightmare with John Lydon called "World Destruction" and is the proud hiphop father of a hiphop son in the Jungle Brothers named Afrika Baby Bambaataa? To recommend him is like recommending oxygen. (Baltic Room, 1207 Pine St, 625-4444, 9 pm, $13 adv/$15 DOS.) CHARLES MUDEDE


Gravy Train!!!!
(TITTY BOUNCING) There is an artistry to embarrassment--an art form that can, at its best, contend with even the hoitiest of performance art. It's this distinct emotional response, the tightrope walk of embarrassment--both personal and projected--where the true genius of Gravy Train!!!! lies. Or maybe I'm full of shit. Either way, San Francisco's booty bass darlings Gravy Train!!!! will be trolling Pine Street for the evening, and with the convenient juxtaposition of nubile flesh and fast food within eyeshot, shit should be bumpin'. This season sees not only the release of their blush-inducing debut full-length on Kill Rock Stars, but also the reissue of the band's debut EP on Seattle's own Cold Crush Records. Word is Gravy Train!!!! should be experienced in the flesh (all of the flesh) to fully understand their majesty, so do it. (Double Trouble, 508 E Pine St, 323-7451, 9 pm, $5.) ZAC PENNINGTON


(ART) A glammy art-party benefit for Secluded Alley Works, where they are working their little tushies off to keep Seattle in noncommercial spaces. Tonight, a silent auction with work by SAW artists (Jason Puccinelli, Chris McMullen, Ellen Forney, and lots of others) plus candy made by artists, music, theater-y stuff, and more. (6010 Airport Way S, 7 pm-midnight. Info at SAW: 839-0880.) EMILY HALL


The Whip
(MUSIC) Take one member of the Melvins and two members of Karp. Weigh down with buzzing metal riffs that grab you in the gut and sink you four stories. Pack with drumming that could crush concrete into sand. Add Akimbo, an aggressive local act that bounds through both metal and hardcore with giant steps. Garnish with Replicator, a San Francisco math-rock act that reels with various emotional shifts, and Gods Among Men, a local gothic/experimental hardcore act that uses samples and cellos in its music. Serve to those with a healthy appetite for the hard, heavy stuff who are still hungry from the previous night's High on Fire show. (Crocodile, 2200 Second Ave, 441-5611, 9 pm, $7.) JENNIFER MAERZ


Rare Detroit Punk
(FILM) Today marks Iggy Pop's 56th birthday--and with the amount of Stooges-adoring acts in this city, that fact alone should be more than enough cause for celebration. Another cause for celebration is seeing what Tim Hayes (Fallout) pulls from his dusty film closet this time. The theme tonight, in Iggy's honor, is "super rare Detroit punk movies," and judging from the rare footage Tim showed last time, tonight's showcase should be killer. Just get there early--much like Tim's last movie night, this one's probably gonna be crowded. (Sunset Tavern, 5433 Ballard Ave NW, 784-4880, 8 pm, free.) JENNIFER MAERZ


The Return of Independent Exposure
(FILM) This year's Satellites 2003, the SIFF alternative that highlights "undependent" cinema, brings together a consortium of undie programmers. It also brings the return of Independent Exposure, the series of thematically linked experimental shorts curated by Joel Bachar for many years. IE is back this year with the appropriately timed Edition Français, featuring 11 works by, uh, French people. Ouais! You never know what you'll get with IE, but it's almost always something worth a fiver. (Aftermath, 928 12th Ave, 709-9797, 9 pm, $5.) SEAN NELSON


Crooked Fingers
(MUSIC) After three full records and an EP of brilliant covers, Crooked Fingers (AKA Eric Bachmann, recent Seattle transplant) has earned the right for me to stop quoting "Men Who Died of Nothing at All" (from the brilliant self-titled debut) every time the band name is mentioned. However, even as Red Devil Dawn sticks in the memory as one of the year's finest releases, and even as the live shows continue to push themselves onward to greater glories, whenever I hear the words "Crooked" and "Fingers," I reflexively break into the following lines: "You say that you're slipping away as you turn from the hand that could save you. You fell like a drunk down a well, like a dog into hell you were sinking...." So fucking great. (Tractor Tavern, 5213 Ballard Ave NW, 789-3599, 9 pm, $8.) SEAN NELSON