RUFUS WAINWRIGHT, TEGAN AND SARA
(Crocodile) See Stranger Suggests.
HONEY DOGS, OLD 97'S
(Crocodile) Oh, poor little Old 97's frontman Rhett Miller! What girl could ever love a boy with a forked tongue and a perpetually broken heart as big as the plains? But his bad luck in romance is our good luck in rock because nobody cranks out the good-time-gone-oh-so-terribly-wrong songs like this rollicking Texas quartet. Though they've swerved from their twang origins to pick up more traditional pop along their long journey out West, you can be assured that there'll be two-stepping AND a mosh pit at this show. Last time I saw their long and furious set of silly, witty love songs, they knocked off my cowboy hat and filled my boots with sweat... and that's a good thing. TAMARA PARIS
GRANT HART
(EMP) See preview this issue.
SPIDERBITE ODDITIES
(Sit & Spin) No one actually knows what Spiderbite Oddities is going to be about, but this much is certain: It's to be an exciting, nostalgic evening of glam/glitter rock, though there will be no live music. We know that there will be DJ-spun glam rock (think David Bowie, Sigue Sigue Sputnik, et al.) and some form or other of live performance (a booker from the Sit & Spin reports that these are "plays or something"), and that said live performances will be accompanied by the music. The press release mentions Intellivision, which was a really cool, primitive home video-game system that came out a long, long time ago, but the booker seems to think there will be no Intellivision happening at the event. Brilliant as it all sounds, I can't exactly recommend it because, as I said, no one knows quite what's going to happen at Spiderbite Oddities, but I have been given the promise that it's going to be a regular event for the entire month. At a loss for something definitive to say, I'll promise that you may (or may not, depending...) read more about the event in the forthcoming May issues of The Stranger. Sorry not to be of much help. JEFF DeROCHE
eXBeSTFRIeNDS, POSEUR, THE SWORDS PROJECT, THE STANDARD
(Graceland) See preview this issue.
MAKTUB, CARRIE AKRE, STEVE FISK
(Showbox) What more can possibly be said about Carrie Akre? Everybody loves Carrie Akre. Her faithful Seattle ties, her history of major-label frustration, and her impressive rock pedigree that includes Hammerbox, Goodness, and a stint with the Rockfords are already well known in local indie circles. But with Home, her recent solo debut, it's become increasingly obvious that Akre's meant to work the stage alone, a silky chanteuse in a smoky room. More subtle, confident, and sophisticated than anything else she's ever done, Home is evidence that Akre has grown up and come into her own--her vocal prowess and songwriting chops gaining momentum with each sultry breath. Expect this show to be a pared-down, personal experience with a local girl who's got places to go. LUCY SWANK
THE BANGS, TRACY & THE PLASTICS
(Old Fire House) Tracy is that lady who wears sweatbands on her wrists and forehead and does really dark, aggro, '80s-sounding Euro-vox industrial disco stuff, or whatever. Her new release, Muscler's Guide to Videonics, just came out on badass lesbian label Chainsaw--it's sexy and aggressive, which is how Tracy herself behaves at live shows. Her voice is a crazy pigeon coo, like a lower, harder Liz Fraser, or perhaps a less realized Kristin Hersh. Expect hard electronic beats, a crazy lady spouting off all kinds of crazy angst, and lots of people standing around freaking out about how pretty Tracy is. And she is really pretty, so it's okay. JEFF DeROCHE
FAUX BANG W/THE GET DOWN SYNDROME, THE CHROMATICS, DJ BABY J, URSULA ANDROID & JACKIE HELL
(Sit & Spin) The last Faux Bang was fun, but the aptly named band the Viles were disgusting. I'd never seen such unnecessarily wanton, slutty drugginess in a front person, and frankly, that lady made a lot of people's stomachs turn. This time around, the Get Down Syndrome is going to set a cleaner, far more self-respecting tone. The band is a ballsy trio with a proud, real lady on a little drum kit, and a couple of seemingly virtuous, talented gentlemen up front. For having such a petite drummer who plays without a kick drum, the Get Down Syndrome packs an awesome garage punch, and never misses the mark. JEFF DeROCHE
UNDISPUTED HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONS, THE FARTZ, FLAMETHROWER, GUT BOMB
(Gibson's) It's of endless diversion to wonder how many times, over the Fartz's 20-year existence, a girl has anguished over informing her parents of the name of her new boyfriend's band. It's no Rectal Pizza or Anal Cunt, but as someone who once was forced to introduce her parents to a boy who played in a long-defunct Portland band called a comparatively benign Sweaty Nipples, the mere mention of the name the Fartz instills much cringing nostalgia. The now lyrically named Gut Bomb opens. KATHLEEN WILSON
JETS TO BRAZIL, THE LOVE SCENE, THE HIT
(Graceland) Poor Jets to Brazil. They suffer the same ill fate as Frank Black in that no one can reference Black's current work without including a gaseous disclaimer opining that in comparison to the Pixies, Black now sucks. Jets to Brazil must contend with the acclaimed and well-loved Jawbreaker, singer Blake Schwarzenbach's former band, which came first, and, to hear everyone who ever owned a copy of Unfun tell it, was far better. Blah, blah, blah. Let a person go on with his life, for chrissakes. It's like Christopher Reeve, who despite no longer being able to walk, has to contend with the fact he used to be Superman. KATHLEEN WILSON
KELLY HOGAN & THE PINE VALLEY COSMONAUTS
(Crocodile) After watching Faith and Shania traipsing around in leather pants on VH1, I developed a healthy skepticism of "contemporary" country chicks. But then I discovered Bloodshot Records, where I found Kelly Hogan... and then she rescued me, and now I've got Beneath the Country Underdog playing constantly in the background when I roast chicken and bake pies. Hogan's gorgeous, goose-bump-inspiring voice is capable of anything: She can be all pop-star loud and perky, but then shift into mopey torch-song mode; she'll ease into gentle indie sentiments (note her sweet cover of Stephin Merritt's "Papa Was a Rodeo") and then soar right back up into foot-stomp-knee-slap territory, her energetic Atlanta/Rock*A*Teens roots poking through. She does all this, however, with a big heart and a heavy twang, renewing my faith in what the kids are calling "insurgent country" these days. But I love Hogan best when she sounds done-wrong and lick'rd up--I've played her cover of Willie Nelson's "I Still Can't Believe You're Gone" over and over again while eating an entire pie all by myself. MIN LIAO
SYCOPHANT, THE GIRAFFES, THE REACTORS
(Tractor Tavern) Once upon a time there was a band called Sycophant. Creator of catchy acoustic pop songs, along with the occasional sad-sack melody, Sycophant had some popularity in town until the band exploded over a year ago. Now Sycophant is reuniting for one last show at the Tractor before the bandmates go their separate ways--literally. Gavin Protas, singer and guitar player, is moving across the country, making another Sycophant reunion highly unlikely. If you were a fan when this was a band, make sure not to miss the show. If you missed Sycophant the first time, now's your chance to jump on the bandwagon just before it derails (again). BRADLEY STEINBACHER
GRANT HART, JON AUER, S
(Graceland) See preview this issue.
MAMBO 9, YVA LAS VEGAS, LAS HALL FLOWERS
(Elysian) Does Seattle need a large band of slightly dorky hipsters who love nothing more than to play old-school Cuban son and mambo music? I think it does. I think the Elysian will once again be a better place thanks to the nine horn, guitar, and percussion players of Mambo 9. Besides, the world has already given us Mambo 5, Mambo 8, Mambo 67, and Mambo 207; I think maybe the emergence of Mambo 9 will give us Mambo bingo. NATHAN THORNBURGH
SLIM MOON, XBXRX, CHROMATICS, AMBITIOUS CAREER WOMAN
(Paradox) The nameless young creatures that make up XBXRX hail from Mobile, Alabama, an enchanting backwoods town where rumor has it that residents can't go out during the day because of the ozone alerts. Although one gets the distinct impression that these kids would much prefer to be citizens of the Nation of Ulysses, it's indisputable that their cancer-inducing environment has produced a pleasantly toxic, punked-out confection of brief and unique consistency. If someone over at Warner Brothers had possessed the insight to allow Steve Albini and his Big Black production tentacles to score an episode of an early Roadrunner cartoon, it might have sounded suspiciously like XBXRX. Between this and the fact that the band is too cool to even bother with track listings on its brilliant new record, Gop 1rst Minee (not to mention having a fetishy fondness for Silly String), even XBXRX's illustrious Kill Rock Stars label boss might have a hard time holding his own on this bill. HANNAH LEVIN
FLOCK OF SEAGULLS, BOY NEXT DOOR
(Ballard Firehouse) A recent visit to one of the handful of Flock of Seagulls websites revealed that the band, which enjoyed such '80s hits as "I Ran" and "Space Age Love Song," now consists of singer Mike Score (whose infamous coif is now replaced by the balding-guy ponytail; whose spacey stage costume now consists of baseball cap and faded carpenter jeans) and a trio of squishy, prog-rock-loving session musicians. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the entire band was employed at Guitar Center. KATHLEEN WILSON
FOLK IMPLOSION, ALASKA, LOU BARLOW
(Graceland) This is definitely a night for college students and uptight smart kids who take music very seriously. Those who enjoy Lou Barlow's post-Dinosaur Jr. work--with Sebadoh, Folk Implosion, or solo--should have a terrific time standing dumb and rapt at Graceland within a hushed, densely packed audience, listening reverently to this man who, in my experience (having seen both Sebadoh and Barlow solo) is one of the least entertaining performers in rock and roll history. There's a charm to that, I imagine. I concede even that I might be willing to stand in similar rapt attention in just such an audience for, say, Will Oldham, or even Elliott Smith. But then, those are a couple of brilliant songwriters, and Barlow, a man who has made significant records and written a good handful of beautiful songs, is a chore to see live. JEFF DeROCHE
You're a good egg. Make this Monday count.
LIVING COLOUR, ALIEN CRIME SYNDICATE
(Showbox) "What's your favorite color, baby? Living Colour!" This could be a hugely embarrassing piece of shit (like many a metal reunion tour), or an opportunity to hear a talented band that hasn't been heard from in a long time. Excess was the thing for Living Colour--singer Corey Glover tearing the soulful stuffing out of Tracy Chapman's "Talkin' About a Revolution," for example ("Don't you knoooooow they're talkin' bout a... revolutiohuuaaaaaaaaan..."); guitarist Vernon Reid's heroically dexterous guitar wankery; and, lastly, lots of fluorescent body suits and hair accessories. But all said, Living Colour did write the perfectly beautiful, existentially tranquil "Nothingness." And then, of course, there's "Cult of Personality" and "Glamour Boys" for those of you who just want to feast on nostalgia like the bored vultures that you are. JEFF DeROCHE
OF MONTREAL, MARSHMALLOW COAST, THE PROM, JESSIE BOGS
(Graceland) See preview this issue.
