THE BRONZE, ARGONAUT, BACCHUS, GOLDEN PIG
(Sit & Spin) See Stranger Suggests.
TRACHTENBURG FAMILY SLIDESHOW PLAYERS
(Mr. Spot's Chai House) See preview this issue.
THE ITALS
(Bohemian Backstage) There was a time in my life when I had dreadlocks, wore a leather necklace with a miniature of the African continent in green, red, and gold stripes, and listened to roots rockers like the Itals. Along the way, I cut off my dreads, got rid of the Afrocentric gear, studied literature and Marx, and became who I am today--a critic. But I still love the Itals (as in "Vital"), and consider "Me Waan Justice" a gem of the roots-rocker genre. The band's 1983 LP Give Me Power! has one of the greatest roots-reggae covers of all time: three naked and moody Rastamen in chains, like African slaves freshly captured in a jungle. The image on the cover is faithful to the music on the LP, which is percussive, earthy, and very Ital. CHARLES MUDEDE
THE CATHETERS, POPULAR SHAPES, NEW LUCK TOY
(Chop Suey) This is an excellent bill. Popular Shapes play spastic, Hot Snakes-influenced punk, where every tension is exploited and sped up to hyperactive proportions, with crazed vocals ratcheting the energy even more. They only have a demo floating around at present, but PS have been playing on so many bills lately that if you've seen a show at Sit & Spin, Graceland, or the Crocodile in the past two months, there's a good chance you've seen them play. This show has two additional excellent reasons to see the PS play again: the Catheters and New Luck Toy. JENNIFER MAERZ
20 MILES, MATT WALKER, THE PINKOS
(Crocodile) Damn... this ain't the 20 Miles of old, like, there's not one drop of drum and fife charm. Oh, right... 20M is the Blues Explosion's Judah Bauer solo project, which first began as a nice attempt at folkin' the blues, rather than exploding them, but NOW 20M is yet another INDIE ROCK take on Mick 'n' Keef, um... "seasoned" with a pinch of Lou Reed's stagger swagger. Honestly, 20M ain't here nor there anymore, it's kinda benign. Now, in terms of 20M LIVE, I ain't seen this year's model, so I ain't got no idea as to exactly what to expect, but it's your cash, right, spend as you see fit. I just hope 20M can some day translate mediocre into kick-ass. MIKE NIPPER
CLOUDDEAD, REACHING QUIET, BOOM BIP, LABTEKWON, RADIOINACTIVE
(Graceland) Thirteen years ago, a conscious rapper like Labtekwon would have been as big as the Poor Righteous Teachers ("Rock Dis Funky Joint") or the Jungle Brothers ("Because I Got It Like That"), but today the most he can hope for is moderate notice in the hiphop underground. Labtekwon is not new to "the rap game"--he has made eight CDs with almost no recognition outside of his hometown of Baltimore. Song of the Sovreign is an anthology of the best music he's made during this long period of obscurity. Though not as good as, say, Silent Lambs Project's twisted raps and dirty loops, he is by no means a second-rate MC. Labtekwon has skills that, in our day and age, don't pay the bills. CHARLES MUDEDE
GATSBY'S AMERICAN DREAM, TIME TO FLY, MAP OF JUNE
(The Hole) Since first noticing the band's name in our music calendar, I've gone back and forth in an attempt to figure out if I can get behind Gatsby's American Dream or not. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald is without a doubt one of the most romantic novels ever written, rife with resplendent ache and imagery. And even before I listened to the album Why We Fight, I was convinced, with eye-rolling weariness, that any band that would name itself Gatsby's American Dream would be full-on EMO. I was correct, and admittedly, it's the kind of emo I don't particularly get excited about. In a word: It lacks buoyancy. However, the brooders will find it right up their alley, perfect to sweat and sway to as their heads hang forward, hands jammed firmly into their droopy pockets. KATHLEEN WILSON
ROSIE THOMAS, DENISON WITMER, AMY BLASCHKE
(Paradox) Rosie Thomas has melted the hearts of some of the most cynical people I know. Her last show left one friend of mine waxing about her sweetness and her beautiful songs for days afterward. Thomas' stage demeanor exudes a self-effacing charm that's thrown into relief when she starts to sing. She has a beautiful clarion voice that can turn heartbreakingly soft at the end of a phrase. Her album When We Were Small is sung with unbridled sentimentality and a quiet toughness that brings to mind the folk-pop of Joni Mitchell crossed with the harrowing confessionalism of Lisa Germano. NATE LIPPENS
DEMENTED ARE GO, THE SPECTRES, THE DEADCATS, GRAVEYARD SHIFT
(Graceland) Though much-maligned as retro-kitsch, I've always enjoyed psychobilly for its somehow seamless melding of two seemingly incompatible personas, the 1950s greaser tough and the B-grade horror movie geek. It's like Ed Wood starting a band with The Outsiders, which is immensely appealing for some reason. In any case, anyone reading this who likes psychobilly is probably going to be at this show, but just make sure you get there early to catch local openers Graveyard Shift. Lead singer Murder Mike has a killer (ha ha) voice that's a near dead-ringer for Screamin' Jay Hawkins, and the music is aggressive while still being faithful to its roots and avoiding the "metal-influenced" pitfall that can sometimes undo lesser bands in the genre. Also on the bill are the Spectres, another local band who throw a good helping of country twang into the psychobilly mix and come out sounding pretty damn awesome. BILL BULLOCK
THE DARYLS, JIMMY FLAME AND THE SEXXXY BOYS, TARANTULADA
(Lobo Saloon) If you're a fan of bands like the Catheters and the Midnight Evils, check out Tarantulada, who play dirty garage punk with a searingly fast edge. Lots of screaming, lots of hollering, lots of YEAHS and COME AWWNs and all the good fixings that make garage punk so damn good, mixed in with some Nebula-heavy riffs that only last for a second. The four-piece's songs all move faster than a night on hard liquor, the kinda pace that drives your adrenaline through the roof. Savage, nasty, and sweating bullets, Tarantulada are a grease fire ready to spread. JENNIFER MAERZ
THE VELLS, THE TERROR SHEETS, AMY BLASCHKE
(Crocodile) Opening for Modest Mouse last month, the Vells made quite an impression on the unsuspecting audience. With Jeremiah of MM on drums and members of Firechild and the Blessed Light also figuring in the band, it was a beautiful sound emitting from the stage that night and the Vells are quickly becoming a local favorite. And speaking of fast local favorites, Terror Sheets are back after a two-month hiatus during which they were recording a full-length with Phil Epting. Live, Terror Sheets are one of the city's quietly stunning acts, with lyrics so heartbroken and ever-so-slightly jaded set to twinkling keyboard and minimalist guitar. KATHLEEN WILSON
DEAD MOON, THE GLORYHOLES, THE DROO CHURCH, DJ MF CAKE
(Sunset) See Stranger Suggests.
CHUCK PROPHET, ELAINE SUMMERS, BLUE SPARK
(Tractor) Some artists have it and others don't. Chuck Prophet has a lot of it. Call it talent, presence, charisma, or mojo, but it is what separates artists from plain old singer/songwriters, differentiating the ordinary from the extraordinary. Prophet possesses it in spades--enough to silence a room full of drunken music-industry revelers at this year's South By Southwest, which is no minor accomplishment. His last album, The Hurting Business, casts a spell at 20 paces--instantly mesmerizing, ultimately haunting, impossible to categorize, and even more difficult to resist. Dusky, soulful, intelligent, and full of yearning, Prophet's music has an easy confidence and a long shelf life. Oh, yeah--he used to be with seminal L.A. Paisley Undergrounders Green on Red as well. As if you need more of a reason to convince yourself to go see him.... BARBARA MITCHELL
GUIDED BY VOICES, MY MORNING JACKET
(Showbox) See preview this issue.
GEOFF TATE, JENN ADAMS, KELLEE BRADLEY
(Tractor) If Queensrÿche weren't hard enough to swallow, Geoff Tate's solo album is an even bulkier lump in the throat of progressive rock. The former QR frontman's record is a depressing glimpse at the genre's slicked underside--overproduced songs about things that "feel so right" (complete with computerized waves breaking in the background), techno-meets-AOR ballads about not letting his woman go, breathless claims that "baby, you're mine, you just don't know it yet," and the kind of histrionic emoting that hasn't been brought to the stage since hair metal went flat. Even if you do enjoy "soft hits," slow-moving rock shows, and the kind of mock metal that flew during Top Gun love scenes, I'd still say avoid this show. JENNIFER MAERZ
GET HUSTLE, SWEET SCIENCE, YOUNG PEOPLE
(I-Spy) In the clearest, most endearing honey-songbird voice, Katie Eastburn channels hymnal melodies and Southern innocence through simple lines such as, "Meet me in a land far from here/or just beside the pier." Eastburn, also a very talented modern dancer in L.A.'s Janet Pants Dans Theeatre, is in Young People, along with guitarist Jeff Rosenberg (Pink & Brown) and drummer Jarrett Silberman (Upill Gardners). The nearly improv-sounding, experimental country trio--noisy or disjointed guitars and drums beneath Eastburn's grounding melodies--has a sweet live presence that is equally welcoming and commanding. Speaking of commanding, have you seen Portland's Get Hustle yet? Four troubadours of massacred cabaret piano and organ, with rhythmic, spot-on drumming (by Ron A., ex-Heroin/Antioch Arrow) and a lead singer, Valentine, whose accusatory screams are fit for a goth-punk tent revival. It's arty like you like it--with a whole lot of dirt and grit. JULIANNE SHEPHERD
TOMMY LEE, THE FLYING TIGERS, HEADSTRONG
(Showbox) See preview this issue.
DOUG MARTSCH, MIKE JOHNSON, IAN WATERS
(Crocodile) Some of my favorite albums of the last year and a half have dipped their toes or plunged headlong into a downbeat pool of skewed cabaret-folk. Come's Thalia Zedek and Mark Lanegan each delivered dark, gorgeous songs that sounded like Gypsy reels with a noir streak mapping out the far side of desperation and love gone wrong. Add to that list Mike Johnson, the former bassist for Dinosaur Jr., who has found an amazing way around regret-drenched weariness on all his solo albums. His latest, What Would You Do--which he co-produced with Phil Ek--may be his finest to date. It's moody and roiling one moment and subdued and languid the next. The piano and guitar create the perfect sonic bed for Johnson's gravelly baritone without turning all duvet precious. Built to Spill's Doug Martsch headlines in a set that is sure to display intricate guitarplay and emotive vocals. NATE LIPPENS
LIFT TO EXPERIENCE, THE DEVICS, GUESTS
(Graceland) When he was 19, preacher's son Buck Pearson felt the spirit of God leave his body. He says he only feels close to it now when playing guitar, worshipping in the form of his trio Lift to Experience's raging, profound dream-rock. Their languid but expertly carved debut double album, The Texas-Jerusalem Crossroads, was a bleakly humorous musing on ancient Biblical scriptures and the infamous history of the Lone Star State, complete with apocalyptic, speaker-melting finale. Live, the experience is only more intense, the band playing with the fervor and desperation of a free-jazz outfit, albeit amped up to rock 'n' roll levels. The untrammeled ambitious sprawl of the band's noise recalls the explosive tenderness of Mogwai, Jeff Buckley's mercurial sense of melodrama and poetry, and My Bloody Valentine's love of sheer white noise. Essential, artful stuff, but only the brave and hardiest of souls should sidle near the band's smoldering amps. STEVIE CHICK
CANDIRIA, 36 CRAZY FISTS, DIECAST, UNEARTH, TEEN CTHULHU
(Graceland) It's nice to see Candiria finally headlining their own tour. They've certainly earned the position, having endured their share of heckling and confused looks over the last few years while opening for more straight-ahead hardcore and death-metal bands, whose fans don't always know what to make of the Brooklyn quintet. Together since the mid 1990s, Candiria have worked long and hard at developing their peculiar brand of jazz-infused, math-damaged heaviness. Awkward moments still creep up here and there in their music--after all, going from Mobb Deep-style hiphop to trumpet-laced jazz-fusion interludes to Sepultura-grade heaviness in the space of five minutes is no easy feat--but when they're on, Candiria are an unstoppable rhythm machine, causing audiences to scratch their chins and bang their heads at the same time. WILLIAM YORK
THE HOLLOWPOINTS, THE GLORYHOLES, MEA CULPA, YOUTH AT RISK
(Paradox) Local rockers Mea Culpa (which includes Stranger contributor Bill Bullock) opened for the Distillers recently, and word has it the pairing of the two street-smart punk acts was a good one. MC have a gritty, Brit-influenced, old-school sound, with gruff vocals and romper-stomper anthems that espouse brainy politics as much as they flex their musical brawn. Their new Empty Records single, Corporate Nation, slams the mob mentality of capitalist greed, with a B-side giving George Orwell the last laugh. It's good to see a band where the strength of their social beliefs matches the strength of their songwriting ability so well. JENNIFER MAERZ
CAITLIN CARY, GARRISON STARR, JERRY JOSEPH & THE JACK MORONS
(Tractor) While much has been made of Caitlin Cary emerging from the shadow of her former Whiskeytown bandmate Ryan Adams (and his ego), the real story is her incredible gift as a songwriter. She works as a miniaturist, finding grace and determination in the small moments and the minor characters. Her album is tellingly titled While You Weren't Looking, and she captures love and its hard losses in the lives of people who aren't usually the focus of romantic strife. There's a melancholic optimism at work in her compositions. Like alt-country godfather Alejandro Escovedo, she walks the line between complex and often competing emotions. The longing in Cary's lilting voice can be aching and lovely, bathed in Chris Stamey's simpatico production that can be both lush and spare. Her sound is worlds away from Adams' blustering Gold, sounding closer to Fairport Convention and Sandy Denny than Whiskeytown. NATE LIPPENS
