THURSDAY 11/14


* DISPLAY
(Re-bar) After my last two masturbatory write-ups in these pages, the members of Display (the ungrateful little fucks that they are) complained that terms like "next-big-thing" and "your new favorite band" were a little overzealous for a band that has no recorded material. Fine. So they're not the greatest band of all time. Do be sure, however, amid your typical Pho-Bang debaucheries, to keep a raised ear for their Can-by-way-of-Minutemen mediocrity, because I can safely say that it at least surpasses every other pedestrian band in the city. ZAC PENNINGTON

* THE ANNIVERSARY, BURNING BRIDES, THE GADGETS
(Graceland) Some music fans are so fickle. Those who heard in the Anniversary's first album (Designing a Nervous Breakdown, Vagrant) a likeness to the Rentals were instantly in love--since Matt Sharp put out an almost unlistenable second Rentals album, the Lawrence, KA quintet was nearly the next best thing. Then the Anniversary became a rock band in the traditional sense, with a Southern influence on 2002's Your Majesty, and pop lovers doffed 'em like wet wool socks. Burning Brides, however, are currently the shit among pop and rock lovers alike, even though they're heavy enough to tour with J Mascis, Zen Guerrilla, and Local H. Some critics lump them into the garage revival, but I don't hear a lick of that in their debut, Fall of the Plastic Empire. KATHLEEN WILSON

FRIDAY 11/15


SONIC BOOM, BOBBY KARATE, KENTO (from IQU)
(Graceland, late) Pete Kember, aka Sonic Boom, co-founder of druggy, droney Spacemen 3, has earned the title of knob-twiddler extraordinaire over the past decade. Whether he's going by Spectrum (live show: interesting and not boring) or Experimental Audio Research (live show: abrasive and boring), it's always something brand new. As there is no new album to gauge what he's up to now, gearheads should attend this show with guarded expectation. KATHLEEN WILSON

TAHITI 80, JON AUER
(Crocodile) There is more American-inspired indie pop lurking in France than you might think. Tahiti 80 are among the best of the French popsters, crafting a blend of dynamic guitars and sweet, sweet harmonies not terribly dissimilar to those of the Posies, who were one of Tahiti 80's big influences--which is funny, since Jon Auer is on the bill and was and sometimes still is a Posie. Merde alors! How much better does a pop show have to be, anyway? SEAN NELSON

* CASIOTONE FOR THE PAINFULLY ALONE, SWITCH, A TOURNIQUET FOR DREAMS, MONITOR BATS, GHOST TO FALCO
(CoCA) Fuck Sam Mickens. That guy drives me crazy. At the ripe old age of 20, Mister Fancypants wunderkind (the Sweet Science frontman, Degenerate Art Ensemble member, and occasional Xui Xui guitarist) has accomplished enough in his life to bring my already fervent inferiority complex to a sharp head. His latest paranoia-inducing project, the experimental concert series known as Meme, has recently joined the ranks of a handful of ambitious regular music nights around the city, providing Seattle with a much-needed dose of unpredictability in its musical diet. In this, the fifth Meme event, Mickens presents Portland's blissfully deafening Monitor Bats (who, at your author's last viewing, got through about one and a half songs until all of their equipment was destroyed by the audience), as juxtaposed with the squelching synth-pop of Casiotone for the Painfully Alone. ZAC PENNINGTON

THE PLAINS, THE BAND THAT MURDERED SILENCE
(Café Venus) How to dress for the Plains' CD release party? Trim yer best boots with barbed wire, pair a ruffled gingham shirt with a spiked dog collar, braid your hair with razor blades--maybe then you'll have the sartorial equivalent of the edgy, sad, and downright sweet music played by Seattle band the Plains, Aaron Semer's latest project. Each song on their debut disc, On Earth as It Is in Heaven, defines a new position in the alt-country spectrum; I'll be at the show just to hear the album's first cut played live--"Firefly," a song that begins as a rambling jumble of disjointed vocals and whiny guitar, then sharpens to a catchy, hard-driven, rock-out-in-your-car kinda song. I wanted to avoid saying this, but what the hell, I'll beat the Times to it: These Plains are great. KATE PRUESSER

YEEK YAK AIR FORCE, THE MINES, THE LASHES, VEGAN SEAGULL
(Downtown YMCA) I haven't yet had the pleasure of seeing Yeek Yak Air Force play live, but oh, I know their music well. I associate singer-songwriter and bass player Ollie Byrd's dense rock anthems with hard dirt caked under my nails and crusty spoons found under the couch. There's just some elusive quality to this fervent and deeply funny indie rock that makes it the CD of choice when I'm puttering around doing half-hearted housework. It's comforting to hear Byrd wail away in a wall of sympathetic and shimmering sound when I'm down on my hands and knees digging holes in my crappy little garden of wilting plants. And in songs like "Midnight Bowling in Renton" and "Scuba Gear," his smirking but soaring lyrics perfectly mirror my productive but forlorn Sunday soul. My instincts (not to mention my friends) tell me that this band just gets better in person. Maybe it's time to get up off the floor, bathe myself, and leave the house to check it out. TAMARA PARIS

* ANDREW W. K.
(Graceland, early) Andrew W. K. is an entire arena rock show shoved into a pair of tight white pants, amplifying all the music, effects, and high kicks with extra testosterone boosts. The last time W. K. played in Seattle, even skinny indie rock boys were stage diving like they'd all fallen off the Ritalin wagon an hour before. W. K.'s shows are Fun with an extra large F, and you don't have to think, be cool, or be well behaved (well, as long as you're not a total fucking meathead). So what if W. K.'s not the next Leonard Cohen--he's the next Poison/Kiss/Crüe minus the makeup, and when you don't want nothing but a good time, it don't get better than this. JENNIFER MAERZ

KID KOALA AND PLANKTON MAN VS. TERRESTRE
(I-Spy) Hailing from Montreal, Kid Koala is a DJ who possesses a wonderful sense of humor. His mixes and scratches are brainy, comical, and mischievous. Indeed, one could say that he is the king of turntable mischief, which is why his collaborations with Dan "The Automator" Nakamura and Del Tha Funkee Homosapien have been so successful. All three can laugh at themselves with the same force that they laugh at others. Never take these chaps seriously: Even their dystopic CD Deltron 3030 is fucking funny. CHARLES MUDEDE

DENISON WITMER
(Paradox) Philadelphia singer-songwriter Denison Witmer will pull at the heartstrings of dyed-in-the-wool fans of Elliott Smith. Witmer's strummy acoustic guitar and pretty voice--edged with just enough grit to sing believably about life at a relatively young age--are strikingly similar to Smith's talents, and his lyrics encompass the same ability to catch the smallest, most mundane observation and turn it into the seed of full-blown heartache. Witmer's latest album, Philadelphia Songs, is beautifully packaged, containing a lyric book illustrated with lonely city photos, and songs packed with lines like this from "Leaving Philadelphia (Arriving in Seattle)": "Tomorrow I will be/In an airplane looking down on this place/That I romanticize"--the kind that make you start the song over again to make sure a line so lovely is really what was sung. KATHLEEN WILSON

SIAMESE, DATZ COLD, OBELUS
(Chop Suey) Datz Cold features Jeremy Moss of Sofcon and No Futuro. Like No Futuro, and unlike Sofcon, Datz Cold's music is night-dark, heavy, and twisted. Seattle seems to inspire this mood, and why not--it's a gloomy city, especially now in the middle of autumn. Though Datz Cold describe themselves as live hiphop, one should call it dead hiphop. Dead not in the sense that they are bad or hard, but because all of the things we associate with life (flowers, flesh, sunlight) are absent from their demented hiphop beats. CHARLES MUDEDE

SATURDAY 11/16


MC PAUL BARMAN, WHIRLWIND HEAT, THE 100TH MONKEY
(I-Spy) See preview, page 43.

* DESTROYER, THE TURN-ONS, THE THERMALS
(Crocodile) My first encounter with Destroyer leader Dan Bejar was through the New Pornographers, where his Bowie-like vocals stood out starkly from the pop harmonies of Carl Newman and Neko Case. Since then I've been keeping an ear out for Bejar's full-time project, and earlier this month I finally got the chance when Merge released the glittering This Night. Pretty doesn't even begin to explain the sound of this intricately structured, arching, and yes, soaring album. The vocals are just the main focus of a well-crafted musicianship that encompasses vintage organs, trumpet, strings, and slide whistle alongside effects-laden and traditional guitar, drum, and bass. Ziggy Stardust, Scott Walker, and the New Year all come to mind while This Night spins, and pop-loving fans of Newman's New Pornographers and Zumpano will also find much to love here. KATHLEEN WILSON

JUCIFER, THE FAKES, THE MOS GENERATOR
(Hell's Kitchen, late) Jucifer is back again. What does that mean? Amps. Lots and lots and lots and lots of amps. An entire wall of them--decorated with small toys, of course. This arsenal is used to project the kind of low-end sludge that rumbles like a dying elephant lumbering through slow-drying concrete. Expect to find pieces of your upper anatomy lodged deep in your groin by the end of the night. Before you get swallowed into the bowels of the Jucifer duo's grandiose noise, though, the Fakes take you back to the days when rock 'n' roll broke a sweat by getting wild; the local band brings '70s cock rock into the now with a charismatic frontman leading the show. JENNIFER MAERZ

SUNDAY 11/17


DEL THA FUNKEE HOMOSAPIEN, PEOPLE UNDER THE STAIRS, MOTION MAN FEATURING KUT MASTA KURT, LIFESAVAS
(Showbox) See preview, page 41.

BOBBY BARE JR., GERALD COLLIER
(Sonic Boom) See preview, page 39.

* THE GIRLS, the rotten apples
(Sit & Spin) There's a whole lotta glam in these Girls--who are really a couple of boys unfazed by smearing on the eyeliner now and then. The local act takes the New York Dolls (minus the stilettos, thank god) and adds a touch of the Dead Boys, updating the old drama-punk tradition with great pop hooks. Frontman Brown lays the hiccupping delivery on thick (with humorous lines like "I can't get away from her/it's the car/the car won't start"), backed up by a perfectly snotty chorus from the rest of the band and an occasional punch from the keyboards. Check out the Girls in all their glam-punk glory tonight while the pitchers of Pabst are only five bucks. JENNIFER MAERZ

BONFIRE MADIGAN, MS. LED
(Vera Project) Madigan Shive runs her own record label (MoonPuss), writes an unsigned-band review column in Venus magazine, and works in mental-health activism, so we'll forgive her that it's taken so frigging long for 88, the new Bonfire Madigan EP, to come out. But it's a good one, all right. Madigan--whose cello acts as a fiery, rhythmic instrument (that's the Bonfire... heh-heh) underneath her growling, aggressive-yet-lilting vocals--has rearranged the band a bit, keeping contrabassist Sheri Ozeki but adding violinist Christine Lehmann and drummer Biggs (ex-Tarentel). 88 features a fabulous Yoko Ono cover and a jazzier bent, but live, B-Mad expresses a certain vulnerability that isn't ever quite captured on record. Maybe it's 'cause Madigan's so little, with such a big, gulping voice, or 'cause the players pound the crap out of their stringed instruments. Either way, this is punk rock melody and rhythm played out on a mini orchestra--so cool. JULIANNE SHEPHERD

MONDAY 11/18


VICTORIA WILLIAMS, MARK OLSON AND THE CREEKDIPPERS
(Tractor) Victoria Williams used to be an indie icon, years ago when friends like Eddie Vedder, Matthew Sweet, and Lou Reed covered her songs on an album called Sweet Relief to aid the uninsured songwriter with her multiple sclerosis. The album was so successful that a Sweet Relief fund was set up to help other musicians, and a second tribute album was recorded for Vic Chesnutt in 1996. Williams' voice is an acquired taste, as it has a certain timbre that can drive you nuts, but her work with the Creekdippers--which I caught out of town a couple of months ago--was pleasant enough (even though the audience included aging members of the Dockers crowd, and woolly hippies sold beads and crystals at the merch table). KATHLEEN WILSON

TUESDAY 11/19


THE WARLOCKS, THE BLESSED LIGHT
(Crocodile) Holy Warhol, Birdman, there's a-gonna be a Happening! What's the buzz? The Warlocks are on their big "Blitzkrieg 2002" North American tour (which included CMJ a couple of weeks ago). With four guitars, one bass, keys, and two drum kits, there's a lot of dreamy, texture-laden noise coming out of this L.A. octet. Their new record, Phoenix (on Dave Katznelson's Birdman label) is a product of considerable concentration and growth, achieving a more catchy pop feel than their previous hallucinatory Grateful-Pink-Velvet sound. I was mesmerized by their spaced-out rock soap opera when I saw them in L.A. in 2000. So, by my calculations--two years of seasoning plus a tighter lineup of players--this show should prove to be a big, swirling psychedelic lollipop of sweet, sweet sound. Lick it. JEN McCABE

STEREO TOTAL, THE FITNESS, ANNA OXYGEN
(Graceland) Does anyone have an extra $50,000 lying around? I think you should give it to Anna Oxygen, Seattle's premier unassuming genius at turning lo-fi into hi-concept. Underneath her gorgeous, never-wavering (even when she's doing aerobics) new-wave vibrato, hand-clappy electro beats, and 21st-century keytar is a woman with a vision. And her vision is... well, there are these ladies living in petri dishes, right? But it's really a gymnasium where they go to pray. And then there are some other things: one involves a woman skiing on an overhead projector, and Anna strips down to just a leotard and tights and leads an aerobics class... you just have to see it. She's talented and kinda skewed. Charismatic duo Stereo Total are the international elite of discotheque toy-pop, inspiring elation with quirky instrumentation and comely, multilingual calls to love (she's French, he's German). Don't miss them live; their charm (and ability to make so many weird, joyous noises) always gets the crowd pogoing and reaching for the Playskool tambourine. JULIANNE SHEPHERD

WEDNESDAY 11/20


ADD N TO (X), SOVIET, COBRA HIGH
(Graceland) See preview, page 35.

FOUNTAINS OF WAYNE, OK GO
(Crocodile) All hail the return of the great Fountains of Wayne, a band whose future (and present) seems to have been in doubt for as long as anyone can remember. Last seen in unenviable opening slots for now-defunct arena bands, FOW are a force of pop splendor who deserve a lot more, and better, and right now. This tour means they are still together, and heralds a new album, to be released in the not-distant future. If it's anywhere near as good as 1999's Utopia Parkway, the wait will have been worth it. SEAN NELSON

DEGENERATE ART ENSEMBLE, OLD TIME RELIJUN
(I-Spy) If it doesn't incite immediate polarity, I'm generally not interested--and Arrington De Dionyso is nothing if not polarizing. The wide-eyed, salivating howl of De Dionyso's Olympia staple Old Time Relijun is enough to send timorous audiences running for the exit lights faster than if they'd heard "Dueling Banjos" in backwoods Georgia. It's that perverse Southern gothic smell of music that sweats moonshine, secreting the essence of masculine id. Outbursts of atonal throat singing, horns, shouts, and clatter season Old Time Relijun's live performances--wholeheartedly inconsistent (and I mean that in the most complimentary sense) affairs of blind revivalist vehemence. ZAC PENNINGTON

JIMMY FLAME & THE SEXXY BOYS, BOXCAR SATAN
(Zak's) Crazy, noisy, and bluesy, Boxcar Satan sound like a train wreck between Tom Waits, garage punk, and the Delta Blues. Not a carnage kinda wreck, but the kinda mess involving a sloppy, silly, good-times-and-gruff-vocals kinda style that makes whoever's hollering at the time sound sick with a whiskey flu. There's a little insanity coursing through all these songs, and the way this San Antonio band refuses to sit still in any one genre, spinning American roots music with punk noise. JENNIFER MAERZ