Friday 7/18


RUINS, NERVEWHEEL, OXYGEN THIEVES
(Chop Suey) See preview, page 39.

WHAT-THE-HECK FEST
(Anacortes) See preview, page 34.

The RC5, The RA4, The Heart Attacks
(Lobo Saloon) See Live Wire, page 33.

The Raveonettes, The Warlocks, The Charming Snakes
(Crocodile) When Whip It On came out stateside last year, Danish duo the Raveonettes' narcotic, sleeper-pop style crumbled into one mundane, droning record upon multiple listens (all the songs were recorded in the same key and no more than three chords were allowed in any one song). With Chain Gang of Love, the act has made up for that first outing, making a record that lingers in a warm, gentle space between the Velvet Underground, the Jesus and Mary Chain, and Yo La Tengo, coming at you from behind a soft wall of sound that pads the sexy, ebullient songs with just enough of an edge to keep them sharp. The tones and tempos are much more varied now, the vocals are a sweet, subtle melding of male/female harmonies, and there are small flourishes of psychedelic effects floating around them like tiny bubbles. Finally it's easy to see where the hype this band has created came from--it just took a second album for them to live up to it. JENNIFER MAERZ

The Jayhawks, the Thorns (feat. Matthew Sweet, Shawn Mullins, Pete Droge), Carla Werner
(Showbox) I have to say it. The Thorns--comprising Matthew Sweet, Shawn Mullins, and Pete Droge--is the Traveling Willburys of 2003. Each member is a fine guitarist with a silvery, evocative voice, and each on his own has written memorable, moving melodies and lyrics. Piled together, the singers are powerfully harmonious and their vocals are augmented rather than lost. The twangy, jangle-infused blend of rock and orchestral pop provides the perfect musical backdrop to this cohesive yet still distinct trio. Matthew Sweet fans will swoon over his sadly romantic "Now I Know," a standout track from the band's self-titled debut. KATHLEEN WILSON

THE Red Light Sting, the Cinema Eye, the Fitness
(Vera Project) Vibrant, sassy, and skinny, the members of Vancouver five-piece the Red Light Sting are a sight to behold live if you revel in youthful energy and/or music impossible to categorize because it spins and samples genres like an 11-year-old with ADHD. Rock, new wave, electroclash, hardcore... you name it and you'll probably hear it sometime during the set, if only for a quicksilver second. Song titles like "Plastic Cigars...? Then Why'd I Bring the Ashtrays!" only add to the fun. KATHLEEN WILSON Saturday 7/19


CREEPER LAGOON, EARLIMART, MILWAUKEE
(Graceland) See preview, page 39.

Rosie Thomas, Hidari Mae, Dear Darling, DJ Boss Royal
(The Brick House) See Underage, page 43.

CLEM SNIDE, THE LONG WINTERS, DEAR JOHN LETTERS
(Crocodile) With the release of their latest stellar offering, When I Pretend to Fall, local boys the Long Winters continue making a great impression both in and outside Seattle. Success is definitely theirs for the taking now, as the new album brings orchestrated pop to a new level, the vocal harmonies soaring over bouncy, uplifting instrumentation and frontman John Roderick's clear, confident singing style. I can't think of a local pop band whose songs get stuck in my head more often than these guys, as the Long Winters really take their songwriting to gorgeous places, no matter how somber some of the lyrics may get. JENNIFER MAERZ

Karsh Kale
(Chop Suey) Karsh Kale (pronounced Kursh Kah-Lay) is a producer who has worked with pretty much all the major figures in the global music market (the Ethiopian singer/superstar Gigi, dub producer and bassist Bill Laswell, Senegalese singer/superstar Baaba Maal, to name a few). His music is mostly influenced by India (particularly the new and wonderfully messy electronica coming out of that country and its urban satellites in Europe and North America), and is as extravagant as a Brazilian carnival. Every moment in his music sounds like a major event; it's always city-large, ambitious, and spiritually profound. Indeed, no other music could better score the very birth of creation than the music you will find on Karsh Kale's CDs. Charles Mudede

THE LucksmithS, TUllycraft, Man of the Year, the Mosquitos
(Sunset) Like fellow Aussies the Go-Betweens, the Lucksmiths seem to have zero problem crafting wonderfully intelligent pop songs that linger in your head longer than the smell of secondhand smoke in your clothes after a long night out. That feeling of effortlessness--of having nailed the right turn of phrase to perfectly capture a bittersweet moment without trying too hard to be clever or sinking so low as to be cloying--carries the new album, deftly navigating the tricky waters between being self-aware and self-indulgent. In a way, it's the perfect music for folks who can appreciate Morrissey and Monty Python equally: smart, sensitive, and ultimately uplifting, artfully finding some kind of brightness in the darkest moments. BARBARA MITCHELL

Aveo, SushiRobo, guests
(Vera Project) Since appearing in 1999, SushiRobo has continually been described as "weird" or "unorthodox," as if the band were some sort of intergalactic message sent out to communicate with aliens (they've been described as that too). But The Light-Fingered Feeling of SushiRobo (Pattern 25), the band's newest release, is almost too comical and playful for such a weighty connotation. The music leaps and jerks like a marionette being yanked in several different directions by overzealous children: Rhythmic and repetitive guitars pull to the left, funky bass lines pull to the right, and toneless vocals pop up over the top, full of cynical wit and dry humor. In fact, the band seems strung together only by the taut and minimal drums. This proves that somewhere deep down in its cold, metallic heart, SushiRobo is a pop band, and should be treated as such--with the nerdiest robotic dancing you can muster. TIZZY ASHER

THE DOORS FEATURING RAY MANZAREK, ROBBY KRIEGER, IAN ASTBURY
(Pier 62/63) Are Ray Manzarek and Robby Krieger the most oblivious musicians in the entire universe? They must be, because neither of them seems to be able to spot a sign (and there have been so, so many) that this reunion tour is a bad idea that can only get worse. First, the most obvious: Jim Morrison died, and took personal essence with him. You cannot replace a human voice, no matter how studied and similar its replacement might be to the original. And you sure as shit don't wait 32 goddamn years to set up the casting couch if you do, in fact, choose to soldier on! At least three lawsuits buzz like flies around this tour, including the latest, filed by Morrison's relatives, who take offense at the fact that former Cult singer Ian Astbury goes out of his way to make himself look and act just like the Lizard King while performing each date of this ridiculous, greedy, bad-karma-laden, and above all creepy tour. KATHLEEN WILSON

SUNDAY 7/20


A.R.E. WEAPONS, THE FITNESS, POINT LINE PLANE
(Crocodile) See preview, page 33.

EXTREME ELVIS, THE BLACK PANTIES, TYCO PARTY, KISS KISS KISS
(Sunset) See Stranger Suggests, page 21.

IN FLAMES, SOILWORK, CHIMAIRA, UNEARTH
(Showbox) On their batch of remixes and oddities, Trigger, the best track from Swedish metalheads In Flames is a cover of Genesis' "Land of Confusion," a song they butcher just as bloodily as they surely would the Phil Collins set if one of them dared to encroach. "Butcher" isn't meant as a derogatory description; it's just a statement of fact when an aggressive death metal act like this takes on pop culture and a war of agendas ensues--with In Flames' goal to sound as brutal, yet melodic, as possible while reaching out to more and more of a mainstream audience. On records like the aforementioned Trigger and Reroute to Remain, the band bears the cross of nu metal a little too oppressively, though--electronics prop up sub-par songs that sound embarrassingly triumphant and cheesily overproduced. JENNIFER MAERZ

MONDAY 7/21
Not as cute as those miniature apples, huh?

TUESDAY 7/22


BLACK REBEL MOTORCYCLE CLUB
(Graceland) See preview, page 37.

NINA NASTASIA, KIMYA DAWSON OF THE MOLDY PEACHES
(Crocodile) As half of the Moldy Peaches, singer/songwriter Kimya Dawson provided such natural counterpoint and chorus to Adam Green it was easy to underestimate the importance of her work. But what makes The Moldy Peaches miraculous is its co-authorship: Had a single writer produced this body of songs, there would have been an undeniable echo of insular novelty; that a pair of artist friends found themselves mutually fluent in such an odd, idiosyncratic tongue makes the best of the Moldy Peaches songs unique, and seemingly timeless. Last year, Kimya blossomed further with I'm Sorry That Sometimes I'm Mean, a solo collection that shocked fans of the Peaches' fortune-cookie abstractions with a fearless directness. Me, I loved hearing the dark, expansive thoughts of this famously sensitive and thoughtful woman, especially set to a series of tunes that easily keep pace with the best of the Peaches. DAVID SCHMADER

DIRT BIKE ANNIE, TALES FROM THE BIRDBATH
(Re-bar) Every early experience with New York's Dirt Bike Annie is strangely entertaining. They play summer punk, like something out of late-'90s 120 Minutes. Which kind of sucks. But just as you're about to shut it down, sailing in from someplace above the uptempo Tony Hawk-soundtrack crap, guitarist Jeanie Lee starts shouting with clean, addictive, grin-filled indie-pop enthusiasm and harmony, transforming everything you just heard into a fun, friendly, and welcome genre complement to the world that gave us Kenickie or Velocity Girl. GUY FAWKES

WEDNESDAY 7/23


µ-ZIQ, HIM, PLASTIQ PHANTOM
(Chop Suey) See Speaker Freak, page 24.

Elvis Costello with Steve Nieve
(Chateau Ste. Michelle) After last year's triumphant return to form with When I Was Cruel, and a pair of insanely good local rock shows, the only Elvis that matters returns to Seattle for a more stripped-down set with original Attraction Steve Nieve on keyboards. Any fan can tell you about the importance of Nieve's plastic-ivory-tickling to Costello's career; I have a bootleg of the duo playing in Australia, and I can say that you never miss the rhythm section. Hearing the songs this way is a must for all true believers (even with the steep ticket price). SEAN NELSON

FOUNTAINS OF WAYNE, BEN LEE
(Crocodile) Like the Lemonheads, Fountains of Wayne write the kind of great pop song that you treat like a beloved, oversized parka. Every year it hangs wearily by its hood for 10 or 11 months; then one day it's too damn cold for anything piled on the coat rack, and you toss away lesser garments until finally, underneath a stylish wool pea coat missing two buttons, you catch a glimpse of its fur-trimmed lid, welcoming down-filled arms, and grand size, and realize, Goddammit! This is the greatest fucking garment ever made! Why don't I wear it every day? And you do, until it goes back on the peg for another cruel 10 or 11 months. Ben Lee? He keeps growing and singing and dating Claire Danes. KATHLEEN WILSON

LIZ PHAIR
(Showbox) Despite what the precious indie whiners on the Yahoo groups say, Liz Phair didn't become boring because she "sold out" or "tried to become Avril Lavigne." The main reason her new eponymously titled album lacks lasting resonance is that she's lost the edge that made Exile in Guyville such a strong collection of anthems for the fuck-happy and whip-smart set--and she's seemingly gone totally batty to boot. The letter she recently sent to the New York Times in response to a critical piece about her is a crazy, rambling rant. Phair spits out a bizarre story about a writer named Chicken Little that makes a lot of sense only if you're having a Mariah Carey "moment." To the rest of us, it's a sad glimpse of an artist who once sounded out a grand "Fuck off" to those who'd scorned her, but now joins the ranks of Ryan Adams as an artist who can't have one critical opinion voiced against her without going into a raging tizzy, a rampage that unfortunately soon becomes more interesting than the music itself. JENNIFER MAERZ