Thursday 2/19

The Music Tapes, Nana Grizol, Brian Dewan

(Vera Project) See Album Review.

Billy the Fridge, Jay Barz, Cancer Rising, DJ Marc Sense

(Chop Suey) See My Philosophy.

Hey Marseilles, Grand Hallway

(Neumos) Seattle's Hey Marseilles are a gorgeous orchestral pop act who share some of their members with Man Down Medic. Unlike the poppier, keyboard-laded MDM, Hey Marseilles have a softer, more organic approach to songwriting. "Cannonballs" is like James Taylor crossed with Sufjan Stevens; "From a Terrace" has feather-light strings vibrating beneath lush harmonies. Every second of their self-titled full-length is just so goddamn lovely and charming, it's almost unbearable. With swoon-worthy Grand Hallway opening, this is perhaps the prettiest-sounding show you will attend all year. MEGAN SELING

Friday 2/20

Kool Keith, the Let Go, Murder Dice

(Neumos) See preview.

Broken Disco: Jona, Jacob London

(Chop Suey) See Data Breaker.

Rollerball, Bill Horist

(Rendezvous) Fixtures in Portland's underground-rock scene for over a decade, Rollerball continue to ply their expansive, rococo art rock with dramatic flair, long past the point where most groups start to fall off. While they may have peaked during their years on the late, lamented Road Cone label (check 2001's Trail of the Butter Yeti for the ultimate Roller-ball recording), the quartet—who are implausibly huge in Italy—still can summon powerful, Can-like rhythm mantras and interesting stylistic promiscuity. The tension between their accessible song structures and liberating experimentation lends Rollerball's music a compelling friction, elevating them above most in the crowded Northwest rock pool. DAVE SEGAL

Todd Snider

(Triple Door) On his last two (perfectly brilliant) records, singer-songwriter-raconteur Todd Snider struck a healthy balance between the dueling aspects of his persona: On one hand, he's a roots-music songwriter as good as anyone out there; on the other, he's a fearless humorist whose laid-back delivery masks jabs that would take Bill Hicks's breath away. Faced with the waning of the disastrous-for-humanity Bush administration, Snider let his loose-tongued lefty-loon persona take the lead last year. The result: Peace Queer, an eight-song EP featuring spoken-word interludes, a stripped-down Creedence Clearwater Revival cover, and a handful of new Snider originals. "Things happen in this album besides you being told that war is wrong, with a beat," announces Snider on his website. "I don't know that war is wrong. I just know that I'm a peace queer, and I'm totally into it when people aren't fighting, in my home, at the bar where I hang out, or in a field a million miles away." Tonight, Snider queers out with the masses at the Triple Door. DAVID SCHMADER

Pierced Arrows, Thee Manipulators, Paper Dolls, the Zack Static Sect

(Funhouse) I'm a little late jumping on the Dead Moon bandwagon. I saw them a couple years ago in Ballard and drunkenly chattered my way through their set, fantastically pissing off my friends (and everyone else) who were all seemingly rabid DM fans. It wasn't until a few weeks ago—when I watched documentary DVD Unknown Passage—that I finally understood. Understood why I should've shut up and watched that show, understood why this Northwest band had, still have, a devoted cult of fans all over the western hemisphere... I finally "get it"! And now it's too late. Dead Moon are done. Their beloved corpse was barely cold when the forever- married fiftysomethings Fred and Toody gave birth to a new baby and named it Pierced Arrows. When I saw PA play last week in Portland, I paid attention. The set was 99 percent new material, but it ended with Dead Moon's classic "It's OK." And it will be okay. Oh yeah, we still love you in any way. KELLY O

Saturday 2/21

Smile Brigade, Spanish for 100, the Globes, Lord Dog Bird

(High Dive) Seattle's Smile Brigade are a cutesy, crafty indie-pop band (they tucked a white paper cut-out snowflake in their hand-screened-looking brown cardboard EP packaging, for instance), fond of slightly twangy acoustic instrumentation accented with strings and xylophone, all led by J. Hiram Boggs's intentionally gruff-but-wispy singing. That singing can get a little too affected at times, the whisper growl summoning visions of bad coffeehouse open mics, but for the most part (excepting, say, "Smile and Smile") the EP is pleasant, its songs ably constructed, musicians on their marks. Inexplicably, "Daddy's Heart" steals snatches of Modest Mouse's "Other People's Lives" ("...on the side of the road/Out of existence/And I should've known") and weds them to a bouncy pop number that feels forgettably light in comparison (other people's songs, I suppose). A fine but hardly momentous effort. ERIC GRANDY

Hoquiam; PWRFL Power; Johanna Kunin; Husbands, Love Your Wives

(King Cobra) See preview.

Thrones, Extra Life, the Better to See You With, Heiress

(El Corazón) It's been months since the morbid and metalrific hardcore band Himsa played their last show. In an interview, frontman John Pettibone gave one reason for the band breaking up: "I'm gettin' old, I'm hurtin'." But even with the aches and pains that come with age, Pettibone will never be able to completely quit music—it's something he's done since he was a teenager, in bands like Undertow, Nineironspitfire, and of course, Himsa. Rock and roll will forever be his mistress. His latest project is a band called Heiress (who used to be fronted by Adam Paysse). They're a fantastically sludgy and drilling outfit with spooky breakdowns and beastly vocals, so I'm not sure if their live shows will be any easier on his body. But they're also not as headbangingly heavy as Himsa, so at least his neck will get a break. MEGAN SELING

A. C. Newman, Dent May & His Magnificent Ukulele

(Neumos) On paper, given the (magnificent) ukulele and the exaggerated baritone, you could conceivably confuse Dent May & His Magnificent Ukulele for Zach Condon of Beirut. On the gramophone, however, May is markedly different—tongue planted firmly in cheek, style more campy '50s American doo-wop than French chanson (the photo of John Waters under the "influences" section of May's MySpace page is terribly telling if you're at all familiar with Waters's soundtrack choices). Some may find May's shtick on The Good Feeling Music of... too willfully nerdy (cf. the entreaty from "College Town Boy" to "meet me at the towny bar" or the swooning chorus of "At the Academic Conference"), but there is both genuinely appealing pathos and good humor to his songs, and it's hard to argue with his cover of Prince's "When You Were Mine." ERIC GRANDY

Sunday 2/22

Desolation Wilderness, Angelo Spencer, Bash Brothers, Generifus

(Comet) Olympia band Desolation Wilderness sound like the flat, starlit leg of a long summer road trip, windows down, warm night air blowing past, '60s pop reverberating from the dashboard radio. Maybe you're drifting in and out of a dream in the backseat. Their recent K Records release White Light Strobing is full of Dramamine-mellowed slow-dance serenades, slightly twangy guitars, brushed drums, keening vocals, and faint shimmers of keyboard all distant and faded. Fans of Galaxie 500, take note. Opening the show is Seattle solo artist Generifus, whose songs range from slow-core, head-hung-low mopes to dazed, wide-eyed ballads to surprisingly sunny, lo-fi pop. ERIC GRANDY

Tyvek, Little Claw, Unnatural Helpers

(Funhouse) Detroit six-piece Tyvek (their MySpace renders it Tyvjk, perhaps for copyright reasons) shamble in the resurgent shit-fi wave of indie garage rock (see also: Times New Viking, Jay Reatard, Sic Alps, Psychedelic Horseshit). These bands—who make Guided by Voices sound like the Mars Volta—revel in crap fidelity; intense, rudimentary riffing; technically poor singing; and repetition, repetition, repetition. It sounds great as the dude next to you is puking out his PBR and hastily eaten burrito. Portland's Little Claw play strummy, spindly garage rock with endearing female vox and claim Gore Vidal as an influence, so they're quite all right. DAVE SEGAL

Monday 2/23

Andrew Bird; Loney, Dear

(Moore) See Album Reviews

Broken Spindles, Pica Beats

(Vera) That last Faint album, Fasciinatiion, was a terrible disappointment—full of weak songs, farty synths, and no charm whatsoever. So the new album from Broken Spindles (aka the Faint's Joel Petersen), Kiss/Kick, is a welcome revelation. Not only is it the smart new-wave album Fasciinatiion should've been, it's also a huge leap forward for the side project, trading the band's fine but forgettable electroacoustic instrumentals for coldly catchy pop songs driven by Petersen's nimble bass playing and breathy, bummed-out vocals. Lengthy opener "I've Never Been This Afraid," the cool jerking "The Moist Red Mess," and acoustic lament "We All Want to Fit In" are highlights, but the whole album is worth hearing. It may not be quite as good as the Faint's finest work, but for now at least, the side project has bested the main gig. ERIC GRANDY

Goblin Cock, Warship, Rad Touch

(Funhouse) Can ironic metal really thrive in a post–This Is Spinal Tap world? Can a genre that self- parodies itself regularly embrace an indie-rock bro's send-up of it? Goblin Cock mastermind Rob Crow (Pinback, loads of other projects) is gonna give it a go, damn the torpedoes and critical sneers. On the band's latest full-length, Come with Me if You Want to Live!, Crow crows like a smaller-nosed Perry Farrell and that stereotypical narcotized dude in every other drone-dirge unit over mock-menacing, fuzz-toned, melodic metal. It's barely heavier than Queens of the Stone Age, so the torchbearers of REAL METAL will dismiss Goblin Cock's attempts to provoke devil horns, even as they guffaw at the band name. Honestly, Fucking Champs do this sort of thing with more panache and technical mastery. DAVE SEGAL

Tuesday 2/24

Thank You, Mi Ami, Pillow Fight Fight

(Vera) See preview, and Stranger Suggests

The Physics of Meaning, PWRFL Power, Palmer Electric Co.

(High Dive) I'm not drama fan; songs that mope or whine never make it past the minute mark when I'm trolling for MP3s online. But I really appreciate the Physics of Meaning's drama. The guitar licks in "Song for a Snake Charmer" have some of the same punky kick as the Pixies, but the smooth-as-silk vocals lament how "our darkest hour" makes "our hearts sing louder" with that kind of dramatic, oh-God-the-world-is-ending-but-at-least-I-have-you energy. Earnestness is key here: They're like the quiet kid who honestly believes that the good guys will ultimately win because they are good. It's heartbreaking, but it's got a geeky kind of beauty, too. PAUL CONSTANT

Wednesday 2/25

Ra Ra Riot, Cut Off Your Hands, Telekinesis

(Neumos) For the second time in a half decade, a new band seeking to distinguish themselves in an overcrowded field have done so in an unusual but undeniable fashion: by covering a Kate Bush song. In 2004, the Futureheads' rendition of "Hounds of Love" sucked me into their debut record, over which the enthralling cover hovered like a star. Similarly, in 2008, I was drawn into Ra Ra Riot's The Rhumb Line by the band's take on the unsung Kate classic "Suspended in Gaffa"; even better, I was met by a number of tracks that equaled or transcended the beauty of the welcome-mat cover. Tonight, Ra Ra Riot bring their ravishing, string-fueled crescendo-ridden drama pop to Neumos, and it will be beautiful. DAVID SCHMADER