The Coathangers, Crypts, Stickers, WaMü
(Comet) If the dismal Seattle weather of this summer continues any longer, I am going to stop blaming it on God and start blaming it on goths who've crawled out of their Capitol Hill basement apartments and painted the town black. Crypts, a somewhat new Seattle witch-house trio that includes a past member of These Arms Are Snakes, made their debut opening for goth chanteuse Zola Jesus in May, threading themselves in with fellow hometown gloom bloomers like Grave Babies and the Tempers. But Crypts' tunes have a decidedly more synthesized and synergistic feeling, where strange luminescent shadows are cast on a black cloud filled with opiates and delusions. The vocals are treated with enough decaying effects to wake the dead, and the synth production is cold and crisp, making your body shiver. As long as these folks keep cranking out the creep vibes, this spring-straight-into-fall shit doesn't seem so bad after all. TRAVIS RITTER
RX Bandits, Maps & Atlases, Zechs Marquise
(El Corazón) Once a ska band, always a ska band, right? Okay, well maybe we can make one exception for RX Bandits, an ever-evolving Orange County–based four-piece beast of a band. For the past six years, the one-time token ska group on the roster of squeaky clean lords of the late-'90s pop-punk underground Drive-Thru Records have gone through a complete overhaul, keeping their horn section, but easing away from third wave and gravitating toward a more progressive indie-rock-based sound. This is billed as RX Bandits' "farewell tour," and guitarist Steve Choi has assured fans that the Bandits will continue in some form, but will cease to tour. Chicago quartet Maps & Atlases are opening the last jaunt, adding a bit of "math-rock cred" to what some might consider "the final skank." KEVIN DIERS
Hans Grusel's Krankenkabinet, the Midget, Jabon, the Druggies
(Rendezvous) See Data Breaker.
Ty Segall, Audacity, Idle Times
(Crocodile) See preview.
Stacian, Acinonyx, Jabon, Stella Haze
(Rendezvous) See Data Breaker.
Country Lips, Spillway, Dum Spiro Spero, What What Now
(Black Lodge) See Sound Check.
Permanent Collection, Self-Actualized
(Space) See Underage.
John Wiese, Demian Johnston, Blowupnihilist, Ground Tissues, Self Communion
(Josephine) Another Friday night, another noise-music summit meeting at the Josephine. Seattle's Demian Johnston is a master of the overblown drone and the tar-black, spiky waveform, both of which he wields with intelligence and intensity. He's also been known to play beautiful, desolate guitar pieces that could make a maximum-security inmate cry. Extreme existential dread is his bread and batter. Vancouver, Washington's Blowupnihilist toil in the grindcore trenches with all the bilious abandon and fuck-you frequencies you could ever want (you glutton). Headliner John Wiese (aka Sissy Spacek) flaunts an intimidating canon of spasmodic noise documents. Unpredictability rules in this Los Angeles musician's madly dynamic compositions, with approaches ranging from atomic bomb drops to needling, microscopic incisions. Last time Wiese came through town, I wrote that his tracks will "give your ears whiplash." He sure knows his audience. DAVE SEGAL
Shenandoah Davis, Paleo, Led to Sea
(Fremont Abbey) Since releasing her debut full-length, local singer Shenandoah Davis has built up a solid reputation by lending her talents to other people's endeavors. But now, after performing with Grand Hallway and contributing to both the Seattle Rock Orchestra and the Portland Cello Project, it's her time to shine. Tonight, Davis is releasing her sophomore full-length, The Company We Keep. With piano, horns, and her slightly quirky—and gorgeous—voice, Davis flirts with whimsy and vaudeville, but her songs still remain more thoughtful than theatrical. MEGAN SELING
The Divorce, Viper Creek Club, Birds & Batteries
(Crocodile) See Stranger Suggests.
Barn Owl, Eternal Tapestry, Fruiting Bodies, Vestals
(Comet) Thrill Jockey Records artists Barn Owl and Eternal Tapestry play music as if time is no concern at all. Both groups patiently unspool their epic guitarcentric pieces with cunning deployment of space, timbre, and dynamics. Barn Owl (Evan Caminiti and Jon Porras) are the more subdued unit, with track titles like "Across the Deserts of Ash," "Infinite Reach," and "Cavern Hymn" evoking their sound with unerring accuracy. Imagine Ry Cooder's Paris, Texas soundtrack, as if played on Pluto's godforsaken surface. Portland's Eternal Tapestry rock slightly harder than Barn Owl, but they're ultimately more about glistening ascendance than visceral impact. The rest of the lineup will keep your mind properly elevated and spiritualized throughout the night. DAVE SEGAL
Soundgarden, Queens of the Stone Age, Mastodon
(Gorge) As we dive into the swamp of nostalgia surrounding the 20th anniversary of Nevermind and the subsequent Grunge Revolution™, let us sing the praises of one of the greatest totems of that weird and arbitrary time: Superunknown, the 1994 release that found Soundgarden responding to the hype storm with a towering, huge-hearted record that transcended all trends with ass-kicking songcraft and killer execution. Tonight at the Gorge, Soundgarden reunite to take their rightful place at the top of a bill of state-of-the-art hard rock and heavy metal. DAVID SCHMADER
Brothers of the Sonic Cloth, Samothrace, Noise-A-Tron, Grenades
(Black Lodge) Kansas transplants Samothrace—named after an island in the northern Aegean Sea that was widely revered in ancient times, because it contained the Sanctuary of the Great Gods and a marble statue of Nike and some other crap—straddle that fine metal line that so few bands can achieve. Accessible enough (sorry, dudes!) for people who say shit like "I'm not really that into metal," but punishing and brutal enough for people who have tattoos like "Death to False Metal." In fact, drummer Joe Grindo has that tatted across his rippling pectorals! Be sure to get there early for Grenades, who blast out similarly appealing loads of horror/elation. GRANT BRISSEY
Matisyahu, Tea Leaf Green
(Neptune Theatre) Wait, what? THIS is still happening? Hhhhhhhhhhh. Okay, so in case you missed 2005 (fell down an abandoned mine shaft?), Matisyahu is a Pennsylvanian Phish fan who converted to Orthodox Judaism and then deconverted and then maybe reconverted and wears a hat and sing-raps in a fake Jamaican patois about world peace while horrible white people play hacky sack. Sample lyric: "All my life I've been waiting for/I've been praying for/For the people to say/That we don't wanna fight no more/There'll be no more wars/And our children will play." (You guys—if war ends tomorrow, Matisyahu toooooootally called it!!!!!) Matisyahu is Hebrew for "gimmick." Matisyahu makes me want to use a blond dreadlock as a noose. LINDY WEST
Smooth Sailing, Great Falls, Android Hero, Monogamy Party
(Vera) So, apparently, people in Washington State surf. Washington even has its own Surf Academy, and there's a surf shop in Ballard. Neat! Anyway, tonight's show is a benefit for the Surfrider Foundation (save the oceans!), and it's sponsored by those water-loving businesses, which means there will be raffle prizes. But more importantly, there will be rad music by way of some local heavy hitters like Smooth Sailing and Android Hero, so this benefit promises to be a good time for a good cause (even if you don't give a fuck about surfing, like me, because it's terrifying—there are sharks and giant octopuses in the water, people!). MEGAN SELING
(Snoqualmie Casino) Willie. Nelson. I'll repeat that for those of you who are deaf, dumb, blind, or just really, really, super-willfully ignorant. WILLIE MOTHERFUCKING NELSON. No one on this planet is as cool as Willie. NO ONE. Outlaw country? He invented it. The IRS? He not only dealt with them but saved his beloved guitar Trigger from their clutches. Farm Aid? Started that. Weed? You think you have good shit?! I have friends who have gotten baked with Willie, and you've got nothing compared to his stash. All this and some of the best songs ever written, hands down. That's not an overstatement, BTW. That's just fact. Plain and simple—which is why Willie is so motherfucking cool. He doesn't require an explanation. BARBARA MITCHELL See also preview.
Iceage, Cult of Youth, Grave Babies, King Dude
(Crocodile) See preview.
High School Shootings, Buttercream Gang, Prawnyxx, Badluck
(Comet) I first heard the Buttercream Gang's "I Know 'Bout You" in 2008, and it remains the only BCG song I've ever heard, so I can't exactly claim to be an expert on the Napa band. But in three years, I've never gotten sick of that track, and I still spin it all the time. The song cropped up on my radar right around the time that Animal Collective's influence was unmistakably proliferating among the indie music underground, and the song—while hardly derivative—clearly belongs to that post–Strawberry Jam era, with its thunderously tribal drums, aqueous guitar, hummed hook, creepy bird-sex sounds, and outlandish, clattering outro. At five and a half minutes, "I Know 'Bout You" is a euphoric epic in the vein of like-minded performers Blastoids or Truman Peyote, with an ecstatic chorus that never fails to elevate. Here's hoping it sounds that good live. JASON BAXTER
Touching the void.
(Easy Street Records Queen Anne) Eric D. Johnson seemingly cannot involve himself in a bad project. From his melodically adept main band, Fruit Bats, to work with Califone, Vetiver, and the Shins, and soundtrack work for films like Ceremony and the upcoming Paul Rudd comedy Our Idiot Brother (although the jury is still out on that one), the man is a staple of West Coast, sunny, guitar-driven pop. Tripper, due out August 2 (just in time for winter!), is just another piece of evidence. Johnson has always been able to hit the high notes with the best of them, but a few times on Tripper, with the help of a backup singer, Fruit Bats get well into Bee Gees territory. GRANT BRISSEY See also Underage.
Earth, Tiny Vipers, Angelo Spencer Et Les Hauts Sommets
(Tractor) Jesy Fortino, or Seattle based singer-songwriter Tiny Vipers, writes crushingly slow anticinematic anthems for unraveling. With an unparalleled and aching patience, she layers repetitive, barren guitar melodies underneath yearning vocals that only occasionally stretch beyond an otherworldly moaning. Bummer, right? But the results are so singular, and so entrancing, and used to such great effect (see "Dreamer" from 2009's Life on Earth) that to miss any of her performances would be a serious mistake. The fact that there's some common ground in the heavy energy created between Tiny Vipers and Earth will make this show especially haunting. DAN OBERBRUNER
Onry Ozzborn, Crescent Banks, Cars & Trains
(Comet) I have three big hiphop projects in my head. One is the complete annotation of Sugarhill Gang's "Rapper's Delight," the founding document of the movement. Another is a thorough analysis of hiphop aesthetics between 1993 ("Award Tour") and 1997 ("Triumph"). My last is a long (500 pages?) biography of Onry Ozzborn. He is not super-famous or anything like that, but he is a talented rapper who has committed his life to the art. You can't say at this point that he raps to gain fame and wealth; clearly, he raps because that's who he is or who he has become. He has to do it, and he has been doing it seriously for around 15 years. This biography would be about a life in hiphop: the way you pay the bills, pay your dues, arrange shows, work with producers, strike deals, live in the city, tour other cities, dream up rhymes. The life of Onry Ozzborn. CHARLES MUDEDE