Wednesday 10/12
Battles, Walls
(Neptune) See Stranger Suggests and Data Breaker.
Boris, Tera Melos, Master Musicians of Bukkake
(Neumos) Japan's Boris covered a lot of musical territory over their two-decade existence: doom drone, psychedelia, hair metal, and nearly every other niche that revels in guitar excess. It's tempting to say they don't repeat themselves, but then they went and reused the title and artwork from their 2002 album Heavy Rocks for a new full-length this year. Fittingly, the 10 new songs on 2011's Heavy Rocks continue to indulge in mountain-sized riffs. But 2011 also saw the release of Attention Please and New Album, two Boris full-lengths that abandon waves of distorted guitar for blown-out interpretations of Japanese pop music. It's a bold departure, even for a band that thrives on reinventing itself. Expect guitars cranked through full stacks tonight, but be prepared for an electronic bass thump, too. BRIAN COOK
Lindseys, Shakes, Electra, Death Letters, Magnuson
(Funhouse) Normally when a quality foreign band that's small enough to be playing low-profile venues like the Funhouse hits town, it's a good reason to see the show and buy some schwag if you dig the music—because touring is fucking expensive. Tonight's show, however, features two such bands. Tel Aviv's Electra execute competent pop rock that's cognizant of its forbearers. The few tracks available online recall poppier Kinks efforts, but they're also said to dabble in rockabilly and "snotty punk." They're getting some glowing press, and not just from the homeland. Netherlandic duo Death Letters enjoy fervent pop-punk jams somewhere in the neighborhood of the Thermals or Japandroids, only with more ballady stuff. The singer kind of sounds like Cedric Bixler-Zavala (the Mars Volta), and they're both, like, 19. GRANT BRISSEY
The Drums, Veronica Falls, io echo
(Crocodile) The Drums have written the pop hit for the era: "I wanna buy you something, but I don't have any money! I don't have any money!" Frontman Jonathan Pierce sings with a flat, factual aloofness—"You were my best friend/But then you died"—over the band's synthesis of electro pop and indie rock, with a little surf energy in the guitars. Veronica Falls are a UK girl group with boys in it, kind of like if the Waitresses started going steady with the Rubinoos. LA duo io echo are a slightly buzzier, fuzzier complement to the other two bands. The Guardian describes their more electronic-driven sound as "like goth given a house makeover." Sounds about right. BRENDAN KILEY
Thursday 10/13
Blackie, the Pytons, DJ Cherry Canoe
(Chop Suey) See Stranger Suggests.
St. Vincent, Cate Le Bon
(Neptune) Thanks to lush orchestration, Annie Clark of St. Vincent came off like a demented Disney princess on her 2009 full-length, Actor, warbling sweetly as blood welled in the back of her throat, and chirping bluebirds pecked at her outstretched digits. Follow-up Strange Mercy is less rococo, and the Spartan settings pitch the album's recurring lyrical themes of pain and catharsis into sharper relief; on the skeletal "Champagne Year," the emphasis on Clark's breathy vocals and an insistent melody prove as riveting as Leonard Cohen's finest. Welsh opener Cate Le Bon is an occasional collaborator of Super Furry Animals' Gruff Rhys, supporting a ramshackle new single ("Puts Me to Work") that's equal parts Syd Barrett, Stephen Malkmus, and Brigitte Fontaine. KURT B. REIGHLEY
Nick Lowe
(Triple Door) Nick Lowe is power pop's unflappable and infinitely hip elder statesman who, with his snowy swath of white hair and dapper outfits, has aged all too well. More than three decades after Jesus of Cool (or Pure Pop for Now People for us Yanks) appeared on turntables, Lowe is still doing what he does best. On this year's The Old Magic, Lowe's once-frenzied tempo might have tapered off, but his songwriting gifts are eternal as he confronts the cold hand of mortality on "Checkout Time," opening the song with the frank confession: "I'm 61 years old now/Lord, I never thought I'd see 30." The coolest man in the world is the one standing on Triple Door's stage tonight. EZRA ACE CARAEFF
Wizards of Wor, Lesbian, Theories, Leatherhorn
(Funhouse) When first notified of newish grind/death-metal outfit Theories, I wrote: "Joe 'Grindo' Axler, the hardest drumming/working/dreadlock-growing man in the industry (seriously, every time I see that guy riding a bike I think one of those fuckers is gonna get caught in the spokes), alerts us to the 47th band he's in. Do you think he's using a double kick pedal here?" along with a link to their Bandcamp page (www.theories .bandcamp.com/album/demo-2011), to which Line Out commenter dangerousgift commented: "This is SO GOOD! Like a grindier At the Gates with post-hardcore breakdowns. Thanks!" Axler's kick drum is inhumanly fast. GRANT BRISSEY
Friday 10/14
Nick Lowe
(Triple Door) See Thursday.
Black Stax, Saturday Morning Cartoon, Specs One, OC Notes, Zeta Barber
(Lo-Fi) See Data Breaker and My Philosophy.
Trouble: Melissa Manchester, Dicso, DJ FITS
(Fred Wildlife Refuge) See Stranger Suggests, Data Breaker, and Homosexual Agenda.
Chad VanGaalen, Gary War, Levi Fuller
(Sunset) Calgary-based Chad VanGaalen is another one of Sub Pop's multi-instrumentalist bedroom auteurs whose songwriting tilts gently into psychedelia and quirky new wave. His latest, Diaper Island, is a fine place to familiarize yourself with his understatedly brash melodies and acquired-taste yelp. New York City–based producer Gary War toils in a weirder, more altered zone. He writes pop songs, but they're deeply distorted and subtly disturbing. Imagine R. Stevie Moore under the influence of the Residents or Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti remixed by Black Dice. It sounds as if you're tuned to an '80s AM radio station submerged at the bottom of the Pacific. Start your Gary War adventure with his Galactic Citizens and Horribles Parade releases. DAVE SEGAL
The Musical Box: The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway
(Pantages Theater, Tacoma) In 1974, the upper-crust lads in Genesis recorded a double concept album about a heroin-shooting Puerto Rican street punk (write what you know, right?) who gets sucked into a wall and has wacky adventures on the other side. Hatched largely from singer Peter Gabriel's subconscious, The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway is strange, full of religious symbolism, disturbing sexual imagery, and ungainly 9/8 grooves—it's a baffling, remarkable record. Tonight, a Montreal tribute band painstakingly re-creates the entire thing, down to the elaborate costumes and slide show used on the band's 1975 tour. Anyone who's ever dipped into Gabriel-era Genesis's brand of pointy-headed progressive rock won't want to miss it. NED LANNAMANN
Police Teeth, Victory and Associates, Big Crux, Mongrel Blood
(Rendezvous) Mongrel Blood are a new trio consisting of Spencer Moody, Cameron Elliott, and Eric Fisher. I've heard exactly one song, "Oh Sister," which is posted on their MySpace (!?) page, and it's an eerie backwoods rock number about being drunk down at the river. It has a little swagger to it and Moody's vocals sound harried, which isn't anything new for Moody, but the song is enough to convince me that their performance tonight could be as entertaining as it is unsettling. Be sure to stick around for Police Teeth, who recently underwent a lineup change and are now playing as a threesome. They'll still probably rock your face off. MEGAN SELING
Gang Gang Dance, Prince Rama, Stephanie
(Neumos) Prince Rama translate their Hare Krishna spirituality to their cavernously psychedelic recordings and live shows. Marked by tribal tom-tom thumping, cathedral-filling keyboards, and reverbed-to-heaven chants by sisters Taraka and Nimai Larson, Prince Rama's music is geared for immersive ascendance. They want to take you higher in all ways imaginable. Gang Gang Dance have morphed from jagged, dub-savvy, art-noise agitators into a sleeker, shinier, 4AD-backed unit who, on 2011's Eye Contact, sound like a million-dollar, abstract-dance version of their former selves. GGD always incorporated foreign musical elements into their recordings, but now they approach the gothic, coffee-table exotica of late-period Dead Can Dance. For better or worse, we're miles beyond the ramshackle mutations of GGD's Hillulah and God's Money days. DAVE SEGAL
Hipster Death Fest: Sioux City Pete and the Beggars, Megaton Leviathan, Joy Von Spain + Masaki Satsu, Royal Talons, In the Age of Terminal Static
(Highline) Do ironic mustaches make you want to fistfight? Well, there's good news for you, oh surly one. Hipster Death Fest is the one time of year you can channel all your suppressed anti- (or pro-?) hipster rage into a positive outlet, or you can just wreck some shit on the dance floor to some righteous tunes. On this, the third night of a four-night fest, Seattle's Sioux City Pete and the Beggars bring a fuzzed-out, garage-rock take on classic blues, dosing the Delta sound with loads of distortion and a slightly metallic twist. And if all goes right, Portland doom lords Megaton Leviathan will have you seeing swirly vision and hearing nothing but feedback with their distinctly psychedelic heaviness. Death to false (and true) hipsters. KEVIN DIERS
Pica Beats, Matt Badger and His Flock of Knives, Cumulus, Ole Tinder
(Comet) In 2008, Pica Beats released Beating Back the Claws of the Cold, which sounded like a glum, foggy porch-jam held together with bits of string and twine. It was part of Seattle's turn toward a pastoral sound—Fleet Foxes, Cave Singers, etc.—but Pica Beats brought a richer, multivalent approach to the scene, with sitars and flutes and unidentifiable background instruments reminiscent of latter-day Tom Waits. Their new record, Better in Color, sounds tighter, more focused, with fewer sepia-toned photographs decorating their rain-soaked recording shack. But Ryan Barrett and the gang have kept their lyrical feeling of misty doom, as well as their stuttering, surprising way of tapping around a rhythm. Nothing is straightforward with Pica Beats, and that's for the best. BRENDAN KILEY
Saturday 10/15
Midday Veil with Ken Ueno
(Chapel Performance Space) Midday Veil keyboardist David Golightly met Bay Area throat singer/composer/music professor Ken Ueno in 2000 at a Karlheinz Stockhausen workshop, where they formed a friendship and an artistic bond. This special improv collaboration between the Seattle psychedelic-multimedia luminaries and Ueno (read Jen Graves's excellent description of Ueno's vocal technique on page 46) promises to take both parties out of their comfort zones and into some bizarre sonic realms. Local composer/visual artist Garek Druss (A Story of Rats, Tecumseh) provides live video feedback. DAVE SEGAL
Akimbo, Grenades, Bitches Crystal
(Comet) In a recent cranky blog post, Jack Endino read a batch of local music reviews and surmised, "Grunge is dead... but everything else sounds like it's on life support." You're only half right, Mr. Endino. Grunge is dead. It shouldn't surprise you, since you made that declaration the title of your book in 2009. But to say the rest of the Northwest music scene is on life support is bullshit. Akimbo have been slaying eardrums for more than 10 years, and they'll do so again tonight with two more hard and heavy bands: Grenades and Bitches Crystal. So I suggest you hit up this show, Jack. It may not take you back to grunge's golden age (these days, flannel is more appropriate for the campfire rock scene), but it sure as fuck will prove that the heavy shit is alive and doing more than well. MEGAN SELING
M. Women, Naomi Punk, the Family Stoned
(Cairo) Seattle's M. Women sport a rowdy, gear-shifting drone-rock sound. Their songs churn and brood in unpredictable ways, evoking that classic '60s wall-of-sound production, only intentionally muted—as if a (pre-murder) Phil Spector on sedatives and a few double neat vodkas sat fixated behind the boards. M. Women's drumming may be rudimentary, but it's not a problem at all—that syncopated snare hits right when it should, and it hits hard when it should (most of the time), and vigorous floor-tom tending keeps things moving the rest of the time. Put this young band together with the right producer (an idea they'd likely scoff at), add some strange and wonderful vocal effects, and Faithful would be one of the best rock records you'd hear in years. Still, this one's not leaving heavy rotation anytime soon. GRANT BRISSEY See also Underage.
Sunday 10/16
Anika, OC Notes
(Crocodile) See preview.
Specs Wizard, WD4D & Sutikeeree, Vox Mod, 5H1F7Y
(Comet) I still stand by my categorization of local hiphop into three moments. The first ran from 1993 to 2003, the second from 2003 to 2008, and the third is happening as we speak. There is, of course, a kind of prehistory (between 1984 and 1992) to the main sequence, but it was mostly about absorption and imitation rather than solidification and radiation. Why bring all of this up? Because of the rapper, producer, and artist Specs One (aka Specs Wizard). Though making hiphop in Seattle from the early '80s to now, he does not fit neatly into any of these moments. Sure, his dusty, low-tech sound has some affinities with the space wing of the third stage, but this appears to be accidental. Specs One is the odd plant in an otherwise neatly organized garden. CHARLES MUDEDE
Frank Turner and the Sleeping Souls, Andrew Jackson Jihad, Into It. Over It.
(Neumos) Frank Turner's "Peggy Sang the Blues" sounds almost like Brendan Benson, an upbeat indie-rock shuffle with jaunty acoustic guitar in the verses and big keyboards—and Turner's big voice—soaring through the choruses. That's a new direction for Turner, who got his start playing hardcore and punk rock around the UK. Though he now plays meditative solo-picking folk songs like "My Poor Friend Me" he still brings the defiant energy of his roots in songs like "Try This at Home." If you dig the Waco Brothers, you might well enjoy Frank Turner and the Sleeping Souls. Arizona band Andrew Jackson Jihad combine punk-rock spirit and country/folk instruments supporting darkly comical, often political lyrics. If Frank Turner is of the same family as the Waco Brothers, Andrew Jackson Jihad are the more energetic, ragged-sounding cousin of the Mountain Goats. BRENDAN KILEY
Paul Hoskin, Ken Ueno
(Gallery 1412) Seattle's Paul Hoskin is going to play contrabass clarinet, the biggest and lowest clarinet regularly made, and a thing you don't see much, but he's going to be outweirded by his collaborator, Bay Area composer and vocalist Ken Ueno, who admits that his singing makes people think he's throwing up "or I might have digestive problems." Since he was a child, Ueno has been singing more than one note at once—a technique called multiphonics, or throat singing. He also sings so low, it's beneath the middle of the earth. He's kind of like a life-affirming version of a death-metal singer. To Ueno, the body is a lab for resonation: He wants to see what it can sound like that it hasn't sounded like before. JEN GRAVES
Monday 10/17
Nap!
Tuesday 10/18
Tom Morello: The Nightwatchman
(Crocodile) "With liberty and justice for all." You should recognize that phrase—it's the final salvo in our nation's Pledge of Allegiance, fer chrissakes. If you feel like the good ol' US of A isn't living up to that mantra, you're not alone. Before people began occupying Wall Street or camping out in state capitol buildings, the Nightwatchman was on the case—and continues to be. Rage Against the Machine guitarist Tom Morello's folksinger/protest-rocker alter ego should probably wear a superhero cape at this point. The Nightwatchman updates Woody Guthrie's cause-oriented everyman vision and injects it with just enough guitar firepower and freshness to make it ring—and sting. BARBARA MITCHELL
