THURSDAY 8/23

H IS FOR HELLGATE, OPEN CHOIR FIRE, NOVY MIR

(Jules Maes) See Band of the Week, page 43.

KIMYA DAWSON, OLD HAUNTS, TV COAHRAN

(Neumo’s) I recently spent an ungodly amount of time watching a
bunch of women—Kathy Griffin, Gayle King, Whoopi
Goldberg—take turns in the seat left vacant after Rosie O’Donnell
departed the View. These rotating ladies did fine, and Whoopi
eventually earned the spot for good, but if it were up to me, the empty
seat on ABC’s weekday-morning gabfest would have gone to no one but
Kimya Dawson. She’s naturally sweet, stunningly smart, and just like
The View host Barbara Walters, she enjoys posting photos of her
poo on MySpace. Tonight at Neumo’s, Dawson will do what she does better
than anyone: sit on a stage with an acoustic guitar and sing songs that
will surprise, delight, and terrify you. DAVID SCHMADER

FRIDAY 8/24

AKIMBO (CD RELEASE), THE ASSAILANT, ANDROID HERO (MEMBERS OF
BLÖÖDHAG)

(Comet) See preview, page 37, and Stranger Suggests, page
23.

THE MENTORS, PURE HATRED (CD RELEASE), UNDERDOSE, FORTH YEER
FRESHMAN

(Funhouse) A sort of performance-based degenerative disease, the
Mentors have, since 1977, been one of the most aggressively puerile
bands in the world. Springing from the cradle of none other than
Roosevelt High School (not quite as esteemed by the school
administration as the girls’ basketball team, no doubt) right around
the birth of punk rock, the Mentors forged an id-drunk style of
viciously misanthropic performance punk more loose and naturalistic
than the too-eager extolments of their contemporary G. G. Allin. Though
the intensity of their shows’ assault may have cooled somewhat
since former singer/Mentors mouthpiece El Duce died under the wheels of
a train in 1997, those not inclined to becoming potential victims
of/parties to degrees of public sexual assault may want to stay close
to the door. SAM MICKENS

TALBOT TAGORA, THE LAST SLICE OF BUTTER, LITTLE PARTY AND
THE BAD BUSINESS

(Old Fire House) Talbot Tagora were supposed to play the Capitol
Hill Block Party last month, and I was so excited to finally see
whatever the hell it is they do. Even they don’t know what they
do, describing themselves as “an annoying repetitive mess” on their
MySpace page. But sadly they canceled the Block Party show the day of.
They got stuck in traffic or their van broke down or a tire went flat
or something else happened transportation-wise that had to do with them
being unable to make it. Sucktown, USA. But now here’s another chance
to see them live, and I know trekking over to Redmond sounds about as
fun as giving yourself a hysterectomy, but it just might be worth it.
Talbot Tagora are right about being messy, only not annoyingly so.
They’re fantastically messy. Check out the few songs on their MySpace.
“Lady Meeting” combines all the highest moments of the Beatles’ later
years, while “Guitar Strap” is a lot more strident with piercing
staccato guitar. “I Am Henry Rollins” is my favorite, though: weirdly
spooky with vocals low in the mix under a turbulent wall of noise.
MEGAN SELING

SATURDAY 8/25

CAROUSEL FESTIVAL: THE CURIOUS MYSTERY, THE HEDONIST,
DOOMHAWK, , JOULES, TWIN CRYSTALS

(Fusion Cafe & the Greenhouse) See Underage, page 69.

PORTUGAL. THE MAN, KAY KAY AND HIS WEATHERED UNDERGROUND,
THE PHOTO ATLAS, THE JOHNBENDERS

(El Corazón) On Portugal. The Man’s 2006 disc, Waiter:
“You Vultures!” the Alaska-based band blended suave upper-octave
vocals, electronic rhythms, atmospheric synthesizers, and quivering
guitars with experimental flair, like an arty new-wave act or a
chilled-out Mars Volta. However, the performances in support of that
record were loud, organic rock shows during which the group resembled a
’70s power trio, all untamed manes and crackling amps. That
metamorphosis culminates on the July release Church Mouth. John
Baldwin Gourley now embellishes his falsetto with classic-rock bombast,
allowing it to soar over Jason Sechrist’s thick drumbeats and his own
blues-infused riffs. Barring another jarring stylistic shift, any
departures from the recorded material on this tour will likely involve
the transformation of these concise nuggets into sprawling jams.
ANDREW MILLER

THE MOB LAW (CD RELEASE), DOXOLOGY, SHIM, YEKE
YEKE

(Neumo’s) If there’s one thing I must commend the Mob Law on, it’s
the ferocity of their fans. After I posted a fairly negative review of
one of their shows on Line Out, which the band graciously reposted on
their MySpace page, I was regaled with comments both on the blog and
sent to me personally, letting me know what a retarded pansy I am. The
e-mails that really got to me, though, were the ones begging me to go
to another Mob Law show, as they were sure I “just didn’t get it” the
first time around. No, I got it. But I am impressed by your dedication
to the band. The reason I won’t be back to another Mob Law show now is
to avoid some bro calling me a faggot and hate-criming me into the
curb. JEFF KIRBY

SUNDAY 8/26

HEY MARSEILLES, FIENDS AND HARLEQUINS, THROW ME THE
STATUE

(High Dive) I don’t know if it’s just because I’m really hyper and
happy and totally fucked up from eating nothing but sugar all morning,
but Hey Marseilles’s “Hold the Morning,” while sounding at first like
just another singer/songwriter tune about broken skylines and dancing
on golden streets, is actually a great indie-pop tune played by a
sparkling clean band and sung by a man with a voice that’s strong and
reminiscent of both Ben Gibbard and the guy from Snow Patrol. Speaking
of Snow Patrol, I can see fans of that band being really into Hey
Marseilles, but HM has a more orchestral sound—pianos, horns,
cello, accordion, banjo, a little bit of everything. If they can pull
it off live, it’ll sweep you off your feet. I make no promises, but it
might be worth taking a chance on. MEGAN SELING

MONDAY 8/27

HALL & OATES

(McCaw Hall) See preview, page 40.

LUNI COLEONE & COOL NUTZ

(Chop Suey) As Mizell says in his column this week, Portland don
Cool Nutz has been instrumental in NW hiphop for a long, long time now.
As a show promoter, label chief, and band manager, Nutz has resisted
the flimsy genre constraints between underground and mainstream,
backpack and g-rap, focusing instead on real talent in whatever forms
it takes. His latest partnership is with Luni Coleone, a Sacramento
rapper who sports a rugged, jagged flow and a hustler’s-eye view. The
pair just released Every Single Day, a hard-bouncing, G-funking
soundtrack to the classic ghetto come-up story, all wealth porn and
snitch disses. The whole affair’s got a serious Warren G/Dogg Pound
vibe to it, wreathed in pungent Cali weed smoke and VSOP fumes. No
doubt tonight’s show will be, too. JONATHAN ZWICKEL

TUESDAY 8/28

Knock knock.
Who’s there?
9/11.
9/11 who?
YOU SAID YOU’D
NEVER FORGET!!

WEDNESDAY 8/29

P.O.S., SIMS, PAPER TIGER OF DOOMTREE

(Vera Project) Rhymesayers Entertainment’s secret
weapon—scrappy young black punk singer-cum-MC P.O.S.—has
never played a show here that’s not felt like it could be his last, so
intense is his focus and urgency on the mic. Never faking it, not
Partying Like A Rockstar, Pissed Off Stef makes Minneapolis emo-rap
feel like a basement hardcore set—and his crowd plays the part to
a T, slavishly rhyming along with every word, damn near slamming in the
front. I’d encourage any skeptic to check the man live and
direct—I’ve seen more than a few get caught up, fists pumping, as
soon as he spits the first lines of Audition‘s opener, “Half
Cocked Concepts”: “First of all, fuck Bush, that’s all, that’s the end
of it….” LARRY MIZELL JR.

BRE LOUGHLIN, THE FEMURS, BARBARA TRENTALANGE

(Crocodile) Acoustic duo the Femurs… “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Megan
Seling, are you seriously writing about a fucking acoustic duo!? What
is this, Woodstock? Get that Simon and Garfunkel wannabe bullshit outta
here!” Wait, dude, the Femurs aren’t that kind of acoustic duo
(and by the way, dickhead, Simon and Garfunkel rule). The Femurs play
raucous pop punk via acoustic guitars. No songs about islands and
rocks, no songs about broken hearts. “Not one song about a broken
heart?” Okay, maybe there’s a song or two about broken
hearts—it’s hard to say, but they come with kicky Screeching
Weasel harmonies and choruses as catchy as the Ramones on a good day.
“So they’re not crybabies?” No, they’re not crybabies, crybaby, they’re
punk rock. “Acoustic punk rock!” That’s still punk rock, motherfucker.
MEGAN SELING