THE FAKES, ALTA MAY, STATIC RADIO
(I-Spy) Put local acts the Fakes and Alta May together, and you have one night of hard, heavy rock. The Fakes have an early-Van Halen-meets-"Radar Love" thing going on, with an obvious appreciation for smoky '70s riffage. Alta May have more of a contemporary sound, an excellent Queens of the Stone Age aesthetic that mixes chunky guitar-fuzz effects with sullen desert melodies--the kind of music that makes you wanna drive fast and furious through some Southern California wasteland until the world melts behind you in a cloud of exhaust and dusty rock 'n' roll. JENNIFER MAERZ
OOPS! THE TOUR w/THE LOCUST, THE BLOOD BROTHERS, LIGHTNING BOLT, ARAB ON RADAR, THE GET HUSTLE
(Graceland) See preview page 35.
BECK
(The Moore) Although his newest album isn't slated to come out until September 24, Beck is embarking on an "intimate" acoustic tour through select venues around the country. For all the details on this performance and to buy tickets, go to www.beck.com, and after spending hours dealing with crashing websites and links that go nowhere, the hope is that you'll be able to make a purchase and listen to cuts from the upcoming album without throwing your computer through a window. JENNIFER MAERZ
VOYAGER ONE, THE WARLOCKS
(Crocodile) Ladies and gentlemen, we are floating in space rock.... Like their spiritual brethren the Brian Jonestown Massacre, L.A.'s Warlocks dwell in hazy, laid-back, substance-laden and drone-drenched territory, ever in search of the perfect groove. This eight-piece (yes, that's EIGHT-piece) outfit boasts no less than four guitars, two drummers, and a huge debt to the Velvet Underground. Which isn't to say that they're necessarily derivative--in fact, they weave those elements into something that's utterly transcendent (and amazingly minimal and cohesive, given the sheer numbers and potential volume involved). Even better, they look the part--you won't mistake any of this lot for your local barista. If you like your music (and your musicians) to take you out of reality and right straight into the stratosphere, you've picked the right show. BARBARA MITCHELL
PIECE, KYLEA, REGGIE WATTS, DARRIUS WILLRICH, CD LITTLEFIELD, DAVIS MARTIN, THADDEUS TURNER, KEVIN GOLDMAN, DJ TOPSPIN
(Baltic Room) DJ Topspin's band Sinsemilla, which had a bigger presence in the local hiphop scene in the late '90s, is the leader (if not the instigator) of that school of Northwest hiphop that has a taste for jazzy, iridescent, mellow--but still militant--hiphop. Sinsemilla's beat aesthetics are reflected in the content of DJ Topspin's mix tapes, which he distributes from his website, www.topsyte.com, and places like seaspot.theshoppe.com. He also has a good thing going on the Groovetech.com program Soul, Style and Truth, which he cohosts with DJ Supreme--it webcasts every Monday afternoon from 3-6 p.m. I highly recommend the webshow and DJ Topspin's mix tapes (particularly the older ones), not because you should support local hiphop, but because they are actually good. CHARLES MUDEDE
TULLYCRAFT, MALINKS
(EMP Liquid Lounge) After favoring national fests for local dives, pushing hundreds of fans to simultaneous glee in Athens and San Francisco but avoiding those unlucky enough to live in their own wet city, twee bubble-gum poppers Tullycraft are finally throwing us a bone. With songs that are equal parts diffident and brazen, Tullycraft's lyrical images of beach parties, surfing, and wild bikini dances punctuate a motif that's snotty, sweet, and totally infectious, but never cloying. With the recent release of Beat Surf Fun, Tullycraft tiptoe back onto a local stage. This show is free, and the band has made a habit of playing Seattle less than once a year, so you have no reasonable excuse to miss out--that is, unless you can't find your flip-flops and beach blankets. CORIANTON HALE
MEAT PURVEYORS, DANNY BARNES, TENNESSEE TWIN
(Tractor) This promises to be an evening of traditional sounds thankfully warped by 21st-century feminism and off-kilter humor. Austin's Meat Purveyors play bluegrass that's more likely to punch you in the nose than put a salve on your Kentucky-fried soul. Vocalist Jo Walston yowls like a devil with its feet on ice, and fiddle player Darcie Deaville saws at her strings as if they were old-growth timber. The remaining bandmembers simply hang on tight. Tennessee Twin is a Vancouver, BC, outfit that features the sardonic wit and bodacious politics of vocalist Cindy Wolfe (who happens to be sister to Bratmobile's Allison). To my knowledge, local picker and grinner Danny Barnes, who rounds out this bill, has never billed himself as a feminist--though it is possible he'd agree to it if asked. TIZZY ASHER
OK GO, MAROON 5, NEW MEXICANS
(Chop Suey) Many bands purport to be smart, but so often the creative circuitry gets shorted somewhere between high-school required-reading references and pompous undergraduate pontification. OK Go is truly a smart band, playful and energetic musically, clever lyrically, and absolutely no pretence whatsoever. Local boys the New Mexicans are a propulsive trio who make post-rock more exciting than nearly any other band in this town and feature as their backbone what very well may be Seattle's finest drummer. KATHLEEN WILSON
SICKO, RADIO NATIONALS, MEA CULPA
(Sunset) See Stranger Suggests page 19.
KURUPT OF THA DOGG POUND, RASS KASS, RASCO OF CALI AGENTS
(I-Spy) In 1997, unexpectedly, slyly, Rasco's "Unassisted" found its way into numerous mix tapes, CD compilations, and college radio playlists. The song's popularity marked the arrival of L.A.'s underground hiphop scene, and also helped to define its sound, which was inspired by mid-'80s N.Y. hiphop and early-'90s San Francisco hiphop (which, in turn, was inspired by mid-'80s N.Y. hiphop) rather than L.A.'s gangsta rap. Like most of Rasco's songs, "Unassisted" has a raw, aggravated, Marley Marl-like beat that's too disruptive and involved for the halcyon pleasures of low-riding. CHARLES MUDEDE
BLACK CAT MUSIC, THE HOLLOW POINTS, SHARP KNIFE
(Paradox) Combining the best bits of old Social Distortion and Anti-Flag, local band the Hollow Points used to go by the moniker St. Louis Smiles, which I still think fits better. Sweet-sounding almost to the point of being fey, a St. Louis Smile is actually an old Mafia term for what a person's mouth looks like after you've curbed them. Though their occasional lyrical naiveté can reveal their youth, one can definitely foresee the Hollow Points becoming some sharp little ragers with time. They played the local stage at the Warped Tour two weeks ago and were one of probably three bands that were actually worth seeing. Headliners Black Cat Music play moody punk rawk with noticeable tinges of Empty Bottles-era Murder City Devils and scattered Morrissey influences. BILL BULLOCK
CAKE, DE LA SOUL, FLAMING LIPS, KINKY
(Pier 62/63) See preview page 37.
NATURAL HISTORY, BIOGRAPHY OF FERNS
(Graceland) Lately it seems all a young boy needs to achieve rock 'n' roll success is a shaggy haircut, a jangly rock EP, and a New York City zip code. The Natural History are fortunate enough to have all three, and this trio's well connected: Their debut EP is on Brooklyn's Startime International label, home of the French Kicks and Radio 4, and was recorded at the Walkmen's studio in Harlem. But the band's dynamic--crunchy guitars, loud flat drums, and vocalist Max Tepper's nasal growl--is as stripped bare as the limit of quality songcraft allows. Recalling early Elvis Costello, the Kinks, and Wire, they recorded their first songs a mere two weeks after the band's inception--their expediency a product of brothers Max and Julian Tepper's musical upbringing. Since then, they've honed their live shows on tour with acts such as Blonde Redhead and the Liars. JONATHAN DURBIN
KIND OF LIKE SPITTING, JEN WOOD, AMY BLASHKE
(Paradox) See preview page 38.
ARCHER PREWITT, THE STRATFORD 4, THE PROM
(Crocodile) Perhaps it's a longing for reconciliation with my horribly neglected 19th-century piano that drives my almost tearful appreciation for bands that feature piano prominently in the instrumentation (unless of course they're part of a comedy act, like with Ben Folds). The Prom's new album, Under the Same Stars (Barsuk), is abundant with the affecting emotion that only piano can lend, and I've been reluctant to see them live for fear of turning into a blubbering fool, the disc is so gorgeous. The time has come, however, to go to a show, as this bill is too good to be missed. The fact that Archer Prewitt founded the Coctails and is a member of the Sea and Cake does nothing to diminish my fondness for his solo work, which always somehow reminds me of Donovan. The Stratford 4 is a four-piece composed in part of two former Seattleites and a guy who played in a band that went on to become Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. Theirs is a pop that shimmers and hums in dreamy waves of fuzzy guitars and soaring rockets of psychedelia. As much a sucker for a waltz as I am for piano, the opening track for this San Francisco-based band's debut album, The Revolt Against Tired Noises, is sublime, a swirling, sentimental love song that is entirely romantic. KATHLEEN WILSON
DEAD PREZ w/GUESTS
(EMP Sky Church) Hiphop's mission to enlighten the masses about sociopolitical injustices generally comes in two varieties: the innocuous Native Tongue nudges of Brand Nubian, De La Soul, and Common, or the incendiary, boot-to-the-gut assault of Public Enemy and their logical successors, Dead Prez. Merging "power to the people" activism with gritty, complex beats, this Brooklyn-dwelling duo ardently spew the kind of inflammatory ideology that can land you on a few government watch lists. But like Chuck D's improbable stint as a Fox News Channel commentator, Dead Prez know how to work the system and win over a crowd with their subversive, yet tenable, agenda. The last time I saw M1 and Stic.man do their thing--it was at a packed-out BBQ joint in Austin, Texas--they inspired the thousand-strong, overwhelmingly white audience to jump up and down with fists pumping in the air, chanting along to "I'm a African." Now that's power. MICHAEL ALAN GOLDBERG
ANGER MANAGEMENT TOUR FEATURING EMINEM, PAPA ROACH, LUDACRIS, XZIBIT, AND THE X-ECUTIONERS
(Tacoma Dome) Eminem is a great entertainer, and one of his best qualities is that contrary to the title of this tour, his anger isn't close to being managed. Although the domestic-violence stories like "'97 Bonnie and Clyde" will forever creep me out, the guy has a penchant for writing poignant lyrics about the fucked-up shit that unfortunately happens in a lot of families, the stuff that most acts turn into whiny rock ballads instead of punching up with a heavy rap beat. Eminem always comes out swinging--sometimes blindly, in the case of his absurd, one-sided fight with Moby--but always with fists clenched and mind working overtime. His rhymes are clever and funny, and he's one of the few mainstream performers who's not afraid to bite the hands that feed him (TRL, the press, other popular entertainers) because he knows they'll all come back for more. The Eminem Show is an instantly catchy album, and "Without Me" has transcended the rap world to enter the walled castle that is commercial rock radio. Eminem may have a mouth a mile wide, but his humor runs deep. JENNIFER MAERZ
METAL EDGE ROCKFEST 2002 FEATURING DOKKEN, L.A. GUNS, WARRANT, RATT, AND FIREHOUSE (FIREHOUSE OPENING 8/6, L.A. GUNS OPENING 8/7)
(Showbox) Considering the dwindling numbers of original members still playing in these bands and the brevity of their back catalogs, it's no wonder they've decided to join forces and improve their chances of drawing decent audiences. This is still a pretty bleak assembly of rapidly aging metal acts--only the presence of Winger or Kingdom Come could make the lineup more cringe-inducing. Any self-respecting metal-head will tell you that the only bands worth catching here are the genuinely sleazy L.A. Guns (who are inexplicably playing ONLY on Wednesday!) and Ratt, who unfortunately just lost guitarist Robbin Crosby to AIDS and singer Stephen Pearcy to his highly optimistic dreams of a solo career. That said, there's bound to be some entertaining moments--perhaps disgruntled fans will throw cherry pies at Warrant or Firehouse will deliver an indignant speech about being confused with Firehose. HANNAH LEVIN
MARS ACCELERATOR, THE LANDING, HERZOG
(Crocodile) If we were to pry open the frontal lobe of Mars Accelerator's Bobby Nath, what do you suppose we might find? Would it be the standard 13 pounds of intricately twisted gray matter? Or a row of assorted effects pedals? Or perhaps the workings of a vintage tube amp? Judging by Mars Accelerator's quirky mix of tipsy Built to Spill-style pop, math rock precision, and experimental noodling, the answer is probably some combination of all three. Here, shiny guitar sounds rub shoulders charmingly with oddball noises and Nath's boyish vocals. Due to their lack of a consistent practice space, they've been on semi-hiatus for the past year, lying low and playing only the occasional gig. While the contents of the bandmembers' heads may remain forever hypothetical, this is a rare chance to let Mars Accelerator's music define itself. TIZZY ASHER
YOUR ENEMIES FRIENDS, THE CANCER CONSPIRACY, SHATTERED REALM, CONTINGENT
(Paradox) Perhaps you caught Your Enemies Friends when they opened for Pretty Girls Make Graves at the Crocodile on a Sunday night. Despite the fact that their set was fraught with technical difficulties, the livewire post-punk band was impressive and should make a fine addition to Seattle's music community now that the bandmates have chosen to call our city their new home--keyboardist Aska recently married a member of PGMG. KATHLEEN WILSON
FELICIA V. LOUD AND THE SOUL, DJ DV ONE, GRAND WIZARD THEODORE
(Liquid Lounge) There are two reasons to go to this show: One is Grand Wizard Theodore, who is credited with having invented the art of scratching way back in the '70s. Two, Felicia Loud, whose performance on the song "Child's Play," which is on Jasiri Media Group's wonderful CD Word, Sound, Power, is one of the greatest moments in the history of the Pacific Northwest. As a gangster would somewhat say, that dame has some serious pipes. CHARLES MUDEDE
