CARISSA'S WIERD
(Seattle Art Museum) Anyone who owns Ugly but Honest, the Brown Records debut by Carissa's Wierd, or has listened through its entirety at least once, will likely tell you that one of the finest things about this band is dynamics. Carissa's Wierd is subtle, and when the band embellishes, which it does routinely, to stunning effect, the execution is often imperceptible over the din of appreciative but drunk-and-blathering audiences at rock venues. Which is why the set Carissa's Wierd will be playing at the Seattle Art Museum is an excellent opportunity to acquaint yourself with this band in its true, inwardly gorgeous form. If you haven't seen Carissa's Wierd over the past few months, the show will also serve as a first opportunity to hear a bunch of new songs that the band has already finished recording for a second full-length Brown release, due out in early April. And if you like what you've heard already, you won't be disappointed. JEFF DeROCHE

AMON TOBIN, PLASTIQ PHANTOM, KEN WALLACE
(Baltic Room) After winning accolades for his successful Permutation record, many people assumed that, for Amon Tobin, success was to be taken then forgotten. But alas, the fans wanted more. When Tobin put out last year's exquisite Supermodified, two things happened: He lucked out on a car commercial, and he solidified his status as a premier force in electronic music. A consummate sample-driven artist with a love of hiphop, old-school jazz, and bebop, Tobin constructs a mad history lesson, giving the club kids instruction on the ages of old, while kicking them in the teeth with the sounds of today. F. VENTURA-PENA

VERY SPECIAL FORCES, APES OF WRATH, BLOOD BUNNY
(Sit & Spin) This evening's mishmash of pop (Very Special Forces), metal (Apes of Wrath), and a cappella (Blood Bunny) has one common thread besides the close affiliation of all the musicians involved: satire. Great satire begs its audience to question whether or not it is real. For instance, the best satirical punk band was Killdozer. At every show, there were those who were loyal fans, and then there were the rest, scratching their heads in confusion. You'll find the same divided atmosphere here. Make no mistake, these bands (especially VSF, releasing a new EP tonight) aren't fucking around. VSF's tunes are leaden with catchy hooks and tight instrumentation to tantalize, confuse, and ultimately to entertain. KREG HASEGAWA

J. J. NOBODY AND THE REGULARS, THE BAND THAT MADE MILWAUKEE FAMOUS, THE DARYLS
(Graceland) J. J. Nobody, of the Ramones-inspired Colorado Springs punk rock outfit the Nobodys, brings his solo act (the Regulars) out for a night of tomfoolery on the heels of the just-released Rock 'n' Roll Doesn't End at 2:00. Meanwhile, the Band That Made Milwaukee Famous hits the stage like a shaken can of agitated bees. With a sort of eager energy, as if the band is about to collectively explode if it doesn't get the next note out, the members careen about, threatening to collapse to the floor at any moment or at least lose their shoes. Meanwhile, proof-positive that duct-taped glasses and adolescent humor still have a place in this modern world, the Daryls thrill with what I will affectionately call dork-punk. If only they served this kind of bill in a six-pack. NATE LEVIN

DJ ASSAULT, DETROIT GRAND PUBAHS
(I-Spy) In 1999, you couldn't go to a club without hearing your favorite DJ drop "Sandwiches" at least somewhere in a set. It was the kind of song that made you stand up and take notice, or at the very least put down the bong. The song's creators, the Detroit Grand Pubahs, come from a lineage of Detroit musicians who have electronic music down pat, marrying wit and a certain beat pastiche rivaled only by the Dusseldorf/Cologne or Atlanta scenes. Another Detroit genre that's well on its way to shaking shit up is the Ghettotech phenomenon. Led by DJ Assault, Ghettotech-ers take on all forms of music and make them into a pop culture hodgepodge that's about as fast as hardcore/gabber, and uses Miami booty bass as a chaser. There are also original compositions that cater to the naughtiness of boys in strip clubs (one song has "Ass 'n' Titties" repeated some 30-odd times in a chorus), but that shouldn't take away from you witnessing this event. Two of Detroit's brightest hopes rocking your fucking head and making you shake that azz. F. VENTURA-PENA

BIG DUMB FACE, EL GRECO
(Showbox) Just in case anyone mistakenly thought he was trying to showcase a deeper side of himself, Limp Bizkit guitarist Wes Borland named his side project Big Dumb Face. It is, essentially, a Big Dumb Band, and I mean that as a compliment; nobody would ever take a Limp Bizkiteer seriously anyway, so Borland does the right thing by heading unequivocally for the Ween aesthetic. Lots of lyrics about aliens, organ splitters, and penis lasers, coupled with a heaping bucket of "scary" voice-processor effects, make Big Dumb Face both fun and embarrassingly moronic at the same time. Sure, people may poke fun at Borland and his North Florida friends, but just remember: If having an IQ of 70 doesn't disqualify you from the death sentence, it shouldn't disqualify you from playing the Showbox. NATHAN THORNBURGH

AUTOMATON, KENTUCKY PISTOL, THE SPECTACLE, THE THE STRETCHPANTS
(The Ultraplex) If you're sick of being shoved around in a steamy crowd and want to keep it simple tonight, then check out this huge warehouse party and hear some unpretentious music. Automaton is playing, which means you'll get a healthy dose of energetic noise, punk, and pop with frenetic-but-clean rhythms and powerful wails and roars from singer Pat Kearney (who "moonlights" as The Stranger's business reporter by day). Show up and catch the band before the members leave town for their "Play in a Bunch of Clubs While Driving Around the Country in a Beat-Up Van" tour and you might be graced with some sneak previews from Automaton's upcoming release, clarions and banners (Pacifico). MIN LIAO

Directions to the warehouse party: Fluckinger Complex, at 4800 Airport Way S (about a mile and a half past the old Rainier Brewery--now with the green Tully's symbol--on Airport Way S); all ages, $6.

DEAD MOON, eXBeSTFRIeNDS, VALENTINE KILLERS
(Graceland) Fred Lee once shot a bear that was threatening his family when they lived up in the wild Yukon of Canada. He's from Tacoma and Toody is from Portland. Andrew says his birthplace is "Earth." Dead Moon is one of the truly inspiring things about the music scene here. The band just radiates that indefinable Northwest magic that gives you perspective in the rain and a love of being outside in the mud and cold while you drink beer. I mean, Fred and Toody are grandparents, but they still tour and rock and make killer songs. And they've been married for more than 30 years, for God's sake. JUAN-CARLOS RODRIGUEZ

EEK-A-MOUSE
(Bohemian) Ripton Hylton, better known as Eek-A-Mouse, has always relied on showmanship more than overwhelming musicality. That quality is a blessing now that house reggae no longer tickles music executives like it used to. In these lean times, Eek-A-Mouse's stage presence, humor, and quick, lyrical toasts will get him booked at clubs for as long as he wants, even if he has lost a step. Violence, earthquakes, and a bit of pestilence in the restrooms may keep you from Pioneer Square most evenings, but don't give up on Eek-A-Mouse on Friday night. NATHAN THORNBURGH

PEPE DELUXE, RAINER TRUBY
(Nation) Gotta love those Finnish folk. Last year, they produced two of our more fascinating artists, Vadislav Delay and Pepe Deluxe. While Vadislav played the glitch- and ambient-based techno, Pepe Deluxe took on all forms with bold originality, winning tons of praise from European press. Musically, Pepe Deluxe marries a slew of styles, ranging from hiphop and big beat to jazz and psychedelic rock, all brought to fruition on the U.S. debut record, Super Sound. On the jazzier end of things comes Rainer Truby. With his seven Future Sound of Jazz compilations, he tapped into up-and-coming beat-makers with a strong love of jazz, making the tunes palatable for the dance floor. Along with Kruder & Dorfmeister and Jazzanova, these kingpins lead the way for the downbeat set abroad and, well, here. Rainer's last DJ set at the Baltic Room was a smooth affair, an educational set of sorts, mixing everything from jazz to two-step (garage). Tonight's performance should be no different. F. VENTURA-PENA

KULTUR SHOCK, CORNUCOPIA
(Sit & Spin) You know, it's not easy for a band like Kultur Shock to distinguish itself from the hordes of Balkan funk-folk bands in Seattle, but these musicians manage. A feature write-up in The Seattle Times, a coveted Music Bio interview in The Stranger: These are heady times for lead singer Gino Srdjan Yevdjevich and company. And mainstream Seattle may not believe it yet, but Kultur Shock's brand of music, inspired by war and sung in three toothy languages, is much cooler than most of the hipster music generated at the Sit & Spin. Cornucopia, on the other hand, is an exception to the shitty hipster rule--the band is hip, sure, but like the boys of Kultur Shock, the members of Cornucopia can really play their instruments. NATHAN THORNBURGH

MAKTUB, DIAMOND FIST WERNY
(EMP) Spearhead's post-WTO-riot soul train brought together the most amazing mix of smelly anarchists, free-loving hippies, and burly steel workers that I have ever seen. We weary and red-eyed comrades shared a touching bout of booty-shaking bliss that surely was cosmic. Maktub kicks out that same type of tight and soulful funk that can get the most jaded of asses wiggling. From the Marvin Gaye soul of the title track to the haunting blues of "Dichotomy," singer Reggie Watts' amazing range and inspired improvisation positively floats over the band's infectious groove on its self-released Subtle Ways. The live show is even better. NATE LEVIN

TAHITI 80, POSEUR
(Crocodile) Tahiti 80 may be a bunch of dorky French guys, but we still love them. See Stranger Suggests.

CURSIVE, DAMIEN JURADO, RAFT OF DEAD MONKEYS
(Graceland) Seeing Damien Jurado is like sitting down alone with a familiar, favorite novel. No surprises, just the pleasures of a serious and articulate mind reflecting somberly on the pulse of things. On his too-rare rock numbers he achieves a driving, edgy vibe that sounds like Bruce Springsteen fronting the Gang of Four (that's good, by the way). Rehearsals for Departure and Ghost of David (both on Sub Pop) are the kinds of records with which you have a relationship all the richer for their slow unfolding across years. GRANT COGSWELL

THE JUNGLE BROTHERS, DONALD GLAUDE, MICHAEL WILLIAMS
(Showbox) In the bygone age of X hats and "It's a Black Thing" T-shirts that forced whites like me into intricate analyses of whiteness, the Jungle Brothers were of the Native Tongues camp (see also Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, Black Sheep) that offered an alternative. They were explicitly Afro-centric, but in the form of songs like "Acknowledge Your Own History," as opposed to, say, Public Enemy's claim that whites had a "Fear of a Black Planet." In 2001, no rap makes me analyze my whiteness in any real way, and the palatability of the Jungle Brothers crossed the line into sheer fluff with last year's release, V.I.P. The album is dancy and cheery, more fit for C89's radio playlist than as a centerpiece of social dialogue. But this is the moralizing force of my own nostalgia; the truth is that they can put on a fantastic show, which is the greatest of all the hiphop virtues. They might not pack a wallop for your mind, but through all their stages they have become masters of their craft. BRIAN GOEDDE

THE SPECTACLE, THE GET DOWN SYNDROME, THE DIAPERS
(Crocodile) Both times I've seen the Get Down Syndrome the two-piece knocked me on my keister with cocky garage rock that made me feel very cool and punk rock on the inside. Foxy Rachel Rudnick plays a teensy, makeshift drum kit, shakes her hips, and "whoops it up" with garagey panache. The Diapers, featuring members of the A-Frames, boast remarkably well-dressed frontmen who trade off vocals above a smart, driving, avant-sounding rock that gives respiration to the tradition of good, artful punk. This show will be as cool and sexy as Rosie Perez's nipple in the opening scene of Do the Right Thing. JEFF DeROCHE

MOGWAI
(Showbox) "Churning crests of noisy, white-hot fury." Grrrrrr. See preview this issue.