Wednesday 9/21

The Flaming Lips

(Puyallup Fair) See Stranger Suggests.

Smokey Brights, the Horde and the Harem, the Washover Fans

(Neumos) Things that make me really happy: mellifluous, multilayered harmony; clever piano in a rock song; music that can satisfy both the summer need for an outdoor-escapades soundtrack and the fall/winter need to soothe your inward-turning melancholy; watching local bands start to hit the medium-to-big time. If you like any or all of these things, prepare yourself to fall hard for the Horde and the Harem (like I have). They just keep getting bigger and better, so get in on it now: Go listen at www.hordeandtheharem.com, then catch them, with other local lovelies Smokey Brights and the Washover Fans, fresh off their recent-umbrella-festival high. ANNA MINARD

Airpocalypse, Ubik, the Fabulous Downey Brothers, Shitty Dudes

(Comet) It's the eternal question: How does an air band not suck? Seattle's Airpocalypse remain the living, breathing, sweating answer, not-sucking hard enough to win the Stranger Gong Show two years in a row and leave a big sweaty dent in America's Got Talent. Tonight, Airpocalypse headline a show at the Comet, and attendees should expect a face-slamming butt-rock pep rally. Another eternal question: Who does an air band get for an opener? Tonight's answer: psych-prog rockers Ubik, ramshackle local supergroup the Fabulous Downey Brothers (featuring members of Viodoch, Brite Futures, and Thought Bandit), and some shitty dudes who call themselves the Shitty Dudes. DAVID SCHMADER

Thursday 9/22

Sage Francis, the Metermaids, Sadistik

(Neumos) Rhode Island rapper Sage Francis has been at it for a decade and is now seven albums deep into his career. He has something of a cult following; many believe Sage is one of the best things that ever happened to hiphop. I will leave them to their opinion. But I will say this: I do not like rapping that borders on or crosses the border into slam poetry. Rap is not poetry. Rap is jive talking. If you make your rap too wordy or intellectually dense, it will collapse. Rap has its limits; it can only do so much. Sage does way too much with his raps. CHARLES MUDEDE See also Data Breaker.

Seattle Symphony

(Benaroya Hall) You are not going for the Beethoven. (Okay, so you are sort of going for the Beethoven, but you can get Beethoven anywhere.) What you are here for, inside these few particular hours, is to understand why new Seattle Symphony conductor Ludovic Morlot combined the Eroica, Frank Zappa, and a nonagenarian French composer named Henri Dutilleux. Nobody's ever heard of Dutilleux (unless you're that sort of person). But Morlot ranks him in artistic importance up near towering Frenchy Pierre Boulez; Boulez is the more devoted modernist, but here will be Dutilleux's totally atonal 1985 violin concerto. And the Zappa in question is a curious little bit of bombast (what else would it be?). So! Your job is to find, to feel, the links between the big deaf man, atonality delivered by a lover of the colorists Ravel and Debussy, and the dude whose first record was Freak Out! JEN GRAVES

Friday 9/23

Escalator Fest III: Midday Veil, Swahili, This Blinding Light, Lunar Grave, the Fruiting Bodies

(Lo-Fi) See preview.

Duran Duran

(Comcast Arena) When I was in sixth grade, I wrote an essay about why I loved Duran Duran. I put this essay—complete with colored-pencil drawings of Simon, John, Nick, and Roger—in an envelope and mailed it to a contest in Teen Beat magazine. I didn't win the big prize—something fucking CRAZY, like a chance to meet the band (OMG, OMG, OMG), but I did score a VHS copy of Duran Duran's 1984 tour documentary, Sing Blue Silver. I also cut out the page in the magazine that had my name printed next to the word "WINNER" and kept it in my little kid wallet for years. Duran Duran made lots of little girls feel like winners. They were more magical than any other of the boy bands, and better musicians. Are they still magical? (And are they $49-to-$150-a-seat magical?) I do not know. Something tells me there's gonna be a lot of middle-aged women with tears streaming down their faces in that audience. KELLY O

Kelli Schaefer, Golden Blondes, Blood Red Dancers, Lovesick Empire

(Comet) I have a very limited scope of lady singer-songwriters, so let me proceed in embarrassing myself with comparisons: Based on listening to the music on Kelli Schaefer's Bandcamp page for the last 90 minutes, I've been reminded of Aimee Mann's underrated 2002 full-length Lost in Space, and at times there are even some hints of Björk's voice, although Schaefer's singing and instrumentation are much more conventional than either of those artists'. GRANT BRISSEY

Active Child, Chad Valley

(Crocodile) The human body is 60 to 70 percent water. Perhaps that explains the timeless appeal of music that hovers in the permeable realm between liquid and solid, from Debussy's "La Mer" and the aqueous indie worlds of A. R. Kane and Arthur Russell to many of today's contemporary dream-pop purveyors. The gauzy electronics and woozy crooning of support act Chad Valley mine the musical sweet spot between Washed Out and James Blake. But the big attraction tonight is former Los Angeles choirboy Pat Grossi, aka Active Child, who sings in an ethereal head voice and plucks a mean harp, gilding his futuristic R&B with celestial light; his new album, You Are All I See, is a tall glass of club soda flecked with gold dust, shimmering in the afternoon sun. KURT B. REIGHLEY

Kultur Shock, Ziyan, Amir Beso

(Chop Suey) As the old saying goes, sometimes writing about music actually is like dancing about architecture: The written word just simply falls flat—or it fails outright. You have to actually experience Kultur Shock to get the full, mind-bending, blood-boiling outrageousness that this ragtag band of gypsy punks brings to the table—and especially to the stage. Fifteen years in, and they're the best they've ever been—a whirling dervish of displaced Eastern European romance, angst, intelligence, and humor leavened with a hearty dose of Western punk/rock/prog. Soul, passion, melody, sarcasm, headbanging, and, perhaps most importantly, fun collide expertly. I'll be spending my birthday celebrating with them. I urge you to join me. BARBARA MITCHELL

Saturday 9/24

James Blake, Teengirl Fantasy

(Showbox at the Market) See Data Breaker and Underage.

Carissa's Wierd, Royal Eyes, Mattheu Canvas

(Neumos) See Stranger Suggests.

Escalator Fest III: Fungal Abyss, Diminished Men, Rose Windows, Macrocosm, Ayahuasca Travellers

(Lo-Fi) See preview.

Lou Champagne LP Party

(Vermillion) See Data Breaker.

Kings Go Forth, Eldridge Gravy and the Court Supreme, DJ BlesOne

(Crocodile) Bumbershoot 2010: I was browsing Flatstock in the Fisher Pavilion. Had just scored a killer Ice Cube poster that I've still yet to frame. My lady was talking to me about something, but I suddenly couldn't concentrate because of the badass sounds emanating from the Fisher Green stage. I excused myself and literally ran to the lawn (admittedly not a long run), where I found Kings Go Forth—I had to ask a dozen people before I found out their name—absolutely killing shit. It sounded like Mandrill meets Tower of Power meets Earth, Wind & Fire meets the Mizell Brothers (sorry, I really thought so), and I was instantly smitten. If you don't have their album The Outsiders Are Back (released on Luaka Bop in 2010), you need to get on that, stat. They are the realest of deals in a world full of microwave-reheated soul/funk revivalism. LARRY MIZELL JR.

Return to Forever IV, Zappa Plays Zappa

(Paramount) It's gonna be a whirlwind of gray ponytails and paunches at Paramount tonight, as the region's prog-rock/fusion freaks converge to discuss Mothers of Invention and Chick Corea trivia and revel in the flamboyantly odd music of these revered legacy-bearers. Zappa Plays Zappa—led by Frank's deft ax-meister son Dweezil—are about as good as it gets for homages to iconoclastic, avant-rock guitar heroes. Let's hope they do "Return of the Son of Monster Magnet." Return to Forever IV (bah to that roman numeral) field a stellar lineup: Corea (keys), Lenny White (drums), Stan Clarke (bass), Jean-Luc Ponty (violin), and Frank Gambale (guitar). The New York Times' Jon Pareles described the live show as sounding "deliberately 1970s... [The] set roved widely, putting most pieces through multigenre transformations." Take that as a good omen. DAVE SEGAL

Sunday 9/25

Jonathan Richman, Tommy Larkins

(Tractor) If you're expecting to see the 60-year-old former Modern Lover, Jonathan Richman, acting like a punk, a genre he helped to inspire, you'll be sorely disappointed. He quit acting, er, sounding like that way back in the '80s. Nevertheless, Richman remains an inimitable songwriter and a sophisticate. His music's brattiness has been replaced by a beauty that's wildly eccentric and quietly refined. He might not sing "Roadrunner" or "Pablo Picasso"—two of the most recognizable Richman/Modern Lover anthems—but he will likely play acoustic guitar flawlessly while dancing around and singing fluently in English, French, Spanish, Italian, and Hebrew. Punk's not dead; it just changed its tune. KELLY O

Monday 9/26

Bon Iver, Other Lives

(Paramount) See Stranger Suggests.

Jonathan Richman, Tommy Larkins

(Tractor) See Sunday.

Qwazaar, Onry Ozzborn, Jewels Hunter, Nathan Wolfe

(Nectar) See My Philosophy.

Weedeater, Saviours, Bison, Fight Amp

(Highline) Every so often, a beastly sludge-monster arises from North Carolina's murky swamps in the form of Weedeater, a trio that plays heavy-ass stoner metal with a resonating groove thick enough to cloud the minds of even the most seasoned of doom wizards. Weedeater's riffs are thunderous, the vocals harsh, and the drumming minimalistically perfect. Early last year, infamous vocalist Dave "Dixie" Collins accidentally blew off his big toe with a shotgun, stalling the release of Jason... the Dragon, an album that, when finally released, showed the sludge scene that as many brain cells as these dudes may have lost, they still have the riffs. Oakland-based openers Saviours recently gifted our ears with their groove-laden fourth album, Death's Procession, which you'll appreciate if you like either Black Sabbath or bong rips—or both. KEVIN DIERS See also preview.

Tuesday 9/27

The Vacant Lots, Tomorrows Tulips

(Comet) Coming straight outta Burlington, Vermont, the Vacant Lots play textbook late-'60s psych rock: lots of distorted and backward-sounding guitar riffs, sitar-esque droning, stoned-chant vocals, and strategically placed maraca shaking. Singer Jared Artaud sometimes sounds like Iggy Pop channeled through Sonic Boom's intonations, creating a mildly angsty monotone effect (appropriately, the Lots have toured with Sonic's band, Spectrum). The Vacant Lots aren't innovative, but they excel at reanimating the garage-psych tropes that have fired millions of bands and fans' imaginations over the last 45 years or so. DAVE SEGAL

Twin Shadow, Diamond Rings

(Crocodile) The music of Twin Shadow (George Lewis Jr.) resembles Junior Boys' sensitive-guy bedroomtronica, which has roots in Depeche Mode, New Order, and Soft Cell's most introspective material. He's also something of a romantic crooner in the vein of Bryan Ferry and Morrissey, but without those icons' more sweeping dramatic range. With Twin Shadow's 2010 album, Forget (produced by Grizzly Bear's Chris Taylor), we're in the familiar territory of semi-danceable, '80s synth-pop revivalism, but done with heartfelt sincerity instead of neon-Ray-Ban'd irony. Lewis is obviously a scrupulous songwriter, hyperaware of the sonic signifiers that trigger nostalgic pangs in synthesizer fetishists with a weakness for fey-male-centric tunesmithery and understatedly glittery production techniques. DAVE SEGAL

Systems Officer, Phantom Works, Steradian

(Sunset) God's honest truth disclaimer: I have never knowingly listened to one minute of Three Mile Pilot. I have, however, spent many minutes listening to the hushed, infectious grooves of Pinback (mostly during college). Anyone who's heard Pinback will find Systems Officer, aka Armistead Burwell Smith IV, aka Zach Smith, aka bass player in Three Mile Pilot, aka one half of Pinback, to be compositionally very similar. But there was something so warm and enchanting about the combination of Smith IV/Smith/Officer/aka bass player in Three Mile Pilot/one half of Pinback and the other half of Pinback, Rob Crow (also a fake name, obvs), that's just missing here. GRANT BRISSEY