Seattle Symphony Presents Beethoven's Ninth Symphony
(Benaroya Hall) Hum along to "Ode to Joy" and more in a performance led by the Oregon Symphony Orchestra's Carlos Kalmar. The Ninth, which runs 74 minutes, is reputed to be the reason for the invention of the compact disc, because it wouldn't fit on a single side of any record or cassette. JEN GRAVES See also Stranger Suggests.
Corrections House, Wrekmeister Harmonies, Ardent Vein
(Highline) Which band are you showing up for tonight? The weird avant-metal all-star side project featuring Sanford Parker (Nachtmystium, Twilight) and Bruce Lamont (Yakuza, Bloodiest)? Or... the weird avant-metal all-star side project featuring Sanford Parker and Bruce Lamont? Same diff—it's safe to assume that the crossover of members between Corrections House and Wrekmeister Harmonies parallels a crossover of fanbases. But really, the bands operate in different creative spheres. Corrections House (also featuring members of Eyehategod and Neurosis) offer condensed chunks of mechanized noise that borrow as much from early industrial acts as it does from their full-time projects. Wrekmeister Harmonies, on the other hand, is basically a symphony of Chicago underground-metal musicians conducted by JR Robinson that weaves ambient noise and minimalist classical elements into one grand distorted crescendo. BRIAN COOK
Warm White, MANE, Thee Samedi
(Heartland) "Recorded in TJ's basement with a milk jug" read the credits to Thee Samedi's Corn Musk Sessions, recorded earlier this year. That, in a nutshell, captures the Seattle quartet's casual, low-as-hell-fidelity approach to garage punk. Thee Samedi are working in those sodden trenches dug by the Stooges, the Sonics, Birthday Party, and the Cramps, but they exude some real tight-/ripped-jeans danger, and chances are they'd hurt you in a brawl. Thee Samedi's concise songs riff hard and spray shrapnel in familiar patterns, and vocalist Noah Fowler yelps like a guy who regularly scares his therapist. DAVE SEGAL
Fly Moon Royalty, Fresh Espresso, Future Shock
(Neumos) Tonight we celebrate Seattle duo Fly Moon Royalty's upcoming EP Unfinished Business (hot tip: Purchasing tickets to the show will get you an advance digital copy!). Vocalist Adra Boo's fierce/gorgeous set of pipes paired with DJ/producer Action Jackson's electro-soul sound have been known to make even the most awkward of crowds bust moves they were not aware they had in them. EMILY NOKES
Gabriel Mintz, Yves, Cold Guns
(Columbia City Theater) If you prefer your psychedelic rock to be slightly hushed and sounding like it's melting in slow motion, Seattle singer/guitarist Gabriel Mintz is your troubadour of gently altered senses. His new album, Future Wars (Versicolor), finds his androgynous, fragile vocals flowing over hypnotic, hymnlike compositions, guitars spangling and jangling in languid arcs. Many of the 13 tracks on Future Wars recall the early work of UK shoegaze psychonauts Verve (before legal pressure forced them to add "the" to their name), particularly their songs "Feel" and "A Man Called Sun." And that is very heady company, indeed. DAVE SEGAL
The Spits, Sex Crime, Wimps
(Chop Suey) What better way to spend your first Friday of 2014 than wylin' out with legendary local shit-kickers the Spits? The three-piece has been tearing up basements and venues around town for well over a decade now, but the energy at their shows hasn't aged a bit, and their straightforward power-chord punk songs still make you want to either grab your skateboard or jump off of a stage into a crowd of people. They're one of the increasingly rare bands that still have a vigor and genuine punk spirit that words seem to fail, that can't be duplicated in print or on the internet and needs to be experienced live. MIKE RAMOS See also Stranger Suggests.
Princess, Black Wizard, Wounded Giant
(Highline) Seattle's Princess had a hell of a 2013 between releasing their very solid and heavy, grunge-rooted metal EP Selling Sulphur and delivering what was quite possibly the loudest performance from any band at this year's Capitol Hill Block Party. The four-piece will headline this all-Northwest metal bill that also features the quite-psychedelic '70s-throwback stylings of Vancouver's Black Wizard and the bottom-dwelling doom riffage of locals Wounded Giant—readily on display throughout their crushing November release Lightning Medicine. Even those who think earplugs are for wusses might want to reconsider that stance for this one. MIKE RAMOS
Surfer Blood, the Wild Ones, Cock & Swan
(Sunset) Hailing from West Palm Beach, Florida, Surfer Blood are the indie-rock mainstay responsible for 2011's generally beloved Astro Coast and 2013's Gil Norton–produced follow-up, Pythons. Hailing from Portland, Oregon, the Wild Ones are a free-ranging pop band (one member of which is a classical composer) that draws on "everything from German techno to American R&B." And hailing from Seattle, Washington, Cock & Swan are the electronic music duo coming off a hot-poop year, with their 2013 record Secret Angles popping up on critics' lists on both sides of the Atlantic. Tonight, all three cram their gifts into the Sunset. DAVID SCHMADER
(Vito's) Wait, so your Aunt Lucille and Uncle John are still here for the holidays? Or maybe you grew some balls and want to call that special someone you met at that New Year's Eve party, to see if they'll meet you somewhere (romantic and cozy!) for a cocktail or a tasty bite? Vito's is the perfect place to impress your relatives (of any age) and a more perfect place to take a new date—especially when 94-year-old jazz legend Ruby Bishop is sitting at her spot at the piano. Bishop will instantly melt your heart when her fingers hit the ivories. Her piano playing channels greats like Duke Ellington, and she even can do a righteous impersonation of Louis Armstrong's voice. Just ask her! Politely. Don't forget you're talking to a real LADY. KELLY O
The worst week in the history of Seattle live music limps onward.
Tennis, Poor Moon
(Barboza) Husband/wife duo Tennis burst onto the Pitchfork-led indie-blog scene in 2010 with runaway hit "Marathon," a simplistic, lo-fi, retro-sounding song that was all jangly pop chords and warm girl-group "oohs" and "ahhs." Though catchy as hell, the song seemed flimsy, and the band's merit appeared to be bolstered mostly by a conveniently marketable backstory (which always generates buzz regardless of musical quality) about some yuppie dream-vacation sailing trip the couple had just gone on. Almost four years, two full-lengths, and an EP later, Tennis have yet to match "Marathon"—which was probably bitten from some obscure '60s cut anyway—but is probably a great band to see if you enjoy safe, "refined" things like tennis and sailing. MIKE RAMOS