Thursday 1/27
War
(Jazz Alley) A brutally efficient hit-making machine in the 1970s, War laid down hot, heaping plates of saucy Latino funk and streetwise jazz rock while also penning a few sentimental summer jams perfect for family reunion picnics. They often summoned magic with a harmonica and a cowbell. Their greatest hits = party platinum. But the group ultimately split acrimoniously into two warring/touring factions: One goes by the Lowrider Band; the other, led by keyboardist Lonnie Jordan, got to keep the famous bellicose handle. It's usually dicey when a popular unit tries to soldier on years after its peak with one original member and hired hands, but War's best material is so strong and feel-goodly, this show should be worth the inevitable corny reminiscences from the stage and frustration over the rest of the creative core being absent. Through January 30. DAVE SEGAL
Tit Pig, Prison, Deadkill
(Funhouse) Whoa. Just look at this fuggin' lineup. If you read this paper, chances are you've already heard about Tit Pig's brand of devil-may-care hardcore. Prison are prodigious purveyors of Icky Baby–era Intelligence-style post-punk sonic overload. Deadkill are the forward-thinking punk outfit comprising Absolute Monarchs drummer Michael Stubz (here on guitar), Ricky Way (Book of Black Earth), ex-Himsa slayer Kirby Johnson, drummer Shawn Trudeau, and crazed-wacko frontman Bryan Krieger, who very likely has gotten you drunk in one of the 27 bars he works at. Haven't seen them yet, but "Oh God Help You!" and the few songs available on the internet suggest Deadkill are destined for greatness. This is the best lineup for local up-and-coming rabble- rousers so far this year. GRANT BRISSEY
Ra Ra Riot, Givers, Pepper Rabbit
(Neumos) If the term "chamber pop" gives you hives, Ra Ra Riot will soothe you into submission with their elegantly high-drama, melodic racket, rich with string-laden crescendos and hooks enough to prove they're not just in it for themselves. Touring behind their well-regarded 2010 Barsuk release The Orchard, Ra Ra Riot are breaking in a new drummer, but the graceful racket should remain the same. Opening the show: Louisiana's "Afrobeat/folk rock/Italian pop" band Givers, and California's "bossa nova/pop/psychedelic" duo Pepper Rabbit. DAVID SCHMADER
Friday 1/28
Gadi Mizrahi, Pezzner, Deepvibez
(Electric Tea Garden) See Data Breaker.
Fatal Lucciauno, the Absolute Monarchs, NighTraiN, Ripynt
(Comet) I try my best to catch everything that deserves attention and words of praise, but always something, somehow, someway manages to pass through the holes of my net. One such thing was Ripynt's 2009 album RIP: Re-Inventing Poetics, a full, direct, and charged work of Everett hiphop. Indeed, the album contains much of the same raw energy, at the level of the beats and raps, that made Framework's 2005 album Hello Worlda local classic. How in the world did I miss RIP? Maybe it was eclipsed by the year it appeared, 2009, the incredible year of Go! Machine and Shabazz Palaces. Whatever the case, I will not let Ripynt's next album pass me in silence. CHARLES MUDEDE
Say Hi, the Globes, Cataldo
(Neumos) Of course, tonight is all about Say Hi, who are celebrating the release of their seventh full-length, Um, Uh Oh (which is great). But this evening's show is also a chance to congratulate opening local band the Globes, who signed to Barsuk Records last October. It's easy to see why Barsuk scooped them up—their most recent EP, Sinter Songs, would impress fans of Menomena with its layers of wiry, haunting guitar work and echoing, dark vocals. But the Globes have proved in the past, on their self-titled EP, that they can also write striking indie-pop songs with big guitar riffs and memorable choruses. It's hard to decide which they do better, though, so let's hope they'll showcase both sides of their music repertoire on their debut full-length, due out this spring. MEGAN SELING See also album review.
Interpol, School of Seven Bells
(Showbox Sodo) I can distinctly remember the first time I heard Interpol. There was no outcry of Joy Division plagiarism (sorry, dudes, aside from the voice, I'm still not hearing it), no visual component to the band (the suits, the hair, DUDES, WHY THE HAIR?), just the bold, alluring cover of Turn on the Bright Lights and the hypnotic spin of "Untitled" and me at a listening station in the otherwise lifeless University District Cellophane Square (RIP). Musically, it's still a great album, even if it's marred by subsequent revelations of the band's other-than-musical missteps, including what colleague Michaelangelo Matos rightly noted as "the worst lyrics in rock music." Live, Interpol are competent if a little lackluster—or at least they were before Carlos Dengler left. Proceed at your own risk. GRANT BRISSEY
Saturday 1/29
The Last Slice of Butter, Nü Sensae, M. Women, Stickers
(Black Lodge) Local (literal) drum-and-bass duo the Last Slice of Butter have a rep as one of the loudest bands in the city, one whose awesomely articulate aggression got them permanently eighty-sixed from local venue/retail spot Cairo (the neighbors just couldn't take the decibels). Fortunately, the elusive duo—which hasn't played in six months, and might not play its hometown again for many, many more—is always welcome at the Black Lodge. The dank DIY spot has twice hosted the pairing of Last Slice and their Vancouver, BC, drum-and-bass brethren Nü Sensae, who boast their own brand of earsplitting excellence. That this night's lineup is faultless is unsurprising given that all the performers were hand-picked by Last Slice's unbelievable drummer, Travis Coster (also of psychonautic, knob-tweaking duo U). This could be your last chance for a while to get a "slice." JASON BAXTER
Is That Jazz? Festival: Nels Cline Singers, Triptet
(Chapel Performance Space) Nels Cline is a shredder. It may seem a little strange to use a descriptive noun typically reserved for the show-pony rock 'n' roll set on a free-jazz guitarist, but if you've ever seen Cline belt it out with the vocal-free improvisations of his Singers, or if you've caught Wilco since the accomplished axman joined their ranks, then you know the man is a force to be reckoned with—a frenetic master of the fretboard. As the latest guest of the ongoing Is That Jazz? Festival, Cline will occasionally foray into less traditional jazz mores. But as an accomplice of Thurston Moore and Mike Watt, Cline can be expected to inject a healthy dose of noise and distortion to the set. Satriani? Malmsteem? Whatever. Nels Cline is a true guitar god. BRIAN COOK
School of Rock Presents: Best of Bowie
(Chop Suey) Seattle's esteemed members of School of Rock devote their cumulative talents to the songbook of David Bowie, whose greatest hits—from "Space Oddity," "Changes," and "Suffragette City" to "TVC15," "Heroes," "Ashes to Ashes," and "Let's Dance"—provide a wider range of amazement than anyone else's. (Also, should the gathered musicians deign to replicate the ching-chongy intro to "China Girl" within the walls of Chop Suey, it will surely cause the place to explode from postironic racism.) Bonus: Proceeds from the evening go to the hunger-relief organization Teen Feed. DAVID SCHMADER
Babes for Boobs: Heiress, Great Falls, Countdown to Armageddon
(El Corazón) Not only will tonight feature killer sets by Heiress, Great Falls, and Countdown to Armageddon, but it's also the release party for the 2011 Babes for Boobs calendar, which was put together by local women who are raising money to walk in the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure event. Calendars of sexy ladies (and their boobs!) will be available for $15. MEGAN SELING
The Ghost of a Saber Tooth Tiger, Laura Gibson
(Crocodile) Maybe you've been wondering, "What's Sean Lennon been up to lately?" No? Well, I'll tell you anyway: The son of John and Yoko has a newish pop group called the Ghost of a Saber Tooth Tiger along with his vocalist/girlfriend Charlotte Kemp Muhl. On their latest album, Acoustic Sessions, GOASTT exude a gauzy charm—think the Beatles' "Girl"—with songs of wispy melodiousness. The couple often sing in unison, which should be more cloying than it is, but the sheer pleasantness (and pleasant sheerness) of their voices keeps things all mutedly sparkly. GOASTT's conventional, pretty, and intimate songs probably won't change anyone's life—Fab Four–style or even Ono-esquely—but they do offer some low-key pleasures. DAVE SEGAL
Sunday 1/30
Forgetters, Street Eaters
(Vera Project) See preview and Underage.
Led to Sea, Landon Longhill, Dreamcake
(Black Lodge) Listening to Led to Sea—the solo project of violist Alex Guy—evokes the enduring eerie beauty of the Pacific Northwest; you are lost in a brilliant sunset over the ocean, yet aware of the shadows that lurk in the old-growth forest behind you. Guy's playful and inviting voice dances with the versatility of the viola—shining with the crisp brightness of the violin and reaching the stirring depths of the cello—as she moves through romantic classical to dissonant experimental to toe-tapping folk. Guy has toured with Mirah and Jason Webley, and played with modern punk-jazz orchestra Degenerate Art Ensemble, and it shows; her latest album, Into the Darkening Sky, contains traces of these Northwest staples. Tonight's show is your last chance to catch Led to Sea before her European tour with Laura Veirs. JESSE VERNON
Monday 1/31
Wallpaper, the Dance Party, K.Flay
(Neumos) See Data Breaker.
Tuesday 2/1
Black Dub, Rocco Deluca
(Neumos) One wants to like Daniel Lanois more than one actually does. He's worked on great works such as Bob Dylan's Oh Mercy, Jon Hassell's Power Spot, and Brian Eno's On Land, Apollo, and Thursday Afternoon. The man clearly has a deft touch with producing albums that rely on spine-tingling atmospheres for their impact. But Lanois's own music often leaves one underwhelmed, including his latest project, Black Dub. Their self-titled full-length contains some of the most coffee-tabled-out dub I've ever heard. When Black Dub interpolate the chorus to Tenor Saw's unstoppable "Ring the Alarm" into, uh, "Ring the Alarm," it's embarrassingly pallid. Chris Whitley's daughter, Trixie, sings like an overemoting Indigo Girl and the compositions drift by with a beige tastefulness more suited for NPR bumper music than a Kingston sound clash. DAVE SEGAL
Wednesday 2/2
Diff'rent Flex: Samo Sound Boy, LOL Boys, Cedaa, DJ Darwin, Ill Cosby
(Baltic Room) See Data Breaker.
Meat Beat Manifesto
(El Corazón) See Stranger Suggests.
Underoath, Thursday, Animals as Leaders, A Skylit Drive
(Showbox Sodo) Christian metalcore darlings Underoath owe a big debt to Thursday. If it wasn't for the commercial success of Thursday's big "screamo" breakthrough album of 2001, Full Collapse, easing them into the sound, it's doubtful the palates of their thousands of obsessed fans would be so accepting of such noise. Remember, it was just two shorts years after the first big wave of mall screamo (not the real stuff, yo) that Underoath added a little sugar to their seven-minute-long blackened-metal-mosh anthems with "They're Only Chasing Safety," resulting in shorter and catchier songs that skyrocketed them to the cover of Alternative Press and the walls of adoring teenagers worldwide. While both bands are touring in support of new albums, it's these two records that will have the packed room of twentysomethings—including me—reminiscing on their failed high school relationships and bad haircuts of yesteryear. KEVIN DIERS
The Get Up Kids, Steel Train, River City Extension
(Neumos) It wasn't heartbreaking when the Get Up Kids, this century's emo-pop poster boys, broke up in 2005. Their later releases, On a Wire and Guilt Show, where they tried to prove they were "adult," were so boring compared to their impassioned and anthemic classics Four Minute Mile and Something to Write Home About that it likely would've been more painful to watch them keep going. Thankfully, the Get Up Kids come back nearly as strong as they started. Their new record, There Are Rules, revisits the hook-filled days of Something to Write Home About, but instead of crying about feelings in their practice space by way of flawless pop songs, now the Get Up Kids are getting their hands dirty. Aggressive, choppy guitar riffs replace the power chords and James Dewees's keyboard coats every song with a crunchy, spacey static (which was initially annoying, but grew to be one of my favorite characteristics of the album). They even get drunk and pick a fight in "Birmingham." The Get Up Kids have grown up (again), and this time around they don't make the mistake of thinking blasé adult-contemporary bullshit equals maturity. MEGAN SELING
