Thursday 7/16

Elks Blood, Same-Sex Dictator, Wildildlife

(Chop Suey) See preview.

Karl Blau, Sue Quigley, Kris Orlowski

(Crocodile) Karl Blau gets around. Whether sharing his production prowess at K Records' analog-only Dub Narcotic studio or lending his soothing yet tension-tinted croon, vast field recordings, and charming guitar work to the likes of Mirah, the Microphones, Phil Elverum, Bret Lunsford, Laura Veirs, and Kimya Dawson, Blau is a Northwest staple. Beloved worldwide, his rich output (collab and solo) has been a centerpiece in the pop-folk scene here for over a decade (namely the Anacortes, Olympia, Bellingham loop). Blau's sound is tough to describe and a pleasure to experience—ranging from a drifting A. A. Milne–homaging concept album to popping African beats to next year's promised winter-blues-repelling dance band. Catch him tonight or at this weekend's What the Heck Fest before he heads out for another tour, this time with Mount Eerie and Lake. JESSE VERNON

Tiny Vipers

(Wall of Sound) Seattle singer/songwriter/guitaristTiny Vipers (aka Jesy Fortino) plays stark, loner/lunar folk songs that snuff out the archetypal campfire that for ages has signified folk music's communal spirit and implied camaraderie (or at least it has done so in the imaginations of urban music critics). Tiny Vipers' new album, Life on Earth, sounds even more bare-bones than her pretty, sparse Sub Pop debut, Hands Across the Void. In hindsight, that record is Fortino's pop move, albeit a forlornly midnight-blue one. Life on Earth, by contrast, is a more somber affair, imbued with a classical, severe beauty; it's a hushed, subliminal force of nature. Tiny Vipers' durable, dignified songs reward rapt listening. DAVE SEGAL

Friday 7/17

Tulsi, Specs One, Thee Satisfaction, DJ Able

(Chop Suey) Seattle rapper Tulsi celebrates the release of his new EP, Nothing to No None, tonight. Produced by local hiphop legend Specs One, the seven-track disc exudes Specs's unconventional aesthetics—weirdly strident strings, oddly metered piano, melancholy flutes, William S. Burroughs's deadpan voice, etc.—which keep heads nodding and wondering WTF? As an MC, Tulsi spins gripping scenarios in a plainspoken delivery. "Chewin' concrete till I spit the streets," he raps in "Denny and Dexter," a clever tale about drug dealing whose lyrics are built around several 206 street names. "Don't Relax" boosts the bulbous bass line from Frankie Goes to Hollywood's 1983 hit to mesmerizing effect. This is a strong addition to Tulsi's impressive canon. Look for his third full-length to drop in mid-October. DAVE SEGAL See also My Philosophy, page 43.

Social Distortion, Civet, the Strangers

(Showbox Sodo) If you ask me, only two bands in the world have never done wrong: the Pogues and Social Distortion. Maybe it's because they both have such striking vocals—there's only a mouthful of dead teeth separating Mike Ness's expressive, smoky wail from Shane MacGowan's liquored-up grumble—or maybe it's the way both bands take the storytelling aspects of traditional music and punk it up real good. More likely it's just because they're the bands that my deepest lizard brain most wants to hear when I'm really fucking drunk. The difference between the two bands: While MacGowan is doing drunken karaoke-style renditions of his past work, Ness keeps getting better and better as a singer. Booze up and get ready to have your head exploded. PAUL CONSTANT

The Decemberists, Andrew Bird, Blind Pilot

(Marymoor Park) Somewhere, underneath all the Edwardian waistcoats and ascots, Decemberists frontman Colin Meloy is just a terrifically talented singer and songwriter. But it can be hard to look past all the theatrical flair, the olde-timey time affectations, the dictionary-deep verbiage and encyclopedic references to world history or literature, the McSweeney's brand preciousness. I'm pretty sure that the band's arch kiss-off to L.A. ("Los Angeles, I'm Yours") is better than that of this week's other Monsters of Marymoor Indie Rock, Death Cab for Cutie ("Why You'd Want to Live Here"), but they rather lose me somewhere around the "languor on divans." Their more recent major-label work, such as this year's The Hazards of Love, adds to their already rich stock the wonky flavors of prog and classic rock, and it does little to ameliorate the band's dorky, academic dandyisms. Don't forget your opera glasses! ERIC GRANDY

Saturday 7/18

A-Trak, Rye Rye, Treasure Fingers, the Dowlz, OK Dave

(Chop Suey) See Stranger Suggests, and My Philosophy.

The Weakerthans, Jason Collett, Black Swedes

(Neumos) See Stranger Suggests.

Snoop Dogg, Slightly Stoopid, Stephen Marley, Mickey Avalon

(Gorge Amphitheatre) How can we not love the great Snoop Dogg? The man is a cultural force. He played a central role in launching gangsta rap and introducing pot to the hiphop world. His name is attached to three rap masterpieces. He has had a big impact on American English, for rizzle. He has made an impressive porn film (in one scene, he raps as a couple fucks on a pool table) and a number of TV shows (one of which is Doggy Fizzle Televizzle), and he promotes a variety of products sold in convenience stores in black neighborhoods (the only place you find his flavored rolling papers). Snoop Dogg is the essence of ghetto capitalism. CHARLES MUDEDE

Death Cab for Cutie, the New Pornographers, Ra Ra Riot

(Marymoor Park) When my mom's cell phone rings, it plays Death Cab for Cutie's "I Will Possess Your Heart." Narrow Stairs is one of her favorite records (along with the Mamma Mia! soundtrack); she sings along with every word, and my parents will be attending this concert. All this is funny, of course, because in 1999, when my friends and I would drive for hours to Bellingham or Kirkland or wherever to see the band play, my mom, who had no idea back then that Death Cab for Cutie were her favorite band, would quip, "Death Cab for Cutie?" and assume I was selling my soul to some kind of black-metal band. I see how it is—now that DCFC have sold at least a million records and reached number one on the Billboard charts, and singer Ben Gibbard is engaged to one of the hottest girls in Hollywood (Zooey Deschanel, natch), it's totally okay to like them. Whatever, Mom.MEGAN SELING

Eyes, Pink Mountain, Prehistoric Horse

(Josephine) Prehistoric Horse (David Grollman, Valerie Kuehne, and Lucio Menegon) are an improv trio from NYC and Oakland who generate spasmodic bursts of clatter and skree via cello, drums, and guitar, typically played in ways that would make conventional music teachers shudder in horror. Oakland quintet Pink Mountain—featuring Quasi's Sam Coomes and Gino Robair (sometimes drummer for Tom Waits)—create a truculent, thorny strain of noise rock that occasionally breaks out into something like an attractive melody that your jazz-lovin' math prof could whistle. But mostly it is majestically chaotic. Eyes: I tried to hear your music, but you proved to be too common and elusive to locate on the WWW. Band-name FAIL. DAVE SEGAL

tUnE-YaRdS, Alaskas, Dash

(Vera) Alaskas (aka Dillon James Rego) builds tension and excitement through cleverly interwoven chants and primal rhythms. It's like early Animal Collective's campfire-psychedelia fever dreams transposed to the Northwest. "Aggressive post-grime tribal punk" runs his MySpace description, and it's not too far off the mark. In a world lousy with young weirdos trying their weird hands at lo-fi, non-chartbound pop, tUnE-YaRdS (aka Merrill Garbus) hovers near the top of the heap. She takes untutored stabs at songcraft, with so-called mistakes enhancing the final product. Ukulele is tUnE-YaRdS' main instrument on her bananas debut album, BiRd-BrAiNs, but she warps it into a rusty, guitarlike tone. The stereo field is further filled with odd percussion—thigh slaps? Beer-bottle clacks? Tupperware spanks?—and vocals ranging from wild glossolalia to trad-femme pretty to husky. She's one of the few current singers evoking the United States of America's great Dorothy Moskowitz. DAVE SEGAL

Sunday 7/19

Death Cab for Cutie, the New Pornographers, Ra Ra Riot

(Marymoor Park) See Saturday.

Doomtree, Onry Ozzborn & the Gigantics, Abadawn

(Nectar) See My Philosophy.

No Doubt, Paramore

(White River Amphitheatre) Somehow, No Doubt have progressed from a failed ska-pop band to a monumentally successful ska-pop band (did you know that "Don't Speak"—which has as much to do with ska as my German grandfather does with reggae—was number one in the U.S. for four months?!) to kinda-sorta elder statesmen of rock, in that baffling, if-you-say-so Red Hot Chili Peppers kind of way. Another equally damning referent: the Black Eyed Peas, another band of shameless pop synthesizers blessed with a female singer who moonlights as an international solo superstar. Apparently touring in support of their (lousy) cover of Adam and the Ants' "Stand and Deliver" (as featured on Gossip Girl!), tonight No Doubt play the White River Amphitheatre. DAVID SCHMADER

Red Fang, Helms Alee, Black Eyes & Neckties

(Comet) I know that Helms Alee and Black Eyes & Neckties both rock. Hard. But I don't know anything about Red Fang. I know I love the big walrus-looking skull on their T-shirts and posters. And I know they're from Portland, and I've heard that they mix thrashy punk, old-skool hair metal, and Sabbath-esque sludge damn near perfectly. I hear they're really loud, really fast, and really heavy. Ooh, I think someone told me they've opened for the Saviours, the Sword, and the Melvins. You know, for me, I'd rather see a band that can be described like this play live before listening to the record. I think that's a good idea with really great metal bands. But what do I know? KELLY O

Monday 7/20

Three Mile Pilot, Optiganally Yours, Navigator vs. Navigator

(Neumos) Shame on me for not knowing about Three Mile Pilot prior to their recent reunion. I guess my excuse is my youth—the duo, featuring Zach Smith (aka Armistead Burwell Smith IV) of Pinback and Pall Jenkins of the Black Heart Procession, released their first record in 1992 when I was 12 and still hangin' tough with the New Kids on the Block. TMP broke up in 1998, just as I was graduating high school and embracing ska. No wonder they fell off my radar. Their songs have the same kind of melodies as heard in Pinback, but with a darker, haunted vibe that can get pretty intense (e.g., "Shang vs. Hanger"). There's a good chance this show will contain material from Three Mile Pilot's forthcoming record on Touch and Go. MEGAN SELING

Tuesday 7/21

Chin Chin, Down North

(Crocodile) Chin Chin come endorsed by esteemed indie hiphop label Definitive Jux and self-esteemed hiphop major Kanye West, but Jesus fucking Christ, these guys are terrible. Your dad would think this was wussy lounge music; your grandma gets funkier than these New Yorkers. Chin Chin cut their teeth playing as the house band for some kind of monthly open mic in Brooklyn, and it's clear that they're adept and agile musicians. But what they have in chops, they totally lack in taste (for a handy illustration, check out the cover of their new album, The Flashing, the Fancing, which pictures a hot-stepping honky against a black background in what looks like it should be the artwork for some cheesy late-night infomercial disco comp). The band take jazz, soul, funk, disco, and downtempo, then remove from those musical strains anything resembling a libidinous urge. Why do hiphoppers have to so consistently stan for such shit live music? ERIC GRANDY

Wednesday 7/22

Bonobo, SunTzu Sound

(Neumos) Bonobo (British producer Simon Green) comes to America with a large group to realize his Ninja Tune–ful downtempo funk. Seems like a recipe for losing huge stacks of money, but his labelmates the Herbaliser smashingly pulled it off earlier this year, so we're hopeful Mr. Green can follow suit. He'll flesh out his thoughtfully cinematic headnodics with cello, sax, violins, percussion, guitar, bass, drums, vocals, and keyboards. With three solid albums from which to draw, Bonobo on this tour should be an interesting experiment in transforming solo bedroom creations into a multipronged live organism. DAVE SEGAL

Cowboy Junkies, Son Volt

(Woodland Park Zoo) I first met the Cowboy Junkies back in 1988, when The Trinity Session landed and whisked 1,001 stoners off to a dust-bowl dreamland of a cappella work songs, Butoh-paced battered-wife laments and Elvis tributes, and one eternally satisfying Velvet Underground cover. This out-of-nowhere stunner proved to be a monochromatic masterpiece and a tough act to follow: While many other Cowboy Junkies records have since come down the pike, not one has come close to earning the widespread attention paid (and owed) to The Trinity Session. Instead, the ever-reliable CJs have released album after album of perfectly serviceable, Starbucks-friendly mood music, which will enjoy a perfect setting tonight at the grassy, loungy Woodland Park Zoo. DAVID SCHMADER See also Stranger Suggests.

Cheap Meat Suits, Bishop I, SP Squad, Subtext, Verse Omega

(Nectar) The fascinating thing about Spokane's Cheap Meat Suits is their commitment to a particular style of rap and sound. The duo's (Ocean and Quiz) raps are consistently icy and lifeless, and the beats dark and gothic. Track after track, the same tone, the same mood, the same mist over the graveyard. Occasionally a beautiful melody enters a track, but then it soon vanishes like something unreal. Even the rapper sounds disembodied; it's a cold soul rapping about a life, a place, a world that no longer exists. Finally, CMS's hiphop has the distinction (indeed, the virtue) of being very original. It's hard to find a match for their type of music. CHARLES MUDEDE