Hello friends! I'm on vacation this week, but check out this classic I Love Television™ from the archives, which features hilariously old and quaint pop-culture references and a good description of what is still one of my fave shows of all time. See ya next week!

—Humpy

It's a pretty ridiculous state of affairs when a show like Queer Eye for the Straight Guy is still considered to be one of the most subversive shows on television. Christ in a bag of cats, people! The show's not subversive if my grandma prefers Carson Kressley and his ugly belts to my twice-yearly visits to her rest home. (Old people can be sooooo petty!)

You wanna see subversive? I'll show you subversive! In just over a week, THE MOST SUBVERSIVE SHOW I'VE EVER SEEN will be returning for another slam-bang season—and it's called Wonder Showzen. [Which you can still watch on MTV's website, on DVD, or via YouTube clips—future Humpy.] In fact, this show is so subversive, I'm continually astonished it ever made it to TV. The mentally impaired brainchild of New Yorkers John Lee and Vernon Chatman—self-proclaimed artists, rock musicians, television executives, and sex-collective members—Wonder Showzen is a viciously hilarious antigovernment, antireligious screed disguised as a classic children's show... with naughty puppets.

Consider Sesame Street, Teletubbies, Zoom, or any number of kiddie shows you've come to know and love. Then take those same shows and add atheism, masturbation jokes, cannibalism, anarchy, and puppet-on-puppet oral sex, and you've got a pretty good starting point for Wonder Showzen. Hosting the show is a group of puppets led by a derby-wearing yellow furball named Chauncey who goes on a new adventure every week—which generally ends horribly. For example, in one episode, Chauncey and a (real) little girl named Kaitlin decide to take a rocket to outer space—and end up accidentally killing God (and then eating him). Whoops.

Wonder Showzen also specializes in live-action segments, featuring a cast of prepubescent kids in a variety of wildly un-PC situations—such as performing a musical dance tribute to slavery, or defining "love" as "something special between my dog's butt and the carpet." But my favorite segment is called "Beat Kids," featuring a 9-year-old child reporter named Trevor who interviews adults in a variety of occupations and pastimes. When Trevor visits the horse track, for example, he asks the trainers if slow horses "get sent to the chop suey factory." In another particularly offensive (and therefore hilarious) segment, he dresses up like Adolf Hitler and asks passersby, "What do you think is wrong with the youth of today?"

Much like the quickly paced kiddie shows it parodies, the jokes in Wonder Showzen are piled on fast and furious, with blink-and-you'll-miss-it gags involving pigs (what they call "Hindu kryptonite"), milking cows ("I saw my daddy doing that in the bathroom!"), and Abraham Lincoln ("It never occurred to me to shave my beard and free the slaves—though I have thought about shaving the slaves and freeing my beard!").

So did you hear that, Grandma?? That means it's time to dump Carson Kressley and check out the true "King of Subversive TV," Wonder Showzen. (And don't forget, Granny: There are no TVs in the chop suey factory!)

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4

10:00 FX THE BRIDGE
It’s a race against time when Marco’s family is targeted by the serial murderer! EEEEP!
10:00 FXX IT’S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA
Season premiere! Note: Sunny moves to FXX tonight, followed by season premieres of The League and Totally Biased with W. Kamau Bell. Hit fxx.com to find FXX on your tube!

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 5

10:00 FX WILFRED
Season finale! Could all this “talking dog” nonsense be because Ryan is actually DEAD? Let’s find out!

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 6

9:00 CW AMERICA’S NEXT TOP MODEL
Tonight’s episode: “The Girl Who’s Scared of Clowns.” Okay, Tyra… now you’re just being mean!
10:00 IFC COMEDY BANG! BANG!
Scott and Reggie welcome hilarious former SNL cast member Bill Hader!

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 7

10:00 NBC DO NO HARM
Series finale! A fond good-bye to the show that everyone watched once (at least the first 15 minutes of the first episode) and was never spoken of again.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 8

9:00 HBO BOARDWALK EMPIRE
Season premiere! Nucky licks his wounds after his battle with Gyp Rosetti and sends a (probably dead) dove of peace to Joe Masseria.
9:00 AMC BREAKING BAD
Walt returns to his original cook spot in the desert with a shovel. What will he be burying this time?

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 9

8:00 REELZ EXPLODING SUN
In this miniseries, a space shuttle on a collision course with the sun could mean “lights out” for the entire Earth and DO YOU GET IT HA-HA-HA-HAAAA!
8:00 NBC THE MILLION SECOND QUIZ
Debut! Contestants must answer trivia questions for 12 consecutive days and nights. Better stock up on cocaine!

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10

8:00 PBS AMERICAN MASTERS
A documentary portrait of women’s rights crusader and tennis star Billie Jean King!
10:00 FX SONS OF ANARCHY
Season premiere! Jax is trying to make the business more legitimate… but the crime, sex, and violence keeps pulling him back in!

Find me on Twitter @WmSteveHumphrey.

• After several decades spent pitching pennies in the royalty coffers of Counting Crows and Shawn Colvin, Seattle's warm 'n' folky radio station The Mountain 103.7 has abruptly gone off the air. In its place will be another Entercom-owned station aimed at appealing to "Seattle's modern women" via female-friendly adult contemporary with a rhythmic format.

• At the Snoop Dogg aka Snoop Lion show on Thursday, the Dizzle's backup dancers included a giant purple dog (with a very long dog dong) and an old man who looked to be pushing 80 years old.

• The battle between the members of the band Bristleburr—and, by extension, the fate of the nascent "fogtwang" genre as a whole—has gotten almost too complicated to explain, with the majority of squabbling moved behind a password-protected fan-run firewall. Still, we're piecing the story together. Look for the Bristleburr/fogtwang exposé in the forthcoming A&P fall arts quarterly.

• On Sunday at Bumbershoot, a couple left their baby unattended in a stroller outside the beer garden near a garbage pile. When a security guard asked around, a man ran out. When confronted, he said, "Don't tell me what to do with my baby!" What else happened at Bumbershoot this year, you ask? Well...

• Bumbershoot 2013 was the year of the super-sibling: The Deal sisters put on a fine Breeders performance, the McDonald brothers in Redd Kross had the finest hair in all of Bumbershoot, and the sisters Wilson impressed and then some with their Heart set at KeyArena.

• Zombies keyboardist Rod Argent is 68, but looks about 20 years younger. During his band's great Sunday night set, he repeatedly gave the two-thumbs-up gesture and clapped his hands over his head—mainly to show off his guns, it seemed.

• Crotchety old vocalist Eric Burdon of the Animals had the best onstage banter of Bumbershoot: "Fuck you, motherfucker!" This outburst was due to somebody in the crowd having the audacity to swat a beach ball in his direction. Burdon's viciousness may have been uncalled for, but his point remains airtight: Hitting a beach ball around during a concert is inane.

• Before Death Cab for Cutie took the stage to play Transatlanticism in its entirety, a young woman in the crowd started spinning around. She was quickly stopped by security and told she was not allowed to spin. Her spirit would not be dampened, though—soon, everyone around her started chanting "Let her spin!" When that failed, the crowd at the KeyArena started to do the wave, incorporating a spin move in her honor. Spin on, spin girl. Never stop.

• A female dressed as a zombie, to a man passing out religious pamphlets: "Does it look like I give a shit about Jesus?"

The word "angry" doesn't come up a whole lot in discussions of poetry. Which is not to say that poetry can't be angry—like a lot of rock stars, Sylvia Plath is remembered more for the tragic end of her story than for the fire that fueled her career—but that people prefer to acknowledge poetry when it's funny, or brilliant. Local author Shin Yu Pai's new collection, Aux Arcs (La Alameda Press, $18), is both funny and brilliant, but the quality that kept coming back to me as I read the book and then read it again was its anger.

Aux Arcs is in part about Pai's experience living in the Bible Belt (specifically, Texas and Arkansas), and the book is prickly with observations. The second poem in the book, "Main Street," is about a time when a cluster of white teenagers spit at Pai on the sidewalk, their "sputum" landing "inches/from my leather dress shoes." As she relates the story of the disrespectful teenagers to her partner, Pai draws a line directly from those teenagers to her neighbors, who are "proud to wag/the Southern Cross/displays we bristle/against & those which/we resign ourselves to." Some other things in Aux Arcs that arouse Pai's ire: wastefulness, tainted infant formula that sickens hundreds of thousands of children, the aftermath of the Tiananmen Square massacre, the white Southern inventor who came up with a fish-gutting machine called an "iron chink" explicitly to put Chinese immigrants out of work, the fact that female sushi chefs are still discriminated against (because, allegedly, "the core temperature/of a woman's palms aren't quite suited/to sushi production").

This is not anger disguised by metaphor, or leavened by ironic distance. Pai witnesses and hears about injustices, and she becomes outraged, the same way you or I would. She turns that outrage into art. Sometimes, her poems feel more like journalism, as when she visits a homeless encampment tucked underneath an interstate. They're all living in cars—Pai notes that "condensation fogging windshields is a tell-tale sign" that a car is being lived in. And she meets a woman who "stows her cat's ashes beneath a seat." These people living out of their cars are the underbelly of the city, the poor and forgotten, who put the lie to that unquestioned Southern pride that Pai rails against elsewhere in the book.

The book is obsessed with the things that most people don't see. Pai admires the beauty of "night monks" performing an evening prayer while "on the other side of campus:/Tristan Taormino, feminist/pornographer draws a record/crowd of students in a talk/on polyamory, swinging/& sex-positive culture." She alone appreciates the spiritual beauty of the monks, while everyone else is nearby being titillated and shocked and aroused. She sees crops left out to rot and blood spilled in a protest, and imagines the lives that could be saved by both. Pai imagines the lonely municipal back rooms of communist China:

Heavenly Peace:
Chairman Mao's visage
wheatpasted & restored

after every incident
of disfigurement, depleting
a storeroom depot

stuffed full
w/ stock
replicas

There's an irresistible connection between Pai's passion for the unseen and her raging against injustice, of course. Advocating for the unnoticed is one of the greatest callings a writer can answer. That she decided to focus her advocacy through poetry adds another level of injustice—people just don't read poetry the way they would, say, a blog—but Pai responds to that with her knack for bringing out the beauty in a poem. In the excerpt above, her lack of patience for the little words, using "w/" and "&" instead of spelling out prepositions and conjunctions, indicates her desire for the reader to cut directly to what matters. Pai's knack for finding exactly the right word, and then positioning each word just so around the page, guides her reader through each poem easily. Cut as they are from sheets of pure red rage, Pai stitches her words into something undeniably beautiful.

AUSTRA BEAT AROUND THE (KATE) BUSH

During a summer afternoon at 2011's Capitol Hill Block Party, I staggered into the sauna known as Neumos and encountered Austra, a female-dominated Canadian group who were singing the heaven out of emotionally fraught, goth-inflected electronic tunes—while busting graceful, fluid moves. What a pleasant surprise amid the indie-rock hegemony of that day. In a Line Out review of that performance, I wrote that Austra came off "like three Kate Bushes if they were recording for 4AD circa 1984." Now with their latest album, Olympia, Austra come close to exuding the grandeur of Zola Jesus. This isn't really a dance record as much as it is a showcase for Austra's chilly, gorgeous compositional skills and vocal dramaturgy. They're a class act. With Diana. Neumos, 8 pm, $17, 21+.

TOTAL LIFE ASCENDS TO THE DRONE

Love or hate avant-rock anti-stars Godspeed You! Black Emperor, you have to respect their choice to open for them on this tour: Total Life. The solo project of Growing guitarist Kevin Doria, Total Life is a rising force on the international power-electronics/drone circuit. He wowed the crowd at this year's Debacle Fest and has released two excellent records for the great labels Debacle (Bender/Drifter) and Important (Radiator). Both albums feature epic, powerful blasts of third-ear-expanding drones that possess a meditative quality, despite the massive generator-like hum spuming forth. There's something about the rasping tones and relentless intensity of Total Life's music that makes me think it's the logical successor to the transcendently prickly ambient music of Fripp & Eno's (No Pussyfooting). Showbox Sodo, 8 pm, $25 adv/$28 DOS, all ages.

PREFUSE 73'S DISPERSED HIPHOP MUTATIONS

Prefuse 73 was once the golden boy of IDM/radical instrumental hiphop—until Flying Lotus barged in and swiped most of his glory. Prefuse (Guillermo Scott Herren) has been relatively quiet lately; his last album, The Only She Chapters, came out in 2011. That work found him retreating from his trademark hyper-rhythmic disjunctions and plying a more melodic approach, bolstered by several collabs with female vocalists (the late Trish Keenan, Zola Jesus, Niki Randa, etc.). It's kind of a lost gem in Prefuse's catalog, which spikes with some of the most intoxicating mutations of hiphop by an American producer from the last decade. His ability to translate his baffling beat science on record to the live stage has been inconsistent; the best Prefuse shows I've seen have happened when he brings a full band. Fingers crossed. With Theoretics and IG88. Crocodile, 8 pm, $15, 21+.

Last fall, a prominent Seattle pot lawyer named Jeffrey Steinborn predicted doom for Initiative 502, the ballot measure that legalized marijuana in Washington State: "I truly believe that when this law passes, a legal challenge by the Feds will pretty much void all of it," he said. Steinborn's point was that, even though he supported legalizing marijuana, the measure would overstep Washington State's authority by attempting to license pot farms and pot stores. Not only would federal prosecutors sue our state, he believed, the initiative would be "a law enforcement sting in plain sight" for anyone who tried to open a pot business.

That argument made for bizarre bedfellows. Other pot activists picked up Steinborn's rallying cry, with one organization calling the initiative a "house of cards in a windstorm." A passel of former federal antidrug officials made this argument their primary talking point in a conference call with reporters last fall, in which they urged the president to oppose the initiative in Washington and a similar measure in Colorado. "Federal law, the US Constitution, and the US Supreme Court decisions say that this cannot be done because federal law preempts state law," said former DEA administrator Peter Bensinger at the time.

In addition to legalizing personal possession of marijuana, the initiatives were written in a way that would replace the illicit pot market with a legal one—thereby ending the need to arrest dealers and growers (which pot activists like), while also cutting off cash to gangs that profit from illegal pot sales (which antidrug officials like). But these ambitious initiatives could clash with the federal Controlled Substances Act, meaning that the greatest strength of a fully fledged replacement for the drug war—a regulatory model that cuts crime, raises taxes, and gets dealers off the street—would also be its greatest weakness in federal court.

So what happened when voters in Washington State and Colorado handily passed both initiatives last November? How did the Feds actually respond when state officials began a rule-making process this year to license pot farms, certify distributors, and let pot stores open? We finally got the answer last Thursday, when President Obama and Attorney General Eric Holder announced that they would let the initiatives stand. That alone was stunning news, and before we move on, let's just pause to appreciate it: Entrepreneurs in Washington and Colorado will be growing large-scale recreational marijuana farms by next year, and adults will be buying pot in stores.

This is a real thing that is happening.

Under presidents Nixon, Carter, Reagan, Clinton, Bush, and Bush junior, pot busts more than doubled and then doubled again. The FBI reported 853,000 pot busts nationwide in the year 2010 alone—a year when pot arrests accounted for 52 percent of all drug arrests. That is, most of the drug war on US soil was about busting people for pot (disproportionately racial minorities). The White House drug czar's office has also spent years fighting attempts to legalize marijuana, most recently opposing initiatives in California and Nevada, with a deluge of threats that federal law would preempt any state reforms. But now, President Obama has grabbed the steering wheel and taken America on a hairpin turn.

By standing back and letting Washington and Colorado implement these new laws, Obama has declared that the US drug war is not mandatory. If a state can present a comprehensive legal framework as an alternative—an alternative to the abstinence-only model—the president is saying, in essence, he'll let the states try it.

States can opt out of the drug war, in other words.

This is radical.

The federal government has espoused only one message for decades when it comes to recreational drugs: You can never use them. And for decades, every state was required to fall in line.

But at least for this administration, the president will formally defer to the states on drug policy, much the way the federal government now defers to states on marriage equality. So last week's news is about more than just two states and two pot initiatives. Defying the expectations of lawyers and antidrug hawks, this president will now let the states replace the drug war with something entirely new.

"If you step back, we're talking about ending the war on drugs, and the federal government has given a green light to the states to try different approaches," says Alison Holcomb, a lawyer who works for the ACLU of Washington and drafted Initiative 502, which contained exactly that strict framework for marijuana that the Feds have tacitly endorsed. "That is much bigger than legalizing marijuana in Washington and Colorado."

But Obama has a few caveats, of course. On the phone with the governors of Colorado and Washington, AG Holder explained the US Justice Department would not sue Washington and Colorado for preempting the federal Controlled Substances Act, provided that the states do two things: (1) strictly enforce their own laws that regulate the pot market, and (2) abide by eight federal conditions. The weightiest of those conditions are preventing pot from leaking outside state borders, not allowing unregulated cannabis commerce, and banning access for minors. Those are admittedly tall orders. But what wasn't in those conditions stands out dramatically. Holder didn't tell states to prevent massive regulated pot farms, to ban wholesale marijuana distribution, or to prohibit storefronts selling marijuana just like bottles of wine. Those are also major violations of federal law—technically—but the Feds are, stunningly, groovy with them if the farms, distribution, and sales are done in compliance with state laws.

After the talk with Holder, Washington State governor Jay Inslee explained his understanding of the deal in a press conference: "If you are following Washington State law and following these eight rules, and our state follows them as well, we are going to have a successful program here—and successful business," he said.

This signals a deliberate decision about who is in charge of large-scale drug enforcement. "The thrust is that they will allow the state of Washington to be the principal law-enforcement agent in this regard," Inslee said. That is, for the first time, the president and head of the US Department of Justice have chosen to hand over the reins on major, controversial drug-control policy to the states.

(A quick aside about medical marijuana: Under Obama, the Feds have raided hundreds of medical marijuana cooperatives, mostly those that don't comply with state guidelines. Still, the vast majority of patients, growers, and cooperatives have not been busted. Most of them do business without a lick of penalty. The difference in this case is that medical marijuana is a much smaller market than recreational marijuana, and medical marijuana has a much higher level of public support. This time around, the pot in question has no pretense of medical need.)

To catch up with the new decree for recreational pot, Deputy Attorney General James Cole emphasized state control last Thursday in a memo to federal prosecutors about how to handle prosecutions in "jurisdictions that have legalized marijuana in some form." While the memo says prosecutors can bust offenders at their discretion (a boilerplate caveat), Cole essentially instructed prosecutors to butt out if states have their own "strong and effective regulatory and enforcement systems." Cole added that even large-scale marijuana businesses—marijuana agriculture, essentially—would not be a priority if conducted in compliance with the state guidelines.

So, if the Obama administration is handing over the reins to the states, where can those states go with it? Holcomb, the ACLU lawyer, says that courts, treatment centers, and communities can begin crafting new policy. "And we should not be shy about doing it."

In my opinion, this could extend to states decriminalizing hard drugs, counties diverting hard-drug dealers into treatment programs instead of jail, or cities opening supervised-injection sites for heroin users—all basic reforms that many have feared could clash with federal law. Or even more simply, this tells dozens of other states that they can pass their own legalization initiatives.

So why would Obama open this floodgate?

First, there's no guarantee that a federal challenge of state pot laws would win in court. State bureaucrats issuing licenses and enforcing rules for the industry doesn't necessarily create a so-called positive conflict with federal drug laws (state employees would not necessarily be handling the marijuana).

But second, Obama's decision seems even more tactical than legal. The purported goals of the drug war have been to reduce access to kids, cut off profits to organized crime, and make streets safer—but the drug war has been a renowned failure at achieving those goals. Kids can buy pot at school, cartels are getting rich, and drug-related violence is commonplace enough to become banal. A damning Rasmussen poll released last November found that only 7 percent of American adults think we are winning the war on drugs, 82 percent say were are losing it, and 12 percent didn't know.

Colorado and Washington essentially forced the federal government's hand to see who has a better proposal. The states have contended that they can implement a tight regulatory framework that will more effectively reduce violence and drug abuse. And as a result, the Feds folded. It was an unprecedented admission that the White House is paralyzed in its drug-war straitjacket, the federal drug war failed, and they are ready to work in tandem with states that have more flexibility.

Of course, if Washington's and Colorado's legal weed starts showing up in California, if kids start buying pot at the stores in significant numbers, or if people with licenses are running shady profit deals outside the regulatory scheme, you can be sure the Department of Justice will seek an injunction against the states to shut this down. They still may not win, but they will have grounds to try.

This was a political gift to Obama. He's a liberal, ultimately. And as our first black president, he wants ineffective drug laws dismantled as a means toward racial justice and economic stability. But he needed it dismantled by someone else.

Zooming out to look at the drug war internationally, the US has been breathing down the necks of other countries to stop them from legalizing marijuana, too. I called the cell phone of Ethan Nadelmann, director of the Drug Policy Alliance, a preeminent authority on drug strategy in the US and abroad, as he was sitting in a car driving down a narrow, winding road in Jamaica between Kingston and Negril. He'd spent the day before in conference with members of Jamaica's past and current cabinet, and members from dueling political parties, to talk about legalizing ganja. He said some were uneasy about it; a few years ago when the issue came up, the US ambassador made imposing phone calls.

"To the extent that they are no longer scared of the call from the ambassador or of losing trade preference, to the extent that other countries feel less intimidated, I think this announcement today is significant internationally," Nadelmann said. "State Department officials have no credibility to criticize marijuana reform in other countries when the US is leading the way on marijuana law reform."

DROPPING BOMBSHELLS

Smell that? No, not THAT. This: the bittersweet twinge of fall singing upon the breeze. Bitter! Sweet! And tragic as fuck-all. It's always so damn depressing to kiss another summer good-bye, I know you understand. And what a summer! Red Dresses, Jinkx Monsoonings, cabarets, Cabernets, drag brunches, gay cruises (tee-hee), sexy, sweaty, near-naked Nark events, and so forth. But take heart! Don't stop believin'! (Hold on to that feelin', damn it! HOLD ON TO IT!) Summer isn't in the pine box yet, and this very weekend is veritably fudge-packed with fabulosity. Tonight, for instance, brings us a fistful of burlesque and performance artistes known collectively as the Atomic Bombshells. Yes, burlesque. Yes, as in fancy ladies taking their clothes off! I KNOW! On paper, it might seem a bit peculiar—if not downright, if you'll pardon the expression, queer—for a bunch of big fucking queers to invest attention in such booby shenanigans. THAT'S MADNESS! They have to be seen to be believed. You will recognize beloved names like Kitten LaRue and Lou Henry Hoover (recently gay married, you know, in the most spectacular ceremony) as well as designer/burlesque savant Jamie Von Stratton and more, and they are all fresh off their East Coast tour to bring their bare-skinned magic to us. One weekend only! Columbia City Theater, 9 pm, $22 adv/$25 DOS, 21+.

JULIA'S DRAG BRUNCH PREMIERES

Speaking of drag brunches (weren't we just?): They've certainly become something of a BIG FUCKING THING, haven't they? The TITS that is Mama has one, and our old friend SYLVIA's got hers out in Columbia City, too, and now the throbbing drag empire known as Julia's is tossing its feathered tiara into the drag brunch ring. Yes, Julia's, home of Le Faux, recently made super famous by, let's face it, JINKX MONSOON. (She's not there just now, calm down.) It's hosted by their newest Le Faux hostess, the delightful and effing gigantic Kristie Champagne. Julia's Queen of the Brunch Drag Show will have a new theme each week, and this is its inaugural run. Julia's on Broadway, 1:30 pm, $10, all ages.

Settle this for us, Dan? Which is the bigger ask: a one-time, once-in-a-lifetime threesome or regular (and elaborate) bondage sessions?

Ruling On Private Enquiry Required

Let me guess: Your partner is into bondage, ROPER, and you're not. But you've been doing the hard work of tying him/her/some-other-point-along-the-gender-spectrum up for years... and the partner you've gone to great lengths to indulge (and restrain) regards your request for a once-in-a-lifetime threesome as too much to ask of him/her/SOPATGS.

My ruling: Regular and intense bondage sessions are the bigger ask in terms of time and effort—particularly if I guessed wrong, ROPER, and you're the person who's getting tied up and bondage isn't your thing—but a threesome, even just one, is a bigger ask emotionally for most people. While the former requires patience and endurance, the latter requires revisiting feelings about monogamy, sharing your partner with another person, etc. A smaller ask in terms of time and effort, yes, but a higher hurdle in fee-fee terms.

I am a single hetero male. I had a female FWB for several months. She started dating a new guy, and he asked that she stop talking to me. That seems like a red flag. If he'd asked that we stop having sex, that would be one thing, but asking her to completely end the friendship seems like a warning sign of a controller. Am I overreacting? Should I say anything to her?

Can't Understand Lover's Loss

Isolating a romantic partner from her family and friends is a red flag—that's a classic abuser move—but asking a girl you've just started dating to cut off a friend she's been fucking for months isn't necessarily an abuser move. If he's asking her to cut off non-FWB friends and family members in addition to you, CULL, then it's a red flag and you should speak up. But if it's only you, CULL, then it's garden-variety insecurity on the new BF's part. Let your ex-FWB know that you hope you can reestablish your friendship once her new BF is feeling more secure or her BF is out of the picture—whichever comes first.

Hetero, 44, female. I cannot orgasm when I have been drinking. But oh, baby, I orgasm fast and hard when I am sober. Why? Also, what is a bad mama jama? I have always wanted to know.

Where Did O Go?

Shakespeare diagnosed your problem centuries ago: Boozing "provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance." As for "bad mama jama," WDOG, I wasn't familiar with the expression—first guess: a Martin Lawrence comedy about a male FBI agent who goes undercover as the first black woman to edit the Journal of the American Medical Association—but the Google tells me it's a song about something or other.

My boyfriend and I have been having lots of problems. I am way too critical, and he has "erectile dysfunction," aka issues getting and staying hard. But I recently discovered that he can get hard in an instant by licking my feet or using them to masturbate! This is great! He is finally opening up sexually! I want to explore this with him and let him know that his sexuality is a beautiful thing. But I can't find information on the internet on how to support him. Advice?

Truly Over Erotic Slump

Your boyfriend doesn't have "erectile dysfunction," TOES, and never did. Your BF, like millions of other men who are presumed to have ED, simply wasn't doing the things that turn him on. Now that he is—now that your feet are in play—he doesn't have any issues getting and staying hard. And you don't need the internet, TOES. You already have everything you need to support your boyfriend: the shit in your shoes (your lovely feet) and the shit between your ears (your supportive, sex-positive attitude). Have fun.

At my 50th birthday party, my older brother announced to everyone—including my new wife, our parents, and his teenage son—that I used to wear women's clothes. I was humiliated and deeply hurt. I wanted to punch him and tell all his secrets. But I didn't. Now I am planning to humiliate him on a special occasion of his. Childish, I know, but what else can I do to save face?

Devastated In Denver

You could've saved face in the moment by laughing and saying something like this: "Yeah, I was quite the little pervert back then, bro, but weren't we all at that age?" Your parents, your new wife, your brother's son, et al. would've imagined your brother doing something much, much worse than wearing women's clothes. But it's too late for that comeback. (Avoir l'esprit de l'escalier, right?) So my advice now: Pick a special, solemn occasion—your brother's anniversary party, midnight mass, his son's graduation—and show up in full fuckin' drag.

I'm a 33-year-old lesbian. A year ago, my partner and I split up for five months. During that time, I dated a girl while my partner engaged in multiple sexual relationships—all with men. We ended up getting back together. One problem keeps me from moving on: I am the only woman my partner has ever been with, and I can't stop thinking about the fact that she spent so much "quality time" with so many men while we were apart. I can't help but wonder if she's bi or straight! It also hurts that she feels like she can't be honest with me about what she likes or wants or needs sexually. I should mention that we are a little over a year into our "new" relationship and we never have sex. I initiated sex a week ago—the first time we've had sex in four months!—and she came, I didn't, and she didn't care. Any time I try to talk to her about it, she gets defensive and tells me that she is attracted to me and insists she doesn't like sex with guys. What do I do, Dan?

Fixing To Explode

Thought experiment: Let's pretend your girlfriend is a lesbian. (And why not? Your girlfriend does.) What kind of a lesbian GF is she? The kind of lesbian GF who doesn't fuck you much, sucks in bed on those rare occasions when she does fuck you, and manipulates you emotionally to keep you from calling her on her doesn't-fuck-you-much/sucks-in-bed-when-she-does bullshit. So, FTE, your GF—lesbian or not—is selfish and inconsiderate and she's making you miserable. DTMFA.

I'm a submissive gay boy into puppy play. And I have a huge crush on a certain sex-advice columnist and his crazy-hot husband. How do I get to be their owned puppy?

Boy After Real Kinks

Good news, BARK! Terry says we can get a puppy! But he says we'll have to get our puppy fixed. That's a big ask, I realize, but we wanna be responsible dog owners.

This week on the Savage Lovecast, Dan speaks with porn-industry director, performer, and producer Joanna Angel at savagelovecast.com.

mail@savagelove.net

@fakedansavage on Twitter

I think it was during the winter of 2008/2009, but it might have been the next winter. Back then, I was a hot mess. On the day our paths crossed, I had already been hospitalized for an overdose and subsequently released. I was on an epic combination of methadone, benzodiazepine, promethazine, and dextromethorphan. The first time I regained consciousness, I was restrained in a hospital bed with a breathing tube down my throat. I was a homeless junkie, and they quickly sent me on my merry way. My next memory is falling suddenly through darkness into icy water and thinking, "I must be close to the surface," then someone was pulling me to the shore. I looked around and realized I had fallen into Green Lake. Some kind soul had jumped into that icy water and saved my sorry ass. I didn't feel any gratitude. I just felt cold. Then his female companion gave me her coat and they called an ambulance for me. I was a really awful person back then, so I didn't even bother to say thank you to anyone. But I want to now. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to turn my life around and become a decent person. Thank you for literally everything.

—Anonymous

MONDAY, AUGUST 26 This week of assaults on the eyes and humorless dictators gets off to a depressing start in Billings, Montana, with news that a high-school teacher convicted of raping a 14-year-old female student would only serve one month in jail for his crime. In 2008, Stacey Dean Rambold, 54, was first charged with three felony counts of sexual intercourse without consent after the teen told a church counselor that she'd been sexually assaulted by a teacher, court documents reveal. But while the case was pending—and just a few weeks before her 17th birthday—the girl took her own life. As the Billings Gazette reports, prosecuting attorneys asked the judge to sentence Rambold to serve up to 20 years in prison, given that the victim's mother testified that her daughter's relationship with Rambold was a "major factor" in her suicide. But in explaining his insultingly lenient sentence, Montana district judge G. Todd Baugh said that he believed the teen was "older than her chronological age" and that she was "as much in control of the situation" as her middle-aged teacher. As the girl's mother would state after the sentencing, "I don't believe in justice anymore. She wasn't even old enough to get a driver's license."

•• In slightly redemptive news, Judge Baugh's comments will spark an immediate backlash, including protests, calls for his resignation, and requests that his sentence be reevaluated, reports the LA Times. On Wednesday, Baugh will apologize for his comments in an open letter to the Billings Gazette, conceding that they were "demeaning of all women." Then he'll go ahead and demean women some more by arguing that while a 14-year-old "obviously" cannot give consent, "I think that people have in mind that this was some violent, forcible, horrible rape... It was horrible enough as it is just given her age, but it wasn't this forcible beat-up rape."

TUESDAY, AUGUST 27 Shield your eyes, the week's about to get worse: Today brings reports that a 6-year-old Chinese boy's eyes were gouged out to sell on China's transplant black market. (Only about 10,000 out of 300,000 Chinese transplant candidates receive organs each year, mostly harvested from death-row prisoners—hence the thriving black market.) Police say the boy, who press reports call Binbin, was kidnapped and drugged while playing outside over the weekend. "His family found him covered in blood and crying in pain three to four hours later," reports the Daily Mail. "His eyes were found nearby with the corneas missing, police say, implying that an organ trafficker was behind the attack."

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 28 Today, Americans celebrated the 50th anniversary of the 1963 March on Washington and Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s iconic "I Have a Dream" speech, each in their own way. Labor groups across the country prepared for tomorrow's fast-food workers' strike; thousands of people, including presidents Barack Obama, Bill Clinton, and Jimmy Carter, gathered at the Lincoln Memorial to pay homage to King's call for equal rights for all people and a $2 minimum wage (which would be more than $15 today, adjusted for inflation); and thousands of other people who believe in neither of those things took the opportunity to post exceptionally racist garbage on the internet.

•• Also today, details from a British misconduct hearing revealed that an undercover Sunday Times of London reporter might've sexed up a dentist in order to persuade him to perform female genital mutilation on two young girls. The unnamed reporter originally approached the Somali-born dentist Omar Addow, 56, in his offices, reports the Independent, with a request that he ritualistically mutilate two girls, ages 10 and 13. The dentist was at first vocal about opposing the practice of female genital mutilation, reports say. Then things got weird: "When the reporter's stomach apparently started rumbling, Mr. Addow... examined her abdomen," states the Independent. "This led to him checking her breasts for abnormalities and performing a vaginal 'exploration' before inviting her back to his flat, it is claimed." Once at the flat, a hidden purse camera recorded the pair disappearing into the bedroom for an hour, after which the sarong-clad dentist was recorded on the handbag-cam saying, "I will do it for you. Between you, me and Allah only." Addow was subsequently arrested on suspicion of offenses contrary to the Female Genital Mutilation Act 2003, the Independent reports. "We did sex," the dentist said to police officers, which the reporter denied.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 29 The week continues with a horrifying dose of common sense: If you want to live a long and happy life, don't date dictators. Numerous media outlets today reported on a South Korean newspaper article alleging that Kim Jong-un's ex-girlfriend, Hyon Song-wol, was among a dozen well-known North Korean performers executed by firing squad for allegedly violating laws against pornography. Hyon, a singer with the Unhasu Orchestra, is said to have been arrested on August 17 with 11 others, the Telegraph reports. "All 12 were machine-gunned three days later, with other members of North Korea's most famous pop groups and their immediate families forced to watch," the paper states. "The onlookers were then sent to prison camps, victims of the regime's assumption of guilt by association." Condolences to everyone.

•• Speaking of dictators behaving badly, Russian artist Konstantin Altunin was forced to flee Russia and seek political asylum in France after his painting depicting President Vladimir Putin and Prime Minister Dmitry Medvedev in women's underwear was seized by police. "Altunin said he flew out of Russia as soon as he heard that the exhibition had been shut down on Tuesday evening and the organisers had been detained by police and questioned into the night," reports Yahoo! News. "He said that the police had described the exhibition at the newly opened Museum of the Authorities as extremist and he feared criminal charges."

FRIDAY, AUGUST 30 Here's another horrifying dose of common sense: Don't use your butt as a bank account—the returns are shitty. As the Smoking Gun reports today, a Tennessee woman was hospitalized and now faces criminal charges for allegedly stealing $5,000 in cash from her boyfriend and shoving it up her rectum for safekeeping. When 43-year-old Christie Black was confronted about the theft by her boyfriend, Black reportedly "admitted to him she'd wrapped it up and stuck it in her rectum," the police report states. She also became ill and "threw up a Saran wrapped baggy of partially dissolved pills." Black then attempted to retrieve the cash—which was rolled up in $100 denominations—using a toilet brush and a set of tongs. "She was bleeding severely and was transported to the Hawkins County ER," the police report states. "There the wad of money was removed and collected as evidence."

SATURDAY, AUGUST 31 Nothing happened today except an incredible performance by Heart at Bumbershoot.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 1 Nothing happened today.

Send hot tips to lastdays@thestranger.com and follow me on Twitter @ciennam.

Last Friday afternoon, an enforcement officer from the Washington State Liquor Control Board walked into a Kent medical cannabis dispensary and requested access to the secure areas of the building for "training purposes."

That was enough to concern the medical cannabis industry, which feverishly opposed last year's initiative to legalize cannabis for recreational use. Many pot shop owners, attorneys, and patients argued that Initiative 502 would lead to a crackdown on dispensaries, and they see this intrusion from the liquor board—which is supposed to regulate the recreational pot industry, but not the medical cannabis industry—as a confirmation of their worst suspicions.

"It was very surprising. We were definitely caught off guard," says Angie R., co-owner of Lady Buds in Kent, who asked that we not print her full last name. "We've had the local police in here before, and their approach is much different—we actually like them. When this woman walked in, her attitude was completely different, like she thought she was in charge."

Even liquor board director Rick Garza is shocked. "We have not instructed enforcement staff to do anything related to medical marijuana dispensaries, and as you probably know, we don't have authority over medical cannabis," he says. Agency officials have visited several dispensaries during the I-502 rule-making process, but officers should never stop by a medical pot shop uninvited, he emphasizes, saying the officer's decision was a personal one that is being investigated.

The timing couldn't be worse for the agency, Garza laments, given an announcement last week from the US Department of Justice saying states that legalize marijuana in some form must conform to strict standards. "Some people are paranoid that the liquor board is out to close down all the medical dispensaries, and that's just not the case," Garza stresses. "I'm a little embarrassed. It plays into the paranoia some people have."

The liquor board's chief of enforcement, Justin Nordhorn, has since contacted Lady Buds to apologize for the mishap, and Lady Buds seems pleased with the apology. "I was irate, pissed off, and everything else," says Angie. "I feel much better today."

Kale. There was so much kale. It wasn't marinated with lemon juice to weaken the thick, nearly-impossible-to-chew leaves, and the sprinkling of quinoa, edamame, carrot shreds, and almonds was pretty much lost in the intimidating mound of it. But I was undeterred—I was on a mission to tackle that salad—so I chewed. And chewed. And chewed some more. Yes, my jaw hurt afterward, and, yes, kale was stuck in my teeth for hours, but was it good? Indeed, it was.

Aside from the problematic kale-to- anything-else ratio, the worst part of the salad, served up at Evergreens (evergreens-salad.com), the new salad place downtown, was the name—Dooon't Stop... Be Veeegan. Oh, how I loathe "cute" menu names. Unfortunately, quite a few of the salads at Evergreens have them: the Cobbsby Show, with chicken, avocado, and bacon; Pearly Legal, with Gorgonzola and pear; and Blazin' Asian, with baby oranges, edamame, and sesame sticks.

But dumb names be damned: Evergreens is a refreshing addition to downtown Seattle's lunch options. The herbed-mint vinaigrette that attempted to cover Kale Mountain was flavorful—the shop takes pride in their house-made dressings that come in flavors like blueberry sriracha, roasted tomato, and orange ginger—and it was pretty cool to watch Evergreens' salad makers chop the ingredients with the double mezzaluna knife, a moon-shaped blade that rocked back and forth on the counter, cutting everything down to size.

If you're not a kale fan, there's something for you, too. Paul Constant tried the Walk the Flank and My Little Skinny Greek Salad (ugh, right?) and says both were good. He added, however, that neither could top the lime peanut salad at Seattle Salads (Madison Valley, seattlesalads.com), which is his favorite salad in the city.

And that's how The Stranger's salad discussion began.

Despite the fact that I've been a vegetarian for more than half my life, it wasn't until I was well into adulthood that I finally started paying attention to the salad section on menus. I thoughtlessly shunned it as a collection of non-meals that existed only for trophy wives who needed something to pick at while their dates talked about stock options. Then I had the fried green tomato salad at Alligator Soul, a now-defunct Creole restaurant in Everett.

Holy shit, that salad was wonderful.

A bed of greens topped with thick slices of corn-fried green tomatoes, all covered in perfectly spicy rémoulade—I miss that salad so much that sometimes my heart aches.

But after the heartbreak, I found the ability to love other salads. Many of them, in fact. Seattle is silly with wonderful salads!

The house salad at La Isla (Ballard and Redmond, laislacuisine.com) is simple, but so delicious—greens, carrots, green onions, and hunks of fresh mango all tossed with the restaurant's balsamic vinaigrette (or, if you'd like, rum dressing made with real rum). Get that with an empanadilla (I recommend the papa, with mashed potatoes and cheese!) or the gandules dip, and you're set.

And the Veggie Grill (South Lake Union and University Village, veggiegrill.com) is generally overpriced, but its Baja Fiesta salad, with papaya and avocado for $8.95, is worth it, and especially filling if you get it with grilled tempeh.

My colleagues and I are also quite taken with the taco salad at Rancho Bravo (Capitol Hill, facebook.com/ranchobravotacos), or, as Cienna Madrid calls it, the "salad trough." For about five bucks, you get a large, but not overwhelmingly so, pile of chopped romaine leaves, your choice of black or pinto beans, your choice of meat or veggie mixture, tomatoes, onions, a sprinkling of cotija cheese, and tortilla strips. They'll throw some avocado on there, too, for a dollar extra. It is worth it.

While I've yet to sample it myself, Dominic Holden says the "best salad in the universe" is the brown rice, tofu, and avocado salad at the Sunlight Cafe (Roosevelt, sunlightcafevegetarian.com), which, he says, comes with tahini dressing that "is made of god particles." Bethany Jean Clement is not shy about her feelings for the salade verte at Cafe Presse—she wrote a love letter to it in The Stranger a few years back ("The toasty nuttiness of your hazelnuts is all that your pretty, sweet leaves want; there's no argument, no dramatics, no longing for something imagined to be better... Here is the secret of your dressing that nobody knows: reduced orange juice").

Shockingly, Capitol Hill's Unicorn (unicornseattle.com), a palace of deep-fried wonders, also has a worthy contender in the city's salad game—it involves mixed greens, quinoa, and candied pecans, and Brendan Kiley eats it all the time.

Salads aren't just for herbivores, either. Anna Minard says the duck confit salad at the Latona Pub (Green Lake, 3pubs.com/latona.html)—it comes with a large serving of Mt. Townsend Creamery's Seastack cheese—is "worth killing over." Bait Shop (Capitol Hill, baitshopseattle.com) recently redid their fried chicken salad, so now it is "fucking awesome," says Christopher Frizzelle. And the next time you go to Pestle Rock (Ballard, pestlerock.com), get the yum larb isan, with pork and chicken, because Cienna Madrid says it's amazing.

I've come to love salads so much that sometimes at Pagliacci (everywhere, pagliacci.com), I skip the pizza and get a big bowl of the Pagliaccio salad, with garbanzo beans (a tragically underused ingredient), red pepper, kasseri cheese, and, if you'd like, salami. I even go to the Cheesecake Factory (downtown, thecheesecakefactory.com)—I know, I know!—to get the barbecue ranch chicken salad (hold the chicken), made with what appears to be a whole head of romaine chopped up with black beans, roasted corn, cucumber, avocado, tomatoes, fried onion strings, and a sweet barbecue ranch dressing. It might not be the best in town, but it's certainly the biggest, and, frankly, it's still a better deal than Whole Foods' "firstborn child per pound" salad bar.

POETS, PUPPETS, & FOLK: LOVEHOLDLETGO

There likely isn't a better way to kick in fall's incoming sunlessness than at Gas Works Park tonight. With the magical ukulele stories of Jordan O'Jordan and Vashon Island–rooted folk band Thorn & Shout's old-timey meditative sounds, spectators will be pleasantly displaced to a more isolated space, mentally and physically. LoveHoldLetGo, a touring queer poetry duo from Halifax, Nova Scotia, will also perform "Silence & the Earth," a "post-apocalyptic love story between the last person and the earth" as told through shadow puppetry, dialogue, and folk music. Gas Works Park, 7 pm.

MUHAMMADALI, LINDSEYS, WASTED USA, BAD FUTURE

Maybe you've been lucky enough to encounter the miraculously disturbing flyer for this show. If not, seek it out, and if your eyes are still intact, treat yourself with an evening of punk horror transcendence. Houston's funcore party outfit Muhammadali melodically bludgeon ears with sludgy, gnarled psych-punk riffs. Their Future Songs cassette continues where their excellent 2012 EP (both via Dirt Cult Records) left off, with a sound that's like "sticking [your] head in the garbage can." In a live setting, Muhammadali harness the hormone-addled fun into an adrenalized limb flurry. Also, with the LP release for Religious Sexts, the latest from local fuzz-punk band Lindseys, tonight has been perfectly designed to flail your any-aged teenager. Black Lodge, 9 pm.

WHY?, LOVERS WITHOUT BORDERS

Oakland-based avant-rap/indie-rock band WHY? have a half-jokey reverse-stalker thing going on. Their Golden Tickets EP—out September 17 on Joyful Noise—spotlights the band's super-fans, who they've also presumably internet stalked. "Murmurer" is an ode to one fan's OkCupid profile ("Dude's a constant worrier/And weren't it for his nervous nature/He'd by now be engaged"). Their staggeringly cheeky songs have the earnest nerve to tap into the uncomfortable, taking themselves seriously without being serious at all. Show up early for Lovers Without Borders, Karl Blau's latest project, which I described a few months back as "wistful avant-folk tunes for brooding." Prepare to get enchanted with effortlessly cast folk incantations. Super sigh! Neumos, 8 pm, $15.

You only get lost in Venice, Italy, if you have an idea of where you want to go. If you attempt focus. At this, Venice will rise up against you. Let's say your desired destination is this one restaurant named after assassins, or this other one where the politicians hang out and the fishes are prepared in the Venetian style. Or maybe your destination is this exhibition by Chinese artists that includes a full-scale replica of the high-speed commuter train that crashed and killed hundreds of people not long ago, with laundry lines of actual workers' clothes dangling above the train replica—not to be confused with that other exhibition by Chinese artists that includes so many artists that looking at it would be like trying to picture the whole of China at once inside your head, so why try.

Instead of whatever destination you have in mind, you will end up inside an old palace along a canal in which young Saudi artists are making jokes about passing for Mexicans while visiting the United States to avoid being apprehended as terrorists. Or you'll turn a corner, go up a flight of stairs decorated for a dead duke, and come upon Manet's sensational 1863 painting Olympia (hey, that is supposed to be in Paris, where it lives) hung next to Titian's sensational 1538 painting Venus d'Urbino (hey, that is supposed to be in Florence, where it lives). Is anything in the world not in Venice during biennale season? Being in Venice during biennale season is like being an infant convinced that what is not in view is gone forever and must be immediately mourned, and yet still not needing to mourn.

It's funny in an enjoyably doomed way, then, that this 55th edition of the Venice Biennale—lasting through November 24—is obsessed with focus, focused on obsession. There is one enormous central exhibition featuring artists from all over, this year organized by a curator named Massimiliano Gioni. He chose as his title The Encyclopedic Palace, which would suggest comprehensiveness, but rather his premise in selecting individual artists seems to be that they are people who have drilled very far down in their core sampling of whatever tiny piece of the universe they love. This involves artists who have cared more about their subject than about being artists.

They include Shakers and Haitian practitioners of voodoo, Catholics who make vows with objects rather than words, and mystic abstract philosopher painters who also happened to be women. Also, social outsiders drawing in soot and spit, or working in the medium of whatever obscenity means at that moment. Tantrics, eccentrics. Or they are artists with formal training who practice devotion to color and paint, or repetition, or YouTube. They are believers in something, all. The something is just not necessarily Art.

It's nice—sometimes nice-looking and sometimes good-feeling. It's both in art by Hilma af Klint, James Castle, Patrick Van Caeckenbergh, Robert Gober (dollhouses!), Jessica Jackson Hutchins (go, PDX!), Maria Lassnig, Sharon Hayes, Ron Nagle. Oh Ron Nagle, Ron Nagle, Ron Nagle, I have a crush on everything you make and want to cradle it. Seattle artists who would fit right in: Jeffry Mitchell, Matthew Offenbacher, Dawn Cerny, Maikoiyo Alley-Barnes, Sherry Markovitz, Matt Browning, Sol Hashemi. I've made my lists short, the better to google with.

One also feels, by turns, in The Encyclopedic Palace, that one more tantric repetitive quilted pile of obsessively arranged bits of aged found objects assembled into folksy vehicles or cosmic swirls or miniature houses, and someone might take a match to the whole damn thing. Maybe you. Sometimes one catches the rancid scent of "outsider-ish-looking inside art (there's more and more of this around)," as critic Holland Cotter put it.

Simple gestures mean more amid this noise, expense. Monument to a Monument is the exhibition sponsored by the Ukraine. It contains tiny portraits in matchboxes and sketches of one stray thought each by Gamlet Zinkovsky (one stray thought: "There is no dinner"). Actual big and heavy monuments appear only in flux, being demolished and rebuilt in video by Mykola Ridnyi or hovering spectrally in a holograph by Zhanna Kadyrova. An old man in a bunker—a former spy?—teaches a boy to load a weapon rapidly; to the man's dismay, the boy does not need the skill. The feeling is of a memorial being conducted underground.

Mary McCarthy starts her classic Venice travelogue by admitting that everything has already been said about Venice and yet no one can stop saying it. It's a place of gluttonous layering, a light-footed endless processional you see when new biennale art is shown in a place with old art already on its walls. The old art doesn't get taken down; it stays. Sometimes the lights on it are turned off, so it's there in shadow. Or the priceless Botticelli paintings and porcelain sculptures stay right where they are in the Palazzo Cini, the usual light fully on them, while they're joined by stacks of posters on the floors by the Angolan artist Edson Chagas. You can take a poster for two euros. Each poster is a photograph of debris arranged and shot on the streets of Angola's capital. You can see how popular each poster is by how low the stacks have gotten. Why is a single abandoned sneaker something people want to take home with them so much more than a wooden stool left in a mess of green vines like a barrette in a great head of hair? I took home the vines (plus two others, six euros total).

The last best thing I'll describe is the Romanian pavilion. (Other greats: Britain, Lebanon, and the Chinese show involving the commuter train, which is called Mind-Beating.) Nothing is inside the Romanian pavilion except five performers. They've picked a list of artworks from past Venice Biennales. They re-create these artworks by acting them out. I saw them perform Santiago Sierra's 2003 installation; Sierra blocked the entrance to his Spanish pavilion to anyone who didn't have a Spanish passport. The Romanians stood in a row across the entrance to their building. A man came by and wanted in. "Only if you have a Romanian passport," they said. He did not, and left. That bit of history reinterpreted, they disassembled the line and moved on to the next.

Wednesday 9/4

Austra, Diana

(Neumos) See Data Breaker.

LoveHoldLetGo, Thorn & Shout, Jordan O'Jordan, Beyon

(Gas Works Park) See Underage.

Titus Andronicus, And And And, Lost Boy

(Vera) The other day, comic artist Mitch Clem tweeted, "When I got into punk, the go-to not-punk-but-still-cool musicians were Tom Waits and Billy Bragg. Post-2K this changed to Springsteen. Lame." Now I fucking love me some Springsteen (sorry, Segal), but I completely agree that modern rock's adoration for the man has gotten out of control, and Titus Andronicus is just one more band to add to the list of examples. Hailing from New Jersey (of course), they play impassioned, anthemic rock with punk leanings, and it shamelessly carries Springsteen's working-class/growing-up-in-Jersey torch. That said, I do like TA—they're a good band to listen to when my mood or productivity needs a kick in the ass. But c'mon, guys, we get it, you like Springsteen. Now let's see what else those guitars can do. MEGAN SELING

Thursday 9/5

The Psychedelic Furs, the Burning of Rome

(Showbox at the Market) See Sound Check.

Cody ChesnuTT

(Neptune) See My Philosophy.

Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Total Life

(Showbox Sodo) Canadian post-rock collective Godspeed You! Black Emperor are really the only band I can think of whose 20-minute, creepy/somber instrumental songs are somehow not boring. In fact, those droning, buzzing, dense arrangements of artful destruction are rather fascinating and—especially on their 2012 album (the first one they'd released since 2002), 'Allelujah! Don't Bend! Ascend!—if not downright heartbreaking. Wear comfortable, non-name-brand shoes. EMILY NOKES See also Data Breaker.

Larry Coryell and the Eleventh House Reunion Band

(Jazz Alley) A jazz-fusion guitar master of the soulfully fiery and intricately melodic persuasion, Larry Coryell is reuniting with his vaunted Eleventh House Band for a four-night run at Jazz Alley. For these dates, he'll have drummer Alphonse Mouzon, trumpeter Randy Brecker, bassist Danny Trifan, and keyboardist Mike Mandel performing a repertoire that stands among the loftiest in '70s fusion circles. Coryell turned 70 in April, but footage of recent concerts finds him still in fleet-fingered and questing form. At their peak, the Eleventh House Band approached the virtuosity of Mahavishnu Orchestra; in 2013, they might not be on that level, but they're damn close. DAVE SEGAL

Shuggie Otis, Jessica Hernandez & the Deltas, Rippin Chicken

(Neumos) The first 21 seconds of Shuggie Otis's "Inspiration Information" transmit more pleasure and soulfulness than most artists' entire outputs. Thankfully for everyone with functioning ears, this oldster on the comeback trail has about a dozen other songs with which to inflate your sense of well-being. After reports of a disastrous 2001 tour, Shuggie's Triple Door set in April came off as surprisingly sterling. He and his big band revivified old favorites like "Strawberry Letter 23," "Aht Uh Mi Hed," and "Ice Cold Daydream," and displayed instrumental dexterity and exuberant soulfulness. If some of the newer material didn't sparkle as brilliantly as the '70s material, it still carried Otis's dazzling guitar showmanship. You should see the psychedelic-soul legend who turned down a 1974 job offer from the Rolling Stones. DAVE SEGAL

Friday 9/6

Love as Laughter, Memories, Sonny and the Sunsets

(Tractor) See Stranger Suggests.

Larry Coryell and the Eleventh House Reunion Band

(Jazz Alley) See Thursday.

Pollens, Tangerine, Land of Pines, Lures

(Comet) UPDATE: We learned after this week's paper had already gone to press that Pollens will not be playing this show. You have to see Pollens. You must. You need to witness, live and in person, what this Seattle sextet is capable of doing with their voices. Their songs are entrancing, percussion-driven pieces, but while they do use instruments, their voices—through harmonies and noises—play a huge part in the structure of the songs. Listen to "Helping Hand" and "Without Their Hands" at pollens.bandcamp.com to get a taste (the use of horn on the latter is so good, too!). Then get to the Comet to see it happen live—it's mesmerizing. MEGAN SELING

YOB, Brothers of the Sonic Cloth, Bell Witch

(Chop Suey) Tune low, play slow. This motto was obviously adopted early on by the likes of YOB, one of the heaviest-hitting bands of doom-bringers the Northwest has ever seen. That's no small feat, as the dreary weather of this region has inspired dozens upon dozens of distortion-driven sludge makers—two of which are opening this very same show. By the time YOB even hit the stage, there's a good chance your ears will be ringing, as both local openers Bell Witch and Brothers of the Sonic Cloth—the latter featuring the almighty Tad Doyle—have been known to crush brains, bongs, and basements with their collective sonic onslaught. KEVIN DIERS

Saturday 9/7

Prefuse 73, Theoretics, IG88

(Crocodile) See Data Breaker.

Muhammadali, Lindseys, Wasted USA, Bad Future

(Black Lodge) See Underage.

Larry Coryell and the Eleventh House Reunion Band

(Jazz Alley) See Thursday.

Bonnie "Prince" Billy, Mount Eerie

(Neptune) Trying to describe the music of Will Oldham (aka Bonnie "Prince" Billy) in 2013 is problematic. Throughout his 20-some-odd years of recording, Oldham has always favored a bucolic, warbled, and forlorn take on American underground rock. In his early years, his peers were poetic folk slackers like Silver Jews. In 2013, artists who similarly qualify as both "rustic" and "indie" raise red flags of phony old-timey pap. But c'mon, this is a guy who's recorded with both Johnny Cash and Tortoise; he's a goddamn American icon. And there's no better opener for tonight's concert than Phil Elverum (aka Mount Eerie)—Washington's own prolific and reclusive master of the haunting, lo-fi backwoods ballad. BRIAN COOK

Adam Ant & the Good, the Mad, & the Lovely Posse Tour

(Showbox at the Market) Adam Ant was one of the biggest, most flamboyant pop stars of '80s Britain—which is really saying something. He and his Ants pushed a gimmicky and ultra-catchy brand of Burundi beat–powered, glammy new wave, peaking with 1980's Kings of the Wild Frontier. (Dirk Wears White Sox is a close second.) Adam and guitarist/co-songwriter Marco Pirroni crafted earworms so distinctive that I can recall some of the hooks instantly after going more than 30 years between listens. Now 58 but looking superbly fit, Adam returns with a new album, Adam Ant Is the Blueblack Hussar in Marrying the Gunner's Daughter. Unlike many records by aging '80s musical icons, this one's pretty good. It sounds like it could be the successor to 1981's Prince Charming, with the camp element muted a bit. Recent set lists for this tour lean heavily on Adam's early output, which is a great idea. DAVE SEGAL

Ty Segall, Mike Donovan, Night Beats

(Neumos) If you're sad that Sic Alps broke up, dry your sweet scuzzy tears, because Mike Donovan is still here, and he basically was Sic Alps, so now we go right to the source of that messy brilliance. Donovan recently announced his solo album, titled Wot (to be released on Drag City in October), and the single is a loping, bluesy slide number called "New Fieldhand Bop"—on the 2:06 mark on the song's Soundcloud, a commenter wrote, "ROLLING FEEL OF A SPLIFF." Speaking of, trippy rippers Night Beats are also on the bill and their swirling new LP Sonic Bloom (out September 24) sounds like that part of the party where you take waaay too big a bong rip and cough until your throat is raw and then everything is the most fun until it's terrifying and then fun again. And, hey, the talented Ty Segall is in town—we always have a great time when he's around! EMILY NOKES

School of Rock Presents: The Music of Rage Against the Machine

(El Corazón) I made fun of an RATM cover band here one time, and while there were extenuating circumstances (4/20, Pioneer Square, energy drinks), I felt a little bad. I was the biggest RATM fan as a teenager (I stopped buying new clothes and started thrifting in case I ever met Zack De La Rocha, because I figured he'd be pretty judgmental about sweatshops. Jesus, teen me, get a grip), and I still have mad respect. Though rap rock is not an illustrious genre, little could better educate you about history and society than an adolescence spent memorizing lyrics to these albums. So come celebrate '90s-'00s hippiedom by screaming about rolling down Rodeo with a shotgun. ANNA MINARD

Sandrider, Grenades, Deadkill

(Comet) I almost typed a really bad sentence that went something like: "If you don't know who this headliner is, well, duuuuude, you better pull your head outta the sand!" Thankfully I didn't. For real, though, Seattle trio Sandrider take the best elements from metal, hardcore, and sludgy stoner rock, and put them through their own special kind of fun filter. Those who know local rock stalwarts Nat Damm and Jon Weisnewski (formerly of Akimbo) and Jess Roberts (ex–Ruby Doe), already know that even though they skillfully play the heaviest of heavy riffs (and straight up punish a set of drums), they still somehow make it kinda silly. This formula will always remind me of NW bands like Karp, in all the best of ways. KELLY O

Sunday 9/8

Larry Coryell and the Eleventh House Reunion Band

(Jazz Alley) See Thursday.

Sweet Dreams: The Music of Patsy Cline

(Triple Door) In this beloved annual tradition, a half-dozen-plus female vocalists from a variety of genres and backgrounds come together with an A-plus band to bring to life songs made famous by the late, great Patsy Cline. Among those on the 2013 roster: Kim Virant, Mackenzie Mercer, V. Contreras, Shane Tutmarc, Katy Cornell, and—swoon!—Star Anna, who can do things with a mile-wide Nashville melody that'll make your privates blush. DAVID SCHMADER

Jimmy Cliff, Ethan Tucker

(Neptune) The stunning thing about Jimmy Cliff, one of the most famous reggae crooners to ever walk the earth, is that he hit the big time 41 years ago (1972) with the cult movie The Harder They Come, and yet today he is not dead or even that old (65). Meaning, Cliff has been singing his hit songs ("Wonderful World, Beautiful People" "Many Rivers to Cross") for a very long time. No sane critic can call Cliff one of the greatest (in terms of talent) singers from that island of many great singers, but he certainly deserves credit for the sheer length of his career. True, he no longer makes new music (or at least new music you run to the store to buy or download from the web), but it's not a bad thing to become a living monument to your own recordings, a museum of yourself and the peaks you achieved in your youth. CHARLES MUDEDE

Saves the Day, Into It. Over It., Hostage Calm

(El Corazón) Back in the late '90s and early '00s, when Saves the Day were at the peak of their fame, their unapologetically emotional lyrics were constantly quoted on LiveJournal and Makeoutclub. Being young themselves, the band inadvertently became the voice of the emo generation that was just starting to figure out how to vocalize their feelings. Today, singer (and only original member) Chris Conley hasn't changed. The lyrics on "Ring Pop," the first single from the band's new self-titled record, feature the same juvenile simplicity—the chorus, for example, is "If it's the last thing that we do, we wanna sing along with you." The only thing different is the generation they're speaking to. Now their lyrics will be used as subtweets and Facebook statuses. Admittedly, I'm a sucker for nostalgia, but there is a tinge of sadness when a band doesn't appear to grow up at all in over a decade. MEGAN SELING

Monday 9/9

WHY?, Lovers Without Borders

(Neumos) See Underage.

High Wolf, Chicaloyoh, WOTT, DJ Explorateur, DJ Veins

(Electric Tea Garden) Mysterious Frenchman High Wolf assimilates the beatific and hypnotic elements of master musicians such as Terry Riley, Don Cherry, Jon Hassell, and Rapoon, and then repurposes them into new forms of sonic enlightenment. In his four-year career, High Wolf has released around 20 LPs, EPs, cassettes, and singles that merit extensive audiophile-headphone time. His new album, Kairos: Chronos, continues to flow down that sweet river of tonal healing, leaving a wake of dubby bass, trance-inducing hand-drum patterns, glistening, FX'd guitar, and spectral chants. It's as if the mystical-hippie vision of the '60s weren't a corny failure, but rather a beneficent reality. Tonight also marks the live debut of Seattle underground-rock supergroup WOTT (Unnatural Helpers' Dean Whitmore, Tom Ojendyk, Walls' Nick Turner, and Climax Golden Twins' Jeffery Taylor. [Disclosure: I helped to organize this show.] DAVE SEGAL

Tuesday 9/10

The Weeknd, Anna Lunoe, Banks

(Paramount) Abel Tesfaye—aka the Weeknd—put on a veritable clinic in how to make it in the music biz (ca. 2k12) with his House of Balloons/Thursday/Echoes of Silence free mixtape trilogy, released under a guise of faux-anonymity and cosigned by fellow Torontonian R&B/sort-of-rap star Drake. Though his initial buzz has waned, the Weeknd's first official album, Kiss Land, drops September 9, and judging from the title track and accompanying NSFW video, Tesfaye has either really gotten into this year's Tumblr-wave/VHS-Shinjuku aesthetic or he really enjoyed his last couple of Japanese tours. The track, however, fails to be as interesting as the visuals—simply jacking a beat used much better by Main Attrakionz (on their "Nothin' Gonna Change") and throwing another previously released beat from producer Silky Johnson's 2012 Hater of the Year mixtape in for the second half of the contrived seven-minute opus. Let's hope the band-backed live performance will outweigh the Weeknd's apparent lack of originality. MIKE RAMOS See also My Philosophy.