Saturday 9/19 Listings

2 : 30 Pm

The Montaghue Post
[GARAGE POP] Montaghue Post is the latest incarnation of Matt Brown's old band, Montauk Ghost. We've yet to hear the new version, but if it's anything like the Ghost, expect hooky, smart pop with just a touch of twang. As of last check-in, Brown was going it alone. CASEY JARMAN. RONTOMS.

3 Pm

Monarques
[ROCK] MFNW is always a coming-out party for a band or two, and Monarques is certainly still under wraps. The group, fronted by Josh Spacek of Portland pop outfit Oh Captain, My Captain, is a four-piece rock outfit that Bladen County Records' Matt Brown likens to Elvis Costello and Nick Lowe. Its MFNW appearance will be Monarques' second show. CASEY JARMAN. RONTOMS.

3 : 30 Pm

Radiant Silvergun
[WATTAGE] No, not the shoot-'em-up video game—the hometown power-pop troupe. Charles Westmorland belts like someone who's covered AC/DC more than a few times, and he does it well. The six-piece can set a blistering pace, the kind of chaotic rush of rock you imagine yourself motorcycling into. But there's a soft center to RS—a rich nougat of extended notes and peaceful pauses. One might call it mighty minimalism. MARK STOCK. RONTOMS.

4 Pm

Ages
[POP] In the annals of Portland music history, there are plenty of shoulda-beens. Pseudosix was one of those, making smart, adventurously orchestrated singalong pop. But we won't shed too many tears, because Perry's new adventure, Ages, is shaping up to be something just as special. Turning the amps down from 11 to seven or so, Ages has a more organic feel that—while in step with the folk-pop sound currently ruling Portland—stands out for its strong lyrics and elaborate compositions. RONTOMS.

Mariachi El Bronx
[HARDCORE, MARIACHI] The Bronx wants to confuse you. So let's go step by step here to debunk some common myths. Though the hardcore outfit's name is taken from a New York City borough, the Bronx is from Los Angeles, a base from which it's released three albums—all of which just say "The Bronx" on the cover—since 2003. And now that you've been thoroughly run around, the band will play two sets back to back to confuse you further. The first finds it performing as "Mariachi El Bronx" alongside some notable purveyors of traditional Mexican music. Now, one might assume Mariachi El Bronx would take the group's standard formula—unflinching melodic hardcore with punchy screamed vocals from frontman Matt Caughthran—and throw some horns into the mix. Not so! The new incarnation is an entirely different animal. Caughthran's lyrics feel modern, but the singer forgoes his usual hollering for some surprisingly sweet crooning. He isn't so bold as to deliver El Bronx's vocals en Español, but it's a night-and-day character change nonetheless. The resulting songs—alternately jokey and heartfelt—come out sort of like a less crass Sublime, had Nowell and company been influenced more by Mexico than Jamaica. Touring as a double feature is a bold move, and as of press time the fan reaction remained to be seen. What's clear is that there's no irony in the band's love of the mariachi form—they've gone to great lengths to work within a traditional form that they have a great respect for. Then, after a quick change of costume, the Bronx comes out swinging, punk as ever. CASEY JARMAN. WONDER BALLROOM: NIKE.

4 : 30 Pm

The Skinnyz
[THIN WHITE DUKES] Staggering an uncomplicated updating of the poppiest Iggy tunes, the Skinnyz pogo past the last three decades of rock with deceptively simple riffs, infectious beats and attitude to spare. Vocalist Mike Slavin met guitarist Jimmy Russell, bassist Scott Dewitt and drummer Dan Canty in Eugene five years back. The Portland boys (newly signed to Bladen County Records) finally released their debut in 2008, and continue to refine their sound toward an aggressively danceable bacchanal. JAY HORTON. RONTOMS.

5 Pm

Oh Captain, My Captain
[THEATRICAL POP] Is Portland favorite Oh Captain, My Captain really a pop group? With its catchy riffs, drum-line beats and endemic vocal melodies, the quintet knows its way around catchy songs. But the content veers dark, and there's an undeniable immediacy to every haunting word that bellows from Jesse Bettis' throat. Seldom has pop music been this enthralling, moving and intelligent—or this bloody catchy. The band understands that, often, pop and poetry can be tuned to the same key. AP KRYZA. RONTOMS.

5 : 30 Pm

Alan Singley & Pants Machine
[SUMMER SOUNDS] Few faces are more recognizable in Portland's thriving indie-rock scene than the smiling mug and thick glasses of Alan Singley. His music combines the immediacy of bedroom pop with a Bacharachian sense of melody and arrangement. Watching Singley grow from the loving lo-fi jangles of 2003 debut Oh, Salad Days to the lushly orchestrated new disc Feelin' Citrus has been a joy—in part because he's kept the same sense of wonder throughout his young career. CASEY JARMAN. RONTOMS.

The Bronx
See Mariachi El Bronx listing above. WONDER BALLROOM: NIKE.

6 Pm

Kurt Hagardorn
[ROOTSY FOLK] Bladen County Records' Kurt Hagardorn has become a local favorite, and there's a damn good reason for that. The Portlander's roots dip deep into the aquifer of Americana, and Hagardorn offers pleasantly nuanced folk that drifts dreamily through a medley of slide guitars and gentle strings as he lays down his tales. Hagardorn appeals to the basest of emotions through his serene and honest take on old-school country-based pop, but through his assured and understated vocal prowess, he also manages modern bliss. AP KRYZA. RONTOMS.

6 : 30 Pm

Autopilot Is for Lovers
[NORTHERN GOTHIC] Ignore the presumed whimsy of its name and the none-more-indie associations of vocalist Adrienne Hatkin and jack-of-all-instruments Paul Seely (both formerly of the Builders and the Butchers); Autopilot Is for Lovers' macabre balladry and klezmer-flecked party dirges resemble a genre all their own. While Hatkin's not afraid to unfurl slow-burning rockers, the Portland duo shines when the vocals and eclectic soundscapes intertwine for a damaged, singular grace. JAY HORTON. RONTOMS.

7 Pm

World's Greatest Ghosts
[GRUMBLE GRUMBLE] Hey kids, have you ever wondered what it would be like if Wolf Parade wrote a score for the Legend of Zelda? Only instead of basing it in primal riffs and Springsteen's earnest sentimentality, they play it with a joie de vivre that could only come from spending hours in an arcade where you can actually drink beer? World's Greatest Ghosts' debut album, No Magic, is possibly the most fun-sounding record to come out of PDX in a long time, a synth-rock wet dream that gets better with every listen. MICHAEL MANNHEIMER. BACKSPACE.

Defect Defect
[PDX PUNK CORNERSTONE] Anyone who's attended a reasonable amount of punk shows in Portland will have inevitably bumped into Defect Defect frontman Colin Grigson: His several bands perform constantly, he sets up shows for others, and one often finds him handing out fliers for future events. You're unlikely to meet a character more central to Portland's underground punk scene. After the demise of Grigson's celebrated former band, the Observers, Defect Defect may have taken a little time to gain momentum, but after releasing a couple of 7-inches and heading out on a West Coast tour with Autistic Youth, the band is now firmly established as a staple in the scene. DAVID ROBINSON. HAWTHORNE THEATRE.

J. Nicholas Allard
[ROAD MUSIC] The Big Apple is packed to the core with inspiration. Just ask Portland's J. Nicholas Allard, who took in the Empire City one summer weekend this year. In digesting the monstrous metropolis, he wrote songs more personal and heartfelt than anything he'd done prior. He sings with a scratchy throat not unlike Britt Daniel, albeit atop a smallish, folkier foundation. Think railcars, prairies and abandoned cabins. There's amazing strength in the void his music carves. MARK STOCK. RONTOMS.

Fucked Up
[BRAVE NEW WORLD] Back in the halcyon days of the early '80s, it's doubtful many punks ever thought that mixing hardcore and classical music was a good idea. Fucked Up of Ontario, Canada, takes the basic elements of hardcore—shouted, throaty vocals, rushing levels of noise faster than a speeding bullet, dogmatic politics—and run them through a blender filled with vodka and sandpaper. The resulting juxtaposition of guitar overdubs, violins and speed sounds like nothing else these days—and that's always a good thing. MICHAEL MANNHEIMER. WONDER BALLROOM: NIKE.

7 : 30 Pm

Y La Bamba
[SONGS OF FRIDA] A quintet swiftly assembled around the inimitable powers of imposing frontwoman Luz Elena Mendoza, Y La Bamba folk-rocks an evocative, undeniably combustible pastoralism owing to its singer's lyrical flights of fancy and loosely hinged vocal melodrama. Last year's demo collection, Alida St., traveled between the charismatic eccentricities of Devendra Banhart and secondhand Michoacán traditions to garner national praise, and the band's eagerly awaited sophomore release—produced by the Decemberists' Chris Funk—promises an even more fully realized vision. JAY HORTON. RONTOMS.

8 Pm

Diesto
[HEAVY AS HELL] Thick, dirty and covered in sludge, Portland's Diesto makes bludgeoning, hallucinatory metal that's heavy, trippy and obtuse all in one blast. It's a vicious, slow-moving sandstorm of noise that cascades over listeners—sometimes for up to 10 minutes—before ripping their flesh off. According to one quote from the press page of the band's website, it's music that'll make you "think you went to heaven and had a mud fight with God." Couldn't have said it better. MATTHEW SINGER.

ASH STREET SALOON.

Drug Rug
[MAGIC CARPET RIDE] Built around singer-songwriters Thomas Allen and Sarah Cronin's mutual love of inventive recording, '60s vinyl and, well, each other, Drug Rug threw away the lo-fi stoner aesthetic for recent sophomore release Paint the Fence Invisible. Newly expanded to a five-piece, the Massachusetts couple's band employs Beach Boys harmonies, Beatles-style melodic quirks and a supreme creative confidence for a richly textured pop fantasia, bending fave influences toward an approachably indie context. JAY HORTON. BACKSPACE.

The Brunettes
[SWEET KIWIS] These New Zealand indie-poppers marry the vintage sheen of Phil Spector's Wall of Sound with the tween impulses of the Pastels and the gleeful naiveté of the Vaselines. It's so enamored with handclaps, coed vocals and big, bright singalongs, you might think the Brunettes feel like one of those bands that were born in the wrong era. Then you realize the sophistication of the group's synthesizers, the refinement of its chamber arrangements and its surprisingly driving guitars could only be born of the new millennium. REBECCA RABER. BERBATI'S PAN.

Austin Lucas
[PUNK? WHAT PUNK?] When last year's Revival Tour brought the biggest country-inclined punk-rockers (Chuck Ragan, Tim Barry, Ben Nichols) into town, the "other fella" on the bill, Austin Lucas, couldn't help but stand out by virtue of obscurity. A large chap with a shit-eating grin perpetually plastered over his face, his appearance was a second distinction that night. But what set him apart most from the rest of the folk-punk crowd was his air of authenticity; Lucas is probably the only one of these characters who'd actually fit in on any genuine country/bluegrass bill. DAVID ROBINSON. CRYSTAL BALLROOM.

Yeah Great Fine
[OK SURE!] Portland's Yeah Great Fine is truly a band for these Obama'd times, though it's less a yes-we-can than a why-the-hell-not? Familiar tones combine in unfamiliar ways, but the result is almost never dissonant or disconnected. It's a basement party to which everyone's invited, loaded up with amps and iBooks. Casio-melancholia bumps uglies with Chicago-NYC post-rock bass, softly staccato vocal bursts and lilting Sam Prekop-esque croons go sunny; we'll call it the post-grad politics of dance, the new spirit of aisle-jumping. MATTHEW KORFHAGE. EAST END.

The Arrivals
[SPIT TAKE] Say it with me: SOUTH SIIIIIDE! Except you shout it sloppy, like you've had a couple of teeth knocked out in bar fights, like you're Pegboy with a speech impediment. The Arrivals—who've recently also picked up Paddy from old tour buddies the Dillinger Four as a member—come from Chicago's dirty school of pop punk, much more grimace-and-shout than beachside O.C. snarl and pose. MATTHEW KORFHAGE. HAWTHORNE THEATRE.

All Smiles
[REGROUP ROCK] When 1990s California rock icons Grandaddy called it quits in 2006, the sound of hearts breaking shook the music world like the Northridge earthquake. But wouldn't you know it? Grandaddy guitarist Jim Fairchild picked up his Central Valley roots, tossed them over his shoulder and replanted in the fertile soils of Portland. Now accompanied by Menomena's Danny Seim on the drums and often accompanied by Joe Plummer (Modest Mouse), Solon Bixler (Great Northern) and a slew of other veteran rock stars, Fairchild runs under the moniker All Smiles. With the same whispering tenor, sincere lyrics and inventive rock arrangements, Fairchild produces honest rock to the core—something to be all smiles about. WHITNEY HAWKE. MISSISSIPPI STUDIOS.

The Glib
[ZOMBIE REVIVAL] Do you like that classic sound? That…classic…sound? Massachusetts' the Glib slips around the post-Brit Invasion psych and pop landscape of the Zombies, David Bowie, Kinks, et al., with fluent ease. But the influences have been fuzzed over after all these decades, translated across late-'70s Ian Curtis disillusionment and '90s Dino Jr. broken-amp static into...what? Post-ironic sincerity, perhaps? But don't you just love that classic sound? MATTHEW KORFHAGE. RONTOMS.

Pretty Nice
[NEWER WAVE] This Boston trio makes jagged, manic rock that is neither pretty nor nice. But with a sneer (and the foggy vocals) stolen from a young Elvis Costello, the tense hooks of XTC and the choppy staccato rhythms of Devo, it is easily forgiven for the misnomer. Many other bands are captivated by similar surly proto-punk and barbed New Wave influences, but few infuse their own prickly tunes with such playful antagonism and Ritalin-deprived energy as these Hardly Art signees. REBECCA RABER. ROSELAND THEATER.

Dr. Loomis
[THRASH AND BURN] As thick-skinned and borderline brash as the Halloween character it's named after, this Portland metal quartet does to its onlookers what gasoline does to fire. Its farraginous free verse is flanked by pummeling guitar distortion and relentless, garage-style drumming. Scarier and less fictional than the movies, Dr. Loomis keeps hard rock alive in the Rose City. If lines for the headliners up your stress level, seek no other remedy. This is satisfaction by way of destruction. MARK STOCK. SATYRICON.

Jeff London
[PRODIGAL SON RETURNS] This former Portlander doesn't get out to this coast too often these days, having settled himself back into his native New York City. So to have the singer-songwriter gracing one of our stages—if only for one night—is cause for celebration. He has recorded his heartbroken, folk-tinged pop gems with many of our local favorites, including members of the Decemberists, Loch Lomond and Norfolk Western, which could mean an all-star backing band for his early evening set. ROBERT HAM. SLABTOWN.

Breakfast Mountain
[DANCE PARTY HIP-HOP] Breakfast Mountain has been lighting up house parties for a couple of years now, snowballing in both size and energy in the process. Though its primary orchestrator and originator Zach Osterlund began the project as an outlet to make hip-hop beats as a hobby, the group's recent PDX Pop Now! performance featured blistering live drums from Typhoon's Pieter Hilton atop Osterlund's beats, two full-time MCs and a vibe squad. That show was a wild, cacophonous display of pure youth energy. We expect more of it tonight. CASEY JARMAN. SOMEDAY LOUNGE.

8 : 30 Pm

Chaucer Barnes
[HIP-HOP POETRY] Copacrescent's Chaucer Barnes has emerged as one of Portland's most prolific MCs by adhering to a philosophy that many fake—he keeps it real. Socially conscious and spitting verses that range from slow to staccato, Barnes' rhymes pack an eloquent honesty about the realities of life without hip-hop's usual fronting. Flanked by live musicians who evoke the Roots by way of Medeski, Martin and Wood, Barnes is a highly animated stage presence who not only demands to be heard, he deserves it. AP KRYZA. JIMMY MAK'S.

8 : 45 Pm

Youth Group
[THE O.Z.] Best known on these shores for its Alphaville cover's inclusion on The O.C.—Youth Group, truly, is wasted on "Forever Young"—the Aussie band had already been captivating packed halls round its homeland for near a decade. Now joined by former Vines bassist-co-founder Patrick Matthews, Youth Group has a fourth album, The Night Is Ours, that features unending waves of measured melodicism and lightly chugging dreamscape dynamics upon which hypnotically dour, appealingly literary vocalist Toby Martin nimbly rides. JAY HORTON. ROSELAND.

9 Pm

Nether Regions
[STUMPCORE] Singer-bassist Joe Wickstrom co-founded local metal legends Anzio Bridgehead two decades ago, propelled his old band Ditchliquor till the last sip, taught at the School of Rock and (alongside Ditchliquor drummer Shawn Davis and local guitarists Tony Pacific and Todd Pidcock) now debuts latest outfit Nether Regions for us. Expect High on Fire-style burly psychedelia, guitar harmonics intertwining through surging doom, Wickstrom's West Coast Lemmy vocals and the latest onslaught of a Portland rawk warrior. JAY HORTON. ASH STREET SALOON.

The So So Glos
[BRIT-ISH] The So So Glos are not British, but they do a damn good impression. Playing the same jangly, angsty, Brit-variety rock as the Arctic Monkeys and the Kooks, this punky quartet has been blowing up its native Brooklyn DIY scene since first releasing its excellent self-titled full-length in 2007. What sets the So So Glos apart from its bratty punk-rock brethren is its subtle incorporation of electronic beats, which simultaneously give its tracks a sense of structure and encourage people to rock out with reckless abandon. WHITNEY HAWKE. BACKSPACE.

Avi Buffalo
[L.A. FOLK] Avi Buffalo is young. Like, they just graduated from high school. The folky Los Angeles foursome crafts meticulously orchestrated audio candy that your ears will scarf down before checking the calorie content because it's just so damn enticing. Since landing a coveted weekly residency at the Echo in Los Angeles, these talented rugrats have ridden the wave of national media attention garnered by frontman Avi Buffalo's high-pitched croon and the band's rock-solid compositions. Get ready to get folked up. WHITNEY HAWKE. BERBATI'S.

Richard Swift
[NAKED WILCO] Dear Richard Swift: When will you collaborate with Jamie Lidell or Sharon Jones? Your retro, soul-meets-alt-country style would fit hand in glove with the vocal stylings of a high-register front-person. This is to take nothing away from your own wonderfully rustic vocals, polished by performing in Quaker churches in your youth. Your close relationship with Wilco emanates from your many piano-vs.-guitar musical digressions. MARK STOCK. CRYSTAL BALLROOM.

Hill Country Revue
[SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY] Southern rock and gospel have always sat just one pew apart from each other, so hearing Hill Country Revue's revved-up soul shouldn't surprise even the most devoted fan on either side of the Mississippi. Formed by Cody Dickinson of North Mississippi Allstars in 2008, the young band takes rock's purest form—the blues—and updates it for the aughts, complete with skittering rhythms and ballsy, swampy riffs. If only all the blues sounded this triumphant. MICHAEL MANNHEIMER. DANTE'S.

Lords of Falconry
[AIN'T NO MOUNTAIN HIGH ENOUGH] Lords of Falconry is Steven Wray Lobdell, a local producer and onetime member of Faust who spends his spare time worshipping at the throne of the guitar. Recording for the Holy Mountain label, Lobdell most recently sat behind the board for lysergic-acid-rock outfit SubArachnoid Space's latest, Eight Bells, and his own work is equally heavy and weird. MICHAEL MANNHEIMER. DOUG FIR.

Blue Horns
[MESS WITH THE BULL...] Blue Horns haven't actually a brass section—there wouldn't be room for an extra note amid the newly arrived Portland quartet's impossibly dense floor-filling mission statement. Last year's self-titled debut—eight songs and a cloud of dust—laid down a skittering, polished, '70s-style framework on which vocalist Brian Park could warble his best Bowie against guitarist Colin Howard's jagged, angular, weirdly playful riffage. JAY HORTON. EAST END.

Riverboat Gamblers
[FAST AND FURIOUS] If punk is dead, then Austin's Riverboat Gamblers are having a hell of a good time flogging its corpse. Known for its unhinged live shows, the band has the big shout-along choruses and clenched-fist power chords familiar to the Warped Tour set, but it also has a not-so-secret weapon separating the group from those peers: mic-swinging front-wildman Mike Wiebe, a fireball of energy in the Iggy Pop mold already notorious for chewing the scenery of every stage he steps on. MATTHEW SINGER. HAWTHORNE THEATRE.

Linger Quiet
[4/4 ALL NIGHT LONG] This boy-girl DJ duo just celebrated the second year of its monthly disco-house-electro parties known as Nightclubbing. Just as it will be tonight at Holocene, the evenings feature the two spinning some of the choicest (and sweatiest) 12-inches from around the globe. A love of vintage synthesizers and four-to-the-floor beats should shine through in this showcase. ROBERT HAM. HOLOCENE.

The Lonely Forest
[DOUG FIR] Championed by former WW music editor Mark Baumgarten as "a band on the brink," Anacortes, Wash.'s the Lonely Forest knows how to rock out the right way. And you know what that means: driving, anthemic choruses, ringing guitars, lots of double-time drumming. The Lonely Forest definitely has a hint of the Long Winters in its sound, but with more of a rustic, coastal sensibility that could only come from forming in the damp Pacific Northwest. MICHAEL MANNHEIMER. MISSISSIPPI STUDIOS.

Anders Parker
[FUZZY FOLK] Anders Parker may look like a mountain man, but his music is sweet and soft on the ears—like listening to harsh, jangly 1960s psych rock through a puffy pillow. The Los Angeles-based Parker has successfully flown below the radar for the past few years, but has released 10 albums under varying monikers (Varnaline, Space Needle), giving Anders Parker the man a higher veteran status than Anders Parker the band. The troubadour's silky voice is like a Popsicle on a hot-ass day: Glorious, calming and reassuring—his sound waves wanna give you a hug. WHITNEY HAWKE. RONTOMS.

Forsorcerers
[ROCKR GRRRLS] Things the four women of Forsorcerers cite as influences: Mount St. Helens, alone time at the edge of the woods, long walks on the train tracks, shipwrecks, spider webs, first kisses, Heart, Judas Priest, Lita Ford, Black Sabbath, true love. Those are some sweet sentiments, used deftly and melodically to fuel the muscular riffs that propel songs like "Magician's Daughter," which wouldn't feel out of place as old Helium B-sides. Metal discoteque indeed. NATHAN CARSON. ROTTURE.

Crom
[BARBARIAN METAL] The men of Crom hail from the kingdom of Los Angeles, where irony and blood are drunk from the same jeweled goblet. It's post-power violence music with an unhealthy fantasy theme. Vice magazine has gushed about these guys, thanks in part to shared membership with the equally crushing 400 Blows. Crom's music is like Bolt Thrower without the double bass, High on Fire without the straight face and the word "official" without one "f"—just as it appears on the groups' MySpace page. NATHAN CARSON. SATYRICON.

Arch Cape
[DRUM SOLO] Percussionist Rachel Blumberg has sat behind the kit for some of folk rock's brightest stars (M. Ward, the Decemberists, Jolie Holland, Bright Eyes, Jenny Lewis), but rarely does she stretch out on her own. In fact, Arch Cape is the first band Blumberg's ever fronted—and based on her description, expect bits of '70s French synth wave, Ghanaian high life, and Yann Tiersen. Count us as extremely excited. MICHAEL MANNHEIMER. SLABTOWN.

Paper/Upper/Cuts
[L.A. EXPORT] As gleaned from his MySpace bio, David Fimbres had only two options growing up in East Los Angeles: join a gang or become an experimental electronic musician. Luckily, he chose the latter. Now a resident of Portland, Fimbres—under the alias Paper/Upper/Cuts—crafts mini-soundscapes in the vein of DJ Shadow, except instead of culling beats from a deep collection of records, he samples himself. His shows feature a looped mash-up of keyboard, flute and frenetic drumming, all made live. MATTHEW SINGER. SOMEDAY LOUNGE.

9 : 30 Pm

Barry Hampton
[HEART AND SOUL] Portland soul man Barry Hampton may have come from Baltimore, but the ghosts of London, St. Louis, Mississippi and Detroit have clung to him. With the Triple Grip, his sound evokes the Clash and Prince while staying grounded in Motown. Hampton brings a soul sound largely dormant in Bridgetown to the table, and his is a funk that's impossible to fake. He's a showman in the classic mold; a performer who feeds his audience, keeping everyone within earshot involved and every body moving. AP KRYZA. JIMMY MAK'S.

9 : 40 Pm

Portugal. The Man
[ROCK. THE NEWFANGLED] It was once easy to peg Portugal as an emo band, especially as members of the group had cut their teeth with Anchorage, Alaska, alumni Anatomy of a Ghost. But the latest Portugal album, The Satanic Satanist, explores an omnivorous array of classic-rock styles and plain old good songwriting. Organ textures blend with pop beats and strong, clean singing to make tunes that kids and parents can both relate to (if they're not scared by mockery of Satanism or, er, beards). NATHAN CARSON. ROSELAND.

10 Pm

Rabbits
[DO NOT THINK "CUTE"] In the early '90s, something special was brewing in the DIY hardcore scene: an artsy, chaotic sound played by just a few bands that still made a lasting impression. Just ask Seattle sassy-pants the Blood Brothers and millions of dyed-black quiffs the world over. Trust Punk City PDX, then, to unearth one of that scene's liveliest protagonists in ex-Angel Hair Coloradan Joshua Hughes, now playing here in the sludgy, metallic Rabbits. Rabbits is a great, misleadingly named heavy band, and Hughes is kind of a big deal—just don't drop the word "screamo" if you meet him. DAVID ROBINSON. ASH STREET SALOON.

Panther
[INDIE ROCK] Besides fond memories of the defunct Planet The, the most unforgettable moment of Panther's Charles Salas-Humara's career takes place in the video for "You Don't Want Your Nails Done," in which he rocks out in a cardboard box, screams into a cardboard microphone and plays cardboard LPs. While the now-duo's live shows might not re-create a cardboard wonderland, Salas-Humara's dance moves mesh well with drummer Joe Kelly's sick beats, even as new disc Entropy shows the artists feeling (for Panther) pretty low-key. IAN RASMUSSEN. BACKSPACE.

The Morning Benders
[WOVEN AND WEIGHTY] Of acts performing in the vein of the Beach Boys' educated, harmony-heavy modern music, the Morning Benders are among the most gifted. Formed in Oakland, the quartet conjures up the tampering tempos and feathery caroling of the Shins or Grizzly Bear. These dudes have obviously spent some time with their parents' record collections, and have absorbed the best of said wax. It's smart, sunny, FM-dial pop of an era past. Guitarist Joe Ferrell's confident musings are not to be missed. MARK STOCK. BERBATI'S PAN.

Langhorne Slim
[FOLK EXPLOSION] New Yorker Langhorne Slim has emerged at the forefront of the neo-folk movement as an old-soul troubadour in the Dylan tradition, leading a twangy journey from his Pennsylvania roots all the way to hell and back, facing darkness and light with a proud grin. Not bad for a dude just pushing 30. But Slim's youth belies a greater sense of experience, which has led him along life's path and made him into something of a sage. Even on heartbreaking tracks like "I Love You, but Goodbye," Slim's gentle rasp and sure-footed harmonic prowess bathe painful normality in hope. Slim's is powerful music, and time is on his side. With his momentum building toward light speed, we can expect nothing but wiser, more soulful music to come. AP KRYZA. CRYSTAL BALLROOM.

Moondoggies
[NEO-CLASSIC COUNTRY-ROCK] Hard-charging guitars and three-part harmonies burst forth from Seattle's Moondoggies. Its sound, at once familiar and fresh, is beginning to win attention both around and beyond the Northwest; last year's Don't Be a Stranger disc made KEXP's Top 11 Debut Albums of 2008 list—which was not confined to hometown bands—and garnered multiple mentions on Rollingstone.com. With the band slated to record a follow-up this fall, the secret might really be out by this time next year. JEFF ROSENBERG. DANTE'S.

Lichens
[PSYCHEDELIC LOWE-JACK] The Midwest's got its own reference points. Here in the West, Rob Lowe is a B-list statutory rapist and character actor. But on I-55, between Chicago and St. Louis, "Rob Lowe" denotes a different man altogether: the bassist for post-emo-whatever Pitchfork darlings 90 Day Men and also the guy behind Lichens, a solo deep-psych, anti-vanity project that melds protolinguistic vocals to walls of looping sound, built up pedal by pedal into an imposing massive force. Omns, his latest, compounds subliminal noise into patient, hymnal juggernaut. MATTHEW KORFHAGE. DOUG FIR.

Gratitillium
[ANIMAL COLLECTIVE] Whether you'd call it freak-folk Peter the Wolf or psychedelic See 'n Say, Nick Caceres' Gratitillium—a collection of tunes painstakingly self-recorded over a year and a half to give voice and melody to the surrounding spirits of fave fauna—begs for the extended listen. As five musicians duplicate original tracks during performance (amid face-painting and animal-channeling), Barn Owl indie fades to Dragonfly ambient menace. JAY HORTON. EAST END.

Dillinger Four
[CONTEMPORARY PUNK ROYALTY] Dillinger Four's 1998 debut, Midwestern Songs of the Americas, was one of the best punk records of all time—that's no exaggeration. Somehow blending the soundtrack format into a raucous, drunken melee with smart social critique, the band also presented a bunch of the finest song titles imaginable. ("Portrait of the Artist as a Fucking Asshole," anyone?) So it wasn't surprising when the Minneapolis group's urgent, gruff-yet-melodic sound started spawning imitators the world over. Consolidating on the group's initial effort with two further barnstorming albums, Dillinger Four eventually offered a slight change of pace in last year's Civil War. A more polished record—one that suggested a greater proportion of the recording budget being allocated to production than liquor—it may have alienated some long-term fans a little, but the songwriting here is as good as ever. DAVID ROBINSON. HAWTHORNE THEATRE.

Point Juncture, WA
[WIND ROCK] Few bands get it just right like Point Juncture, WA. Almost a local institution at this point, the quartet plays the type of driving, ambitious art-rock that would make Chicago bands like Tortoise and the Sea and Cake jealous. PJWA's latest, 2008's beautiful and spacious Heart to Elk, features the group at the peak of its powers, mixing both anthemic shoegaze rockers ("Sick on Sugar") with airy, light-as-a-feather ballads ("Kings Part II"). It's just a matter of time before these guys really blow up. MICHAEL MANNHEIMER. MISSISSIPPI STUDIOS.

Moneybrother
[SMOOTH SCRILLA] Swedish troubadour Moneybrother (real name Anders Wendin) churns out jumpy party rock sweeter than a handful of Swedish Fish. The infectiously catchy rocker has had Top 40 albums in Germany and his native land, and is across the pond pushing his new album, Real Control, to pop-craving Americans. With the dark, brooding good looks of a true Scandinavian, Moneybrother has as much finesse as his name implies—he's smooth as syrup, respectable as royalty and utterly easy to love. WHITNEY HAWKE. RONTOMS.

Lovers
[LIONHEARTED POP] Carolyn Berk is the talented, heart-on-sleeve songwriter who has been making confessional folk pop under the Lovers moniker for most of the aughts. If she'd have stopped at 2007's Sleep With Heat, we'd have been left with an impressive little discography. But with this year's I Am the West, Berk has traded understatement for pop immediacy and the results are stunning. The disc funnels Berk's frustration and heartache through a filter of unashamed pop, vaulting her sharp lyrical twists and pure vocals out from behind catchy-as-hell electropop. Now sharing a "real band" with Kerby Ferris and Emily Kingans, Lovers is well on its way towards dominating, well, your heart. CASEY JARMAN. ROTTURE.

Despise You
[GRINDCORE] Chris Dodge was in one of the pre-eminent power-violence bands on the West Coast. His old group, Spazz, flew the flag for new levels of political and musical heaviness. Dodge also operated the label Slap-A-Ham Records, which released Man Is the Bastard and countless other idols of the power-violence and grind scenes. Despise You is his latest outfit, blazing with speed and coed vocal shouts. It's 2009, the world is not a better place, and Dodge still sounds pissed as hell. NATHAN CARSON. SATYRICON.

The Robinsons
[OXIED VOX] Viva Voce's Kevin and Anita Robinson tour so often (both with Shins and without) it almost feels like they're touring when they visit us back home in Portland. So take it as a treat. Viva Voce's ranks have now swelled to four, but here the Robinsons perform only as a duo, and they plan to try out some new takes on the range of music they've made in the meantime—from shoegaze indie to slow-chilled opiate rock to butter-smooth psychedelic soul. MATTHEW KORFHAGE. SLABTOWN.

Luck-One Conscious
[TONGUE-TWISTING HIP-HOP] Politically conscious, fast-rapping workhorse self-promoter—and practicing Muslim—Luck-One was released from a prison sentence last summer and hasn't stopped pacing since. On the Beautiful Music EP, the sheer number of syllables and quickness of wordplay the MC exhibits are enough to make you wish you could slow time. But it's almost as much fun to stop concentrating and let Luck's voice and energetic stage presence vibrate around you. SARA MOSKOVITZ. SOMEDAY LOUNGE.

10 : 30 Pm

Beyonda
[B-SIDE BEDLAM] For those of you unfamiliar with Soul Night at Rotture, let me paint you a picture: sweaty, bobbing heads attached to possessed, flinging bodies. These are the blissful subjects of the artist at hand: Beyonda. She paints with the countless hues of soul, funk and Motown. And chances are, you'll learn a thing or two, as the one-woman show has a sixth sense for underground musical diamonds of the shakin' '60s and '70s. Oh, and she can spin dirty rap jamz, too. MARK STOCK. HOLOCENE.

Jacob Fred Jazz Odyssey
[INDIE JAZZ] JFJO will astonish anyone who thinks the only good music to come out of Oklahoma involved the Flaming Lips and Woody Guthrie, or that jazz is only for old people. For the past 15 years—before Medeski Martin Wood, Benevento-Russo and other jam band-jazzers—the Tulsa trio's drawn raves at both major jazz venues and among indie-rock fans. They're even opening for Phish's Michael Gordon on his fall tour. JFJO's newest quartet incarnation (minus one founder, plus lap-steel guitar and upright bass) may be its most adventurous, yet it can still throw down a sparkling cover of Thelonious Monk or Rahsaan Roland Kirk. BRETT CAMPBELL. JIMMY MAK'S.

10 : 45 Pm

The Get Up Kids
[APOLOGETIC EMO] It's hard not to compare the career trajectory of Kansas City's backpack heroes the Get Up Kids with another of the '90s Midwestern poppy emo bands, the Promise Ring. Two bands that you, perhaps like me, listened to incessantly as a teenager, then stuck with for an album or two until they decided to quit whining exclusively about lost middle-school loves and, ahem, "matured" to a new sound. Then you wondered if you should get excited that they recently reunited. However, while dear Davey von Bohlen's men merely got back together for a single show, after close to half a decade of side projects and solo albums the now-thirtysomething Kids have announced a two-month West Coast and European jaunt in commemoration of the 10th anniversary of their most popular album, Something to Write Home About. In recent interviews, the group has been more than a little ambiguous when quizzed about any intentions to continue the band after the current tour, but at least one thing is crystal clear: This, together with Sunny Day Real Estate's return, makes this year's MFNW look to be quite the teary-eyed, cardigan-wearing hotspot. And folks, don't be jaded—I'm saying that's a good thing. The Get Up Kids may have directly influenced the likes of Fall Out Boy, as kiddie-fave pin-up Pete Wentz has often professed; they may even have been part of the reason "emo" is now a dirty word. But as far as hyper-saccharine pop punk goes, this is a great chance to check out the O.G.s, especially in the event they have the good sense not to hang out too long on the back of the reunion bandwagon. Meanwhile, try not to blame them too much for the state of mall punk in 2009; as guitarist and founding member Jim Suptic recently remarked, "If this is the world we helped create, then I apologize!" DAVID ROBINSON. ROSELAND THEATER.

11 Pm

Saviours
[BAY-AREA THRASH] The Bay Area is one of the most famous original stomping grounds for the thrash-metal movement: Hyrax, Exodus and a little band called Metallica all cranked Marshalls up to 10 and galloped into the history books. Today, Saviours are carrying the torch. Twin guitars slave beneath shouted gang vocals. Drums march and pound under throbbing bass lines. And fantasy lyrics are delivered in a chariot that runs down irony like the vile cur that it is. NATHAN CARSON. ASH STREET SALOON.

Titus Andronicus
[LOUD, SMART AND ROWDY] Titus Andronicus has been compared to a lot of acts: Bruce Springsteen, Bright Eyes, Fugazi. But in a live setting, that all seems to fade away. Oft-bearded frontman Sarim Al-Rawi sways, jumps and doubles over in apparent pain when not playing guitar. And shit gets loud. Last year's debut, The Airing of Grievances, caught victory rock in a lo-fi net. The percussion is punk, the guitars are power metal, and the singing can't always be labeled as such. In fact, the Bright Eyes comparisons probably begin with Al-Rawi's vocals, which range from pained, reverb-drenched rambles to a soaring whine-scream that sounds even more immediate in the live setting. The abandon of the group's live show should be enough to scare away those who stopped reading after "Bruce Springsteen." But despite the chaos—those who have seen the Black Lips in concert should expect something only a notch less nuts from T.A.—these New Jersey kids have built their punk on a strong foundation, and they certainly know how to pen a tune. They just break the pen and spill ink all over everything afterward. CASEY JARMAN. BACKSPACE.

John Vanderslice
[ÜBER INDIE] Hot off one of his best records to date in Romanian Names, San Francisco's prince of alt-pop bears even richer, thickly textured indie samplings on this tour than he has in the past. As articulate in his stage banter as his silver-tongued lyrics would suggest, Vanderslice can turn a song about robots into a melty love tune. If the lyric "the only thing standing between me and that long rope over a carpenter's beam is you" doesn't get you off, you're already dead. MARK STOCK. BERBATI'S PAN.

The Builders and the Butchers
[GALLOWS FOLK] Collapsed coal mines, lynchings and corpses rotting at the bottom of a lake aren't typically the basis for much merrymaking. In the hands of the Builders and the Butchers, however, Southern Gothic death songs become party music. Bashing out tales of old violent America on mandolin, banjo and junk-shop percussion, the winner of Willamette Week's 2008 Best New Band poll is one of Portland's top foot-stomping, caterwauling live acts—but its slow, eerie cover of "In the Air Tonight" can raise goose bumps. MATTHEW SINGER. CRYSTAL BALLROOM.

Bobby Bare Jr.
[COUNTRY ROCK] Whether you're coming off a bad breakup or a nasty stubbed toe, no music could provide greater comfort than Nashville's Bobby Bare Jr. That isn't to say his music is sad, it's just that his twisted country-rock style is an auditory equivalent of a whiskey with a beer back. With vocals that range from barely contained intensity to lovingly whimsical, Bare proves you don't need to sing about dead dogs and lying women to weave a perfect melancholy respite. IAN RASMUSSEN. DANTE'S.

Grouper
[HEAVY WATER] Liz Harris—who records under the moniker Grouper—has been making spaced-out, feedback-heavy ambient folk songs since 2005, but it wasn't until last year that she finally started receiving the recognition she deserves. Dragging a Dead Deer Up a Hill lifted the haze (well, some of it) from the foreground, revealing Harris' stark voice and rooting her songs in looping, circular guitar lines. It's still perfect music for dreaming, only now it's more likely to inspire than frighten. MICHAEL MANNHEIMER. DOUG FIR.

Church
[SPECTRAL POP] Arriving at MFNW riding a wave of local buzz following the recent release of its debut full-length, Song Force Crystal, avant-pop quartet Church is being touted as one of the Portland music scene's brightest new lights. And with good reason. With its gorgeous intertwining vocal harmonies, spare arrangements and worshipful mastery of tone, the band is stepping up as the Pacific Northwest's answer to Grizzly Bear. Only, Church can occasionally get loud and—on the song "Happiness," anyway—even kind of dancey. MATTHEW SINGER. EAST END.

Cotton Jones
[AMERICANA] Americana doesn't just mean country-tinged ditties and Delta-soaked ballads: Maryland's Cotton Jones takes its authentic sound to the wheat fields and beyond, offering music as grounded in the dust bowl as the Copacabana and modern dance halls. The band treads in timeless male-female, call-and-response harmonies that bound from the front porch to the coffeehouse and back. It's like a historian made a mix tape and edited it so every variation of the American experience was represented. AP KRYZA. MISSISSIPPI STUDIOS.

The Light Pines
[SPACE ROCK] With a sound that blasts forward with the steady chug of a steam engine, North Carolina trio the Light Pines offers a kinetic and loaded sound. Not content to simply let its rock explode in the wake of its rocket-fueled kinetics, the band mixes in spooky, sexy vocals and ultra-spacey hooks to keep listeners guessing. Like a modernized, steroidal take on the more aggressive '60s psychedelic groups, the Light Pines keeps the hallucinations grounded in totally relatable rock. AP KRYZA. RONTOMS.

Erase Errata
[JUT AND FRET] The name has never seemed right. San Francisco's Erase Errata doesn't jettison the apocrypha, the jumbled-up outsider beats and the spare guitar parts, but rather it makes a whole sound out of only errata. It's as if the group had fallen into a mother lode of out-edited recording tape strips from cranked-up '80s album sessions and decided that these, and only these, were the building blocks of music—or, at the very least, that they were the party within the party. They zig where you zag, and that's called dancing. MATTHEW KORFHAGE. ROTTURE.

Trash Talk
[ANGER IS A GIFT] This Sacramento-based group keeps its hardcore sound as conditioned as a runner: lean, taut and muscular. Its songs generally don't move too far past the one-minute mark, and its lyrics cut to the quick: "I am pure fucking evil/ My fist, my face, my head, the ground/ destruct." It's almost embarrassing to listen to other thrash bands tart their tunes up with metaphor and guitar solos after listening to these guys. ROBERT HAM. SATYRICON.

Carcrashlander
[FOLK NOISE] Fronted by in-demand Portland session man Cory Gray (also a sometime member of Desert City Soundtrack and Norfolk Western), Carcrashlander is the rare trumpet-led band that's not a jazz combo. And that's not where the unfamiliarity ends. Listeners may lose their bearings as the band's putatively indie-folk tunes pass through a noise wormhole, emerging in a heretofore uncharted sector of the musical universe. Forthcoming disc Where to Swim should continue one of Portland's most singular sonic journeys. JEFF ROSENBERG. SLABTOWN.

IAMe
[SALTY HIP-HOP] Dripping with a grimy, intellectual Northwest sound, Oldominion/Sandpeople/Clockwerk cohort IAMe has received local notoriety with his first two LPs, Noise Complaints and I Am My Enemy. The albums showcase IAMe's thoughtfulness and are soaked in clever folksy samples and delicate beats. Whether battle-rapping or performing his fleshed-out material, the Portland lyricist is well aware of the weight of words—constructing dirty knockout punch lines and in the same breath acknowledging his own human weaknesses. SARA MOSKOVITZ. SOMEDAY LOUNGE.

Midnight

Red Fang
[GRUNGE] These old-school Portland smarty-pants guys get all brutish on purpose and it works. After combined decades of obscure greatness (heard of Last of the Juanitas, Shiny Beast or Partytime? I didn't think so) between the band's four dudes, the world is finally taking note. Sometimes a lowbrow, below-the-belt approach is all it takes. Loud guitars, pulverizing drums and harmonized man-singing synergize to make Red Fang the Northwest grunge band that wasn't. Only now it, like, totally is. NATHAN CARSON. ASH STREET SALOON.

Beach House
[SWOON POP] The best late-night music often comes from the most unexpected places. Baltimore duo Beach House—Victoria Legrand on vocals and organ, Alex Scally on guitar and keyboards—makes the type of ethereal, swoony dream pop that makes you want to cuddle up with a blanket and a good pair of headphones. But even though the band still relies on skeletal drum-machine beats and slow breeze tempos, its new material keeps on getting more majestic without sacrificing the simplicity that makes its songs so grand in the first place. Legrand has a measured, full-bodied voice, and it's the instrument that drives Devotion, one of the best records of 2008. Devotion is filled with lovelorn pop songs and lilting, hazy melodies, but it still has a certain swing to it; even the slow dirges like "Astronaut" and the gorgeous waltz "Holy Dances" contain moments when the sun peeks through the dour arrangements. Like their friends in Grizzly Bear, Legrand and Scally create bedroom pop with the ambition to escape the bedroom—something that few bands, especially in a year when lo-fi aesthetics aren't just accepted but revered, know how to do well. MICHAEL MANNHEIMER.BERBATI'S PAN.

Blind Pilot
[PRETTY FOLKY] For a band of self-labeled sightless skippers, Portland's Blind Pilot has certainly charted an unwavering upward trajectory. The group's often compared to fellow wordy, jangly Portland acts the Shins and (sometime tour mates) the Decemberists, but an upbeat Blind Pilot number would qualify as a laid-back ballad in either other band's repertoire. The band's songs aren't downers, though, sporting winsome melodies and wistful harmonies that provoke dopamine-laden relief from any forlorn feelings. JEFF ROSENBERG. CRYSTAL BALLROOM.

OM
[VIBRATIONS] To give you a sense of what you're dealing with when it comes to the foreboding rock of OM, keep this in mind: When asked for a top 5 list by the webzine Too Cool to Die, singer-bassist Al Cisneros provided them with five great chess matches, including a play-by-play transcription. This duo—which features Portland's own Emil Amos on drums—keeps things dark, deep, fuzzy and, above all else, heavy. ROBERT HAM. DOUG FIR.

Finn Riggins
[HONORARY PORTLANDERS] Let's just persuade Finn Riggins to move to Portland now, OK? The zany trio is Idaho's best-kept secret, a band that can shift from noisy to sincere in a matter of seconds. The cat's almost out of the bag, though, as Finn Riggins is set to open a slew of dates for Built to Spill this fall in support of its new record, Vs. Wilderness. Out this October on local haven Tender Loving Empire, Vs. Wilderness is filled with guitars and synthesizers and impeccable songwriting that should finally put the band on the tip of everyone's tongue. MICHAEL MANNHEIMER. EAST END.

JD Twitch
[SCHIZO DJ] An in-house DJ at Glasgow's über-hip dance club Optimo Espacio, JD Twitch believes in the old adage that those who spin the records "should be heard and not seen." So don't expect a whole lot of stage diving or shirtless crotch-grabbing. Instead, prepare for a sweaty, manic set that's likely to jump from mutant disco to garage rock to old-school hip-hop to Creedence Clearwater Revival and even friggin' John Coltrane. HOLOCENE.

Liv Warfield
[HELLA SOUL] It's hard to know where to start with Liv Warfield, so let's do some math. Alicia Keys + Beyoncé + an extra ounce of earthy = Liv Warfield. In short, Warfield can belt some shit out. She makes octaves her bitch. Warfield is Portland's own RB queen who turns sound waves into sex waves with her sultry, syrupy croon. If you have a fuzzy definition of what soul music really is these days, listening to Warfield will clear it right up for you. WHITNEY HAWKE. JIMMY MAK'S.

Loch Lomond
[OLD-WORLD FOLK] Though the band's albums are stellar, you cannot get the real Loch Lomond experience without their live show. Whether the group is playing a sea chanty that forces audiences to sway back and forth or an old-world folk song brimming with intensity, one can't help but be impressed by the local outfit's sound. Both sad and celebratory, LL's unique folk style is one of a kind—complete with tremendous crescendos and multipart harmonies that would draw in even the most ardent folk-pop hater. IAN RASMUSSEN. MISSISSIPPI STUDIOS.

The Love Language
[SOUL POP] On its self-titled debut, North Carolina octet the Love Language cultivates a sound that is lush and unruly, flirting with discord, like an overgrown garden. Frontman Stuart McLamb's lilting, melancholy lyrics are counterbalanced with irrepressible instrumentation. If not upbeat, the melodies at least evoke a sense of upward movement, like an ocean swell rising until it overextends itself, then breaking with a sloshing, scattering crash, only to rise again. Throughout, McLamb comes off as sweetly jilted. ETHAN SMITH. RONTOMS.

Team Dresch
[QUEER PUNK] Back in 1994, the Olympia byway Sleater-Kinney Road became immortalized when a young band took the name. The same year, in Portland, Donna Dresch assembled a group of extremely proficient female punk musicians. Debut album Personal Best was a clarion call of solidarity to young women around the world. Jody Bleyle of Hazel, Kaia Wilson (later of Butchies fame) and ex-Calamity Jane drummer Marci Martinez rounded out the group. After a decade of silence, the band is back and the fire is still burning. NATHAN CARSON. ROTTURE.

The Valiant Arms
[P-TOWN HERALDS] The sound of Portland trio the Valiant Arms reminds one that before Portland became home to every semi-retired indie icon and every kid too cool for their Midwestern small town, the city had a sound and a feeling altogether different and all its own. Though Arms is a pretty new band, its music harks back to Hazel, the Crabs, Heatmiser, lazy nights at Produce Row and the chaotic mess of the X-Ray—nights when Portland earned its title as Little Beirut. MATTHEW KORFHAGE. SLABTOWN.

Josh Martinez
[SMORGASBORDIN'] Camobear Records impresario, founding member of the Chicharones and, especially following last year's sophomore album World Famous Sex Buffet, a relative rap sensation, Martinez edges ever closer to hip-hop mogul ubiquity. Martinez's actual identity and origins (though any man to release "Going Back to Hali" deserves Nova Scotia cred) remain suspect, but a few hundred free-flowing performances round the globe and he's still rocking hardest in his adopted home of Portland. JAY HORTON. SOMEDAY LOUNGE.

WWeek 2015