Last night at the Jupiter Hotel was the grand old Buckman Bash, a benefit for Buckman Elementary School Arts Focus that featured performances from Stephen Malkmus (that’s Stefan Malkmoose!), Shins frontman James Mercer, plus art auctions, and a super fun water slide lots more.

We sent the amazing Minh Tran to take some photos. Enjoy!

Andrew Dickson:

Stephen Malkmus:

James Mercer:

DIMMU BORGIR, BEHEMOTH, HEAVEN SHALL BURN, KEEP OF KALESSIN
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Silenoz never murdered anyone or burned down any churches. He did something more controversial. He formed Dimmu Borgir, the most popular—and subsequently, the most hated—band in the history of Norwegian black metal. “The audience and the fans are totally honest,” Silenoz says. “They tell you to your face if there’s something they don’t like.” Orthodox genre fans balked when Dimmu switched from Norwegian to English lyrics and signed to an international record label (Nuclear Blast) in 1997. They’ve since sold hundreds of thousands of albums and even played Ozzfest—in broad daylight! With In Sorte Diaboli, Dimmu have turned black metal into a symphonic black ’n’ roll concept album—like Meat Loaf’s Bat out of Hell stewing in a Cradle of Filth. “I don’t mind if people hate it either,” the guitarist/lyricist adds, “because it stirs up controversy, it stirs up opinion, and it gets the band name out there.” MIKE MEYER

Sweet Satan, just look at that image. As mentioned yesterday, that is exactly how you go about taking a striking—and not to mention totally fucked-up and sort of insulting—black metal band photo. All those bands looking tough with industrial backdrops behind them don’t hold a candle (Candlemass?) to Dimmu Borgir’s foray into faux-cannibalism.

In honor of the-band-that-shall-remain-nameless who just sent me a press packet that included two images—one in front of a brick wall, and the other on train tracks—I think it’s time we discuss the art of promotional band photography.

I’m pretty accepting of all band photos—and I’m much kinder than the dreaded Hall of Douchebags gallery—but a backdrop of a brick wall, and/or railroad tracks, is just damn inexcusable.

But instead of the lecture, let us focus on the positive, the photos that work. For instance, this A.C. (Carl) Newman photo:

Now this is a great, and totally ridiculous, image. How could you not be fascinated by the simplicity, charm, and mystery—Who the hell is she? Why does he have that stunned look on his face? Are they meeting for the first time? Why the woods?—of this photo? I don’t think we’ll ever find out.

Tomorrow, we examine how to properly take a black metal band photo.
For reals.

RJD2, DALEK, HAPPY CHICHESTER
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) RJD2’s résumé encompasses languorous funk instrumentals, hiphop production, and—more recently—forays into keyboard-driven pop. 2007’s The Third Hand is still clearly recognizable as the work of the same mind behind Deadringer and Since We Last Spoke, albeit one that’s exploring a different corner of his musical obsessions. Tourmates Dälek also draw from hiphop, as they build towering structures of feedback, ambient drones, and beatific noise atop propulsive beats. Last year’s Abandoned Language added expansive string parts while the singles and remixes collected on Deadverse Massive Vol. 1 encompass both the group’s underrated pop strength and their most avant-garde moments. TOBIAS CARROLL

MP3:
RJD2 - Get It

Tonight, those lovable and hilarious dudes known as Tennis Pro are in town having a CD release party for their third album Are You There God? It’s Me, Tennis Pro. I first fell in love with this band back in May 2004, at a chance meeting at the EMP Liquid Lounge in their hometown of Seattle. For months after that first hit, you could hear me blasting their energetic and addictive debut album, Happy is the New Sad, nearly nonstop.

Tennis Pro combines fun, tongue-in-cheek lyrics with catchy rockin’ hooks, and they do it well, without being annoying. I’m not really sure how they make it work like that, as many bands have tried that equation and failed. From what I’ve observed at Tennis Pro shows, they just seem to have a lot of fun, and don’t take themselves too seriously (they’re not pretentious, though they poke fun at it), but serious enough to create and execute really great musical arrangements.

So what should you expect if you show up at the Towne Lounge tonight? A fun time with lots of good energy, some laughs, and a lot of rockin’ out.

Tennis Pro w/ Westfold, Bryan & the Shredding Tears, Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Place, 9 pm, Tonight, $5, 21+

MP3: Tennis Pro - Shelly Gets High

I just got an urgent text from End Hits contributor Rob Simonsen who is having computer trouble and is unable to post his 2000+ word essay on the Bouncing Souls. Bummer. So, instead, I’ll just post this video for “Joe Lies.”

Bouncing Souls will be performing at Berbati’s Pan tonight.

The greatest thing about Washington D.C. duo Georgie James—and there are a lot of great things about them—is that they just sort of came out of nowhere.

John Richards, a onetime fanzine editor (oh, and former drummer for this band) who wrote about bands like Frodus and Juno (the band, not the messy cinematic pop culture abortion of a movie) picked up the guitar and teamed with Laura Burhenn, a local singer-songwriter, and the result was Georgie James.

Although the duo formed in 2005, only recently have they started to turn heads with Places, their Saddle-Creek released full-length of concise, yet still grandiose, pop gems. The dual voices of Richards and Burhenn mesh seamlessly, the music bounces along, and, in fact, everything about this band just seems too damn easy. Like the New Pornographers, Georgie James effortlessly churn out perfected pop songs with such ease, it’s a little unsettling.

But who says art needs to equal suffering? If these two can write an album like Plans while confidentially resting their feet upon a desk as they clutch sifters of brandy and puff on cigars (at least, that’s how I picture their recording sessions), it’s fine by me.

In fact, pass the brandy.

MP3:
Georgie James - Need Your Needs

Georgie James perform at the Artistery tonight.

This week in our continuing retrospective of the ’90s, we take a look at former New Kid on the Block JORDAN KNIGHT. And not only because the “new” New Kids have leaked their new slow jam single (listen to it here), but because it is in my very knowledgeable opinion Jordan got freaking robbed of his chance in the solo limelight because of two things: 1) Justin Timberlake, and 2) a white turtleneck sweater.

While Justin and Jordan are arguably equally handsome and excellent singers, the popularity of boy bands in the late ’90s made Jordan look like an old used up Grampy— Justin’s breakout solo career two years later only stuck the knife in deeper. HOWEVER! If you ask me, it was really the white turtleneck sweater that murdered Jordan’s shot at stardom.

Check out the following video for a great example how a white turtleneck sweater can put the kibosh on a potential solo career—in this case, 1999’s “Give it to You.”

BEST PART OF THE VIDEO: Very catchy Timbaland-style production, with fine singing, and alternately awesome/weird choreography. Cute nerd girl, too!

WORST PART OF THE VIDEO: Omigod, that white turtleneck sweater! Pair it with the overtly sexual lyrics, and you have one very horny grandpa!

As reported earlier by our big sister paper to the north, experimental noise duo Yellow Swans are going tits (feathers?) up in the coming months. The band posted news of their demise on their MySpace blog:

Just wanted to drop on here that the rumors and random blog posts about YS breaking up are true.

we are completing all of our previous comittments, including all of the shows on our calender here.. so.. those are all on…

there’s been no drama in the band or anything weird.. just time for two dudes to move on..

we are working on a few last releases so… hopefully there will at least be a studio album released in 2009, and there are a few other comittments that we will be completing after the band is over..

The band has ten shows coming up—from Backspace to Barcelona, Spain—but after that, I assume they’ll hang it up for good.

I suppose now is as good a time as any to look back on our relationship with the band. Every person who sits in this chair in different. Julianne Shepherd, Zac Pennington, Adam Gnade, Olive the Pug (a short-lived experiment, it didn’t work…), and myself are all very different music editors with varied taste in music. While I’ve always been pretty indifferent to the Yellow Swans—it’s just not my scene—this paper has had many, many, many, many positive things to say about the duo, and one negative thing as well.

But regardless of all that, the band’s influence feels like it has yet to properly settle, and—as horrible as it is to say—a breakup just might be what is needed to remedy that. Posthumously the Yellow Swans might be seen in a different light, one where their forward-thinking, if not utterly abrasive, take on music and art will be appreciated on a greater level.

I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

Scotland’s Dog Die in Hot Cars are the quintessential band for me that I started out hating but now absolutely love. When their first album, Please Describe Yourself, came out, I was working at a place that forced me to listen to it everyday. Add that to the fact that all of my co-workers had no idea who this man was, and it is easy to see why we started off on the wrong foot. But now, years later, I really can’t get enough of their XTC-infused pop, and kick myself for not loving it right off the bat.

I Guess I’m Floating is reporting some good news for DDIHC fans out there: the band is working on their follow-up to Please Describe Yourself. The even better news: you can be a part of the process.

Find out how after the jump.

The band has set up a blog for their second album. Straight from the horses mouth:

"So we never managed to finish the second album. And the months went by and more and more people were saying, well, can we at least hear the demos? and I was like, nut, they’re not finished, but I couldn’t escape the demos and as much as they were home recordings I couldn’t stop liking what I was hearing from them. I wanted other people to hear them also, but my writer's ego couldn’t think of a way in which it would make me happy to do so and, in my arrogance, I would think the listener could be happy when hearing them.

I had been working for a few months on a project which was to involve the online community creating their collective vision of a pop band; creating the music, the characters, the artwork - everything that was part of what defined a band the community could vote for. However, as the project developed so too did the understanding of how incredibly complicated all the parameters would have to be, and how much work it would involve, especially for a lone muso living in Spain. So I laid it to rest and got on with some writing. Then, one morning, encouraged by a guilt ridden shame fest of a hangover, it came to me - Why not ask the interglobal community if they would like to try and finish the second album?

And so a few months and tweaks later and here we are. Here are the first four of the album's demos, (the rest will be put online in the weeks to come) free to download, and accompanied with them every individual track that made up their recordings in simple mp3 format. If you just want the demos, go ahead, they’re free. But if you want to make your own versions of how you think the final songs should be then that’s the baby. And that is also free. Whether you are a singer, a guitarist, a pianist, a DJ, a poet - whatever - you can download the tracks and produce your versions of how you hear the songs. Do you hear an amazing solo of yours ripping though one them? Could you remix one into an orgasm tingling beat beast? Is your voice waaaayy better than mine or even Ruth’s? Show us. We want to hear what you think you can do with Dogs Die In Hot Cars' music.

And then what? What happens when I make my version? Email us it. The intention is that we take our favourite versions of each song from all the Re-recordings/Remixes that are sent to us and with them make the definitive Dogs Die In Hot Cars Second Album. And what do I get out of it? I hear my mother ask - Aside from the satisfaction of contributing to some sweet music making, we will give anyone whose contributions are used towards the definitive versions a portion of any royalties made from the recording and publishing incomes generated by them, plus a very grateful credit. (Read more about that in the Terms and Conditions post)"

This idea is genius. It's like what Radiohead just did with with "Nude" remix, but instead of charging fans $6 for what is essentially more promotion, DDIHC are asking fans to actually become a part of the process, contribute to the record, and if it's good enough end up on the final version. Not only that, you'll get royalties for being a contributing member to the band.

I believe this is what they call a Win-Win situation.

WFMU has posted an amazing Black Flag Hair: A Timeline illustration. Watch in awe as the rotating cast of members change their hairstyles from Damaged to In My Head.

I’m a big fan of Dez, circa 1983, and the rare bearded Rollins of ‘82.

In our haphazard stumble to press deadline, we seemed to have forgotten a write-up for tonight’s 14Kt. God LP release show for Panther at Backspace.

Oops.

So, much like a birthday call to Mom three weeks after her day, here is our attempt make good and give this show some love.

There is never an excuse to miss Charlie Salas-Humara freak the fuck out all over the stage, but tonight you’ll also get a glimpse at Portland’s next big thing, Starfucker, and the next next big thing, White Fang.

Alright. Prepare yourself for a most amazing song, accompanied by an absolutely tragic story.

It’s might even be more effective if you read first, then listen. Jackson C. Frank, the condensed version:

At age 11 a fire rips apart Frank’s elementary school. He is badly burned, but survives. Many other children do not. In the hospital he begins playing music.

In 1965 Frank writes a terrific album, which is produced by Paul Simon. It may or may not have been recorded in Simon’s living room.

Frank marries. He and his wife lose one of their children to Cystic Fibrosis. Frank is completely devastated. He is no longer writing music.

Years later he is found living on the streets in New York City, where he is diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. One day, while sitting on a bench in New York, a stray round from a pellet gun hits Frank, blinding him in one eye.

Frank passes away in 1999. Despite many artists promoting him and covering his songs, during his life he is rarely noticed by the music listening public.

Sad, sad stuff. And this track, “Blues Run The Game” is too. That said, it’s an absolutely brilliant, cathartic performance of a fantastic song.

Listen:“Blues Run The Game” by Jackson C. Frank.

THE AVETT BROTHERS, JESSICA LEA MAYFIELD (Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) The Avett Brothers craft syrup-thick patio punk with healthy blots of backwoods bluegrass for a rousing amalgam of modern folk. Their live performances are already the stuff of legend; vocalist/guitarist Seth Avett is just as likely to croon drippy twang vignettes, as he is to stomp his hi-hat into submission and invoke a furious growl. Meanwhile, the brushing banjo of brother Scott Avett and the smooth stand-up bass work from Bob Crawford prod and take turns spitting into the face of most contemporary alt-country acts. The band’s most recent album, 2007’s Emotionalism, served to accentuate the more tender avenues of melody for the crew, with bouncy tracks like “Die Die Die” and “Paranoia in B Major” delving into ballad-worthy opining. But expect to hear some of the rawer cuts from 2006’s Four Thieves Gone: The Robbinsville Sessions; that’s when things get loud. RYAN J. PRADO

I witnessed the Portland installment of the Hotel Café Tour last night at the Wonder Ballroom. Apparently, the Hotel Café is a venue in Los Angeles where aspiring singer-songwriters can show their wares in the hopes of landing a mammoth record deal and getting their songs on Grey’s Anatomy. It’s evolved into a community of musicians who sing and play prettily, but have no interest in rock, power, or redefining the boundaries of their medium. They all pretty much follow the James Taylor-Carole King template that’s remained in place for the past forty years. Oh, except some of them have incorporated that chip-chop fake techno beat that David Gray used eight years ago. Progress!

I don’t mean to be too cruel to the Hotel Café folks; they all seem like very nice people. They each have pleasant stage presence, and seemed to be enjoying themselves on this tour, in which they take turns playing short sets (3 songs or so). This frequent turn around is a great idea; I can’t imagine spending 45 consecutive minutes with any of these performances, except maybe one. The night was emceed by the guitarist/mandolinist, a bearded cornball with the earnest enthusiasm of a camp counselor. He would frequently ask the large, chatty crowd to “give this next performer your complete attention.” A bit school-marmish, sure. The crowd was generally respectful, mostly female, with a fair amount of patient boyfriends. My friend commented, “a lot of NEW boyfriends. The old ones wouldn’t go along with this.” Indeed, it was an estrogen-happy crowd, and a night of carefully exploring emotions through song.

It was rough.

William Fitzsimmons opened the proceedings with a giant, pillowy beard and a whispery, tender voice. I can’t remember anything about his songs except they were soft to the point of wussiness. In between songs, he was remarkably self-deprecating, actually funny in poking fun at himself. He seemed aware his songs were gently depressing, like committing suicide with feathers and kittens. He closed his set with a cover of Go West’s “King of Wishful Thinking,” for which the whole Hotel Café crew came onstage and awkwardly danced. It was weird, and served as a jump-start to a long night of music that frequently lapsed into tedium.
SCORECARD: William Fitzsimmons. Would I…
- invite him to a party? Yes.
- make out with him? No. (Beard.)
- buy his record? No.

Next up was Meiko, a sprightly, adorable girl whose sincerity came through her cuddly songs. Visiting her MySpace, it seems she’s really good at marketing herself, but the most appealing thing about her is the simplicity of her tunes. She was charming, talking about drinking Jameson, and the time she flashed her vaj to the audience (she now wears shorts under her dress). She sang a song about hot dogs, which was written to score a sex scene for a student film about a man who eats a hot dog, gets sick, and hallucinates about making love to the hot dog. (Meiko played the hot dog.)
SCORECARD: Meiko. Would I…
- invite her to a party? Yes. I’d even let her bring the guitar.
- be roommates with her? Yes.
- make out with her? God, yes.
- buy her record? Well, I didn’t. Sorry, Meiko.

Jim Bianco came out, looking like a skinny Dave Attell. His songs were Tom Waits vaudeville crossed with Jack Johnson blahhh. None of his songs registered, although he was the sole respite from soft rock balladry; he incorporated jazzy shuffles and muted trumpet blares into his songs. He asked us to pretend we were in a 1920s strip club, and at one point, came off the stage to play on the floor, in the Wonder’s barrier between all-ages and alcoholics. That was reasonably cool.
SCORECARD: Jim Bianco. Would I…
- invite him to a party? Yeah. He’d probably steal all the booze, though.
- make out with him? No… well, okay. If drunk enough. Pass the gin.
- buy his record? No.

Jesca Hoop opened her set with an a cappella song and immediately lost the interest of the crowd. When she did play her guitar, she barely moved her fingers. “You’re a better guitar player than she is,” I informed my friend, who responded, “I don’t play the guitar!” Hoop’s songs were strange, fanciful, incoherent swoops of melodrama and glitz. Like her name: really close to something familiar, but in the end it’s just totally weird. (Why isn’t it "Jessica"? Did her parents drink a lot of Fresca?) I have no problem with a person pursuing their artistic muse in whatever fashion they deem fit; I just don’t need to go along on the ride, do I?
SCORECARD: Jesca Hoop. Would I…
- invite her to a party? Well, we’re really trying to keep it small this time.
- give her the keys to my apartment and have her water my plants while I’m out of town? No fucking way.

A long-haired, suit-and-tied Cary Brothers came out and played some grade-A pussywillow doggerel. I felt like I needed to douche myself after listening to his sensitive, touchy-feely tunes. At one point, he said something like “Okay, we’ve played a lot of soft songs tonight, so for this one, we’re going to amp it up! Rock ’n’ roll!” And then proceeded to play a song that was as feeble and pussified as the rest of them. It was hilarious. Brothers seemed like one of those pretty-boy douchebags who care more about their hair than in developing themselves artistically. In fact, he seemed like one of those guys who picked up the guitar SOLELY to get laid.
SCORECARD: Cary Brothers. Would I...
- invite him to a party? No.
- make out with him? NO.
- buy his record? NOOOOOOO.

Ingrid Michaelson was the headliner of sorts, and has been onboard the Hotel Café tour since its inception. She’s a cute, bespectacled, friendly girl, with pleasant songs that don’t jump out and grab you with goodness. Still, though, she was fun to watch. She kept rhapsodizing about Portland and how great it was, and at one point crowd-surfed! It was awkward—there wasn’t any music playing when she took the plunge, and she seemed concerned that someone might grab her boobs while she was being groped by the crowd—but her enthusiasm was endearing. (As were her boobs.)
SCORECARD: Ingrid Michaelson. Would I…
- invite her to a party? Totally.
- make out with her? Sure.
- buy her record? Nope.

Another week, another Mercury music section to read while you submit photos to your new favorite website. Bruce Jenner, you’re a mess…

Bundle up for the chilling whisper-folk of A Weather, whose debut long player, Cove, is one of the best releases of this young year.
MP3:
A Weather - Spiders, Snakes

Let the praise begin for the bouncy melancholy pop of Thao & The Get Down, Stay Down. Plus, if I had my way, every article we publish would be like this one and have at least one mention of Island of the Blue Dolphins in it. Rontu!
MP3:
Thao & The Get Down, Stay Down - Bag of Hammers

Portland. Chicago. Los Angeles. It doesn’t really matter where Shelly Short lays her head, just as long as she continues writing those smoky folk ballads of love, transit, loss, and (of course) ponies. Yes, more ponies and more Island of the Blue Dolphins. This music section is clearly being run by an 11 year old girl.
MP3:
Shelly Short - 4 Legs & Light

Oh sure, when I reinterpret every album from the Rollins Band from memory, no one cares. But when Dirty Projectors do the same for Black Flag’s Damaged, everyone gets all excited. What? You don’t want to hear my version of “Liar”? What about my Rollins-esque spoken word? No?
MP3:
Dirty Projectors - No More

It wasn’t too long ago that I mentioned in this here blog that Red Bull energy drink was starting its own record label. Awful, right? Well, if you want to keep your breakfast sitting peacefully in your stomach, please stop reading right now. Those of you who like vomiting in your mouth, please, by all means, read on.

From the Daily Swarm:

Island Def Jam Music Group (IDJ) and Procter & Gamble’s TAG brand announce the formation of a new hip-hop record label, TAG Records. The new label will be led by hip-hop mogul Jermaine Dupri, who will act as president of the New York-based venture. As president, Dupri will set the creative vision for the label and play an integral part in identifying and developing its musical talent.

This is a milestone for the music industry as TAG Record’s artists will be supported with a multi-million dollar marketing effort that is unprecedented for any new artist, including television, print, radio, digital and event marketing.

“Today, we make history in the music industry with TAG Records,” said Jermaine Dupri, president of TAG Records. “This label is going to provide new artists with a chance of a lifetime. New artists will receive ten times the typical marketing support – a first in the industry. I’m hand selecting and molding these artists to make history in hip hop.”

Not even the supposed sweet smells of TAG could cover up how much this idea smells like shit. I don’t care if the B-Team Jay Dee is attached. Multi-millions of dollars plus Mr. Janet Jackson plus body spray will never be the correct equation to make hip hop history, unless you’re, you know, working in the music industry and completely bat-shit fucking crazy.

DILLINGER ESCAPE PLAN, THE BLED, HEAVY HEAVY LOW LOW, FALL OF ENOSIS (Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) Forget about Kemado Records being the most divisive thing in American metal. The Sword, Danava, and Saviours all seem to have as many haters as they do supporters, but Dillinger Escape Plan take the cake when it comes to the ability to both repel and attract heavy music fans. Many can’t stand vocalist Greg Puciato, who sounds like Mike Patton yet is built like a quarterback. When he’s screaming, he’s even less original, undermining the band’s experimental song-structuring with status quo metalcore. Still, a perfect spiral occasionally loosens out of Puciato’s overbearing grip. On Ire Works’ “Horse Hunter,” schizophrenic shredding, laser beams, and crazed jazz unite in a space that might otherwise be filled with a breakdown. It dares to go over our heads without running on top of us, which Puciato literally did to start a 2005 set in New York City. Bad man, good band. MIKE MEYER

MP3:
Dillinger Escape Plan - Milk Lizard

Thank god for Ned Lannamann’s fantastic Mercury podcast “Your Radio Sucks”—for otherwise I may have never discovered the music I intend on exclusively listening to for the rest of my life: FRENCH DISCO. If you have any interest at all in enjoying life, please watch the following video from French electropop hottie Yelle entitled “JE VEUX TE VOIR” which my online translator tells me means “I Want to See You.” OY, is it SEXY! And FUN! In fact, it’s so sexy and fun, I think George Bush should invade France, so we can kidnap Yelle and have her all to ourselves. Wait… what’s that? Yelle will be in Portland on April 23 at Rotture? Oh. That works too. VIVA LE FRENCH DISCO!

MY LIFE WITH THE THRILL KILL KULT, DJ KENOY & MR. MUMU (Dante’s, 1 SW 3rd) In what is now officially the season of industrial nostalgia, My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult will begin their 20th anniversary tour right here in Portland. On the heels of Ministry’s final Portland show, it couldn’t be a more timely fit. Of course, both one-time Wax Trax! acts have gone in very different directions since their salad days. Ministry has spent the last 16 years assimilating into an arena-rattling form of political heavy metal, while TKK have done their best to ditch early abrasiveness for disco pop. TKK’s latest full-length, The Filthiest Show in Town, is a cleaner effort than its title implies. “Jet Set Sex” and “Jive Ass Ave.” celebrate plain funk as much as they do sex—certainly nothing here is as dirty as their classic “Waiting for Mommie.” MIKE MEYER

She came from England, but she’s a Portlander now, and Scout Niblett’s about to take her carpetbag of minimalist folksy neo-grunge on the road to parts as far as the other edge of the Western world. Come see her off with well wishes and wine salutes. MARJORIE SKINNER

And if you haven’t watched it already, here’s Scout’s adorably puzzling video with Will Oldham which was shot in and around Portland. After she tries on a wig, and inserts bread into her jowls (?), Scout and a costumed Bonnie “Prince” Billy can be seen at these local landmarks: Sauvie Island Beach, Steel Bridge, Avalon Theater/Wunderland Arcade, Stark Naked Pizza, others?

Scout Niblett with Will Oldham: “Kiss”

(A hi-res version is also available here.)

Scout Niblett plays tonight w/Holy Sons, Oregon Painting Society; Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside, 9 pm, $10.

Tonight the National Geographic channel is showing an hour long documentary on the Straight Edge scene. Narrated by none other than Mr. No Drugs Thurston Moore, this is sure to be worth more than a few laughs.

I mean, really, we all have to know at least one former Straight Edger with an unfortunate Straight Edge tattoo, right? Off the top of my head I can think of at least three, all of whom are total stoners now, with tattoos ranging from the classic triple-x to the Minor Threat sheep to a giant Unbroken “Life.Love.Regret” chest plate.

Please, feel free to leave your best Straight Edge jokes in the comment section. Best one gets a six-pack some serious kudos.

I will admit though that, despite the unfortunate Straight Edge ties, Start Today by Gorilla Biscuits still totally kicks ass.

Word on the street is that Sub Pop, in honor of their 20th year, is having a grand ‘ole shindig on July 12th & 13th at Marymoor Park (in Redmond, WA) with a top secret lineup of performers.

The label—which in recent years has always seemed just as much a product of Portland as it has Seattle (since their current roster is littered with local acts: Helio Sequence, Blitzen Trapper, The Thermals)—has been tight lipped on what performers will be playing, but the rumor mill has brought up everyone from The Fluid to The Postal Service.

I assume Nirvana is out (unless they pull a Blind Melon), but with a roster this varied, it’s pretty tempting to come up with some dream bills.

If you wore the pants at the Pop, who would you have play?

Ever been stuck in the office and the boss is giving you shit and all you can think of is just breaking a big ol’ nasty drum solo off right in his face? God, I have.

Well here’s the next best thing: Drumulator. Throw on the headphones and become Neil Pert while all the other worker bees just drone.

BOOYAH!

The best part of being the music editor here at the Mercury is that my boss, the illustrious Sir Wm. Steven Humphrey, knows nothing about music. I can run long-winded rants about mall emo bands and he’s none the wiser.

That was, until he stormed into my office the other day, ripped off my headphones, kicked my dog, and demanded that I cover a performer coming to Portland. Knowing his keen taste in music, I was pretty sure I knew who he was talking about.

“Color Me Badd, right? I know how much you love that ‘I Wanna Sex You Up’ song, sir.”

Turns out I was wrong. After he was done punching me, Mr. Humphrey informed me that I was covering Robyn, or else.

Thankfully, “Who’s That Girl?,” the “new” single from her forthcoming album Robyn (which is finally seeing the light of day here in the States, after being released across the pond in 2005), finds this Swedish pop singer in prime form and rocking a stylish marching band outfit, which I’m sure will be the next big fashion trend.

Robyn performs at Berbati’s Pan on May 13th

I’m no musicologist, but I’m pretty sure no other band in the history of the world has ever performed on a rooftop.

Correction, this band did it first.

Anyway, The Thermals—featuring Hutch in a cowboy hat—climbed 25 stories into the New York sky to do a live set for the folks at Pitchfork.tv. They performed “Returning to the Fold” (embedded here), “St. Rosa and the Swallows,” a medley of “No Culture Icons” and “Overgrown, Overblown!,” plus an excellent version of “A Pillar of Salt” as well.

I love My Chemical Romance.

I know, I know, instead of slumming it with hoards of mall emo kids from the ‘burbs, I should be listening to nothing but Trout Mask Replica while I pack my overnight bags for a trip to music critic fat camp. But I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit my admiration for MCR’s tempered hysterics, their bombastic Queen (and showtunes) obsession, and the over the top dramatics of frontman (and occasional Portland resident) Gerard Way.

Of course, there’s more to being a MCR fan than being ridiculed by my peers. There is much debate if their single “Helena” kicked off the fucked-up you break my heart, I break your neck emo trend of using dead women as visual icons (I disagree, since Glassjaw was lyrically offing—or just hurting—women years before MCR applied that initial coat of guyliner in their suburban Jersey homes). In fact, the band is surprisingly self effacing, and unafraid to lay into their target demographic (“Teenagers scare the living shit out of me”) from time to time. Also, being a MCR supporter means coming to terms with the fact that, at their shows, I look like an undercover drug narc staking out a Hot Topic (Any of you Emos want to sell me some illicit narcotics?).

But as long as they continue to make videos like this, and songs like the one posted below, I’m on board the good ship My Chemical Romance.

That is, until they make a mature, grown up, record. Once that happens, I am done.

MP3:
My Chemical Romance - Welcome to the Black Parade

My Chemical Romance perform tonight, and tomorrow night, at the Crystal Ballroom.

I know, I know… it’s probably in my best interests to let This Thing die, but, well, it’s not really about my best interests, is it?

There’s been a lot of feedback, and it runs the gamut from great to hate. But there’s one piece of the puzzle I haven’t been able to find yet. I’ve been told of an essay by Ian Svenonius (of Nation of Ulysses, Make Up, etc.) where he tackles the issue, or at least one of it’s relatives (ie: technological advances are making musicians less collaborative). I tried to find it, but no copies of any of Svenonius’ essays seem to be available online. Does anyone know where I might find a copy?

Perhaps it is included in Svenonius’ collection of published essays, “The Psychic Soviet.” I may have to head down and see if I can find this sucker at Powell’s. Brace yourselves for what could be the first End Hits book review.

The one thing I found regarding the essay is this video (from The Stranger!). And jesus, if you thought I was bad, this sucker makes even Zac Pennington look humble:

It’s official: I am completely obsessed with the new album, We Brave Bee Stings and All, by Thao With The Get Down Stay Down. The thing is a sugar-rush of goodness, and sounds, at least to me, like a perfect blend of the pop-stylings of Basia Bulat and the wide-eyed wonderment of Milk-Eyed Mender-era Joanna Newsom.

Above all else, though, is this album’s ability to put me in a good mood. Never mind the fact that it’s April and not even 50 degrees outside right now: after watching this video once I can think of nothing but sunny days and eating ice cream cones.

Thao With The Get Down Stay Down are playing the Someday Lounge on April 15th.

David Bowie - Life on Mars?

One person, with typically bad British teeth, alone in a white room. No backdrop. No props. No band. No budget. No dance routines.

And he’s able to pull off an entirely captivating, engrossing performance video with virtually nothing at his disposal, except a camera pointed in his direction and some garish make-up. Oh, and a great song. It’s infinitely more artful and more interesting than epic, overproduced, storyboarded, plot-driven videos. Take note, My Chemical Romance.

While all the blogger kids are chattering about another online video enterprise, we look to the hotbed of Whitefish, Montana for our live music clip needs.

Not too long ago local piano balladeers Carcrashlander traveled to the live music hub that is Whitefish to record a session for SnowGhost.

SnowGhost, in their words:

An artist or a band is invited to come out and record as much as they can handle over a few days in a one-of-a-kind studio. They also get an opportunity to play a show in town in front of a small-town crowd. We document their performances (and everything else) with video, writing, film, and especially good recordings, and then we showcase it all on our site as soon as possible.

Since it’s Whitefish, and not Silicon Valley, the videos are not embeddable, but that shouldn’t stop you from heading over to the site for some wonderful Carcrashlander songs, plus equally as impressive sets from the likes of Matmos, Get Him Eat Him, and more.

The End Hits Photography Board of Directors put down the soft focus boudoir erotica just long enough to send the wonderful Liza Lubell to take some photos of Horse Feathers and Panther this past Friday at Holocene.

Enjoy!

Horse Feathers:

Panther: