VHS OR BETA, ANOTHER CYNTHIA, TIGERCITY
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) VHS or Beta have come a long way since the French-inflected instrumental disco of Le Funk; they’re now a full-fledged mainstream pop/rock band similar to the Stills or the Killers, and the Louisville, KY electro-popsters are returning for their third Doug Fir appearance since September. They’re still touring behind last year’s Bring on the Comets, a pleasant, ’80s-skewed pop album that’s equal parts Duran Duran and Simple Minds. Album highlights “Can’t Believe a Single Word” and “Bring on the Comets” are over-inflated but affirming anthems ready-made for the sports arena, and having just come off a Coachella performance, they’ll strive to make the Doug Fir seem larger than life. Sure, the formats of VHS and Betamax are both irrelevant now, but the band’s music is a harmless, danceable nostalgia trip. NL

MP3:
VHS or Beta - Night On Fire

EL CERDO, JONNY X & THE GROADIES, TRANSIENT, FLYING FORTRESS
(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) There was a time when being hardcore meant applying faith (pick a political issue!) to fury (now scream!). Metalcore arrived later, fortified with high-flying pit moves, chugga-chugga groove, and human growth hormone (now flex!). Hardcore has somehow defined both Minor Threat and Hatebreed, and—judging by Vancouver, WA’s El Cerdo—it has made itself very sick in the process. Three of El Cerdo’s four dudes burp out low, sour bile all over their crusty new full-length, Our Bellies Sluggish with Goat Meat. “Infestation of Man” is the biggest mouthful, with each member trying to out man-sick the other. Try it at home yourself: Stick your finger down your throat (now puke!). You’ve just made punk a threat again. MIKE MEYER

MP3:
El Cerdo - Infestation of Man

For the last week just about all I’ve been listening to is Lil’ Wayne’s Da Drought 3. It’s not news of course, but Weezy F B is the Best Rapper Alive. I can’t get enough— Song of the Week, for sure. Well, there are a few from this mixtape, really. But to simplify we’ll go with “We Takin’ Over”, although “Upgrade” and “New Cash Money” are equally strong.

This is a bit of a roundabout, but go with me: I’ve been preparing to interview wacked-out dandy-fop Daniel Bejar of Destroyer, who I find one of the premiere lyricists of the day. I’ve been wondering who else belongs in this category. You’re going to think I’ve lost it, if indeed you ever thought I had it (rest assured, I do), but Lil Wayne is a part of this group. Fuck off, it’s true. He might be a little goofy, trite at times, but dude twists phrases in some seriously strange and clever ways.

Ahh, but it’s Friday and the sun is out. So let’s drop this paper-thin attempt at serious criticism and just crank up the stereo.

Listen Loud: “We Takin’ Over”

I caught the Stephen Malkmus & the Jicks show last night at the Wonder Ballroom, and took full advantage of the photo pass that I was issued. (Which didn’t really seem to get me anywhere that regular ticketholders couldn’t go.) Let it be said that I am a horrible photographer. I took dozens of photos, most of which are too awful to post here. And the camera evidently knew how poor a photographer I was; after each picture, it politely asked me: “This picture is blurry. Delete?”

Thoughts on the Malkmus/Jicks set, and the Joggers’ set (along with a couple more cringe-inducing photos) after the jump.

The Joggers opened the night with their progressive, riff- and run-heavy rock. They've evolved out of the math-isms of their earlier work to embrace a more classic-rock sound, and to prove it they played a note-perfect cover of FM chestnut "Long Distance Runaround" by Yes, complete with the "Fish" coda (although they eschewed the Brit prog legends' penchant for singing in Latin by replacing the words with "la la la la"). Yes is not an easy band to emulate, but they did an incredible job.

The Joggers' new material is really strong, too, but it's quite complicated stuff, with every last corner of the songs being filled with a melodic phrase or riff. In a live context, the band played loosely, and some of the fancy musical lines seemed fluffed, not quite as precise as they needed to be. Their tightly-knit energy was also slightly at odds with the spacious Wonder Ballroom, and probably is still better suited for smaller clubs, where the audience can really get in on the action. Still, the band was obviously having a good time, and their set was a lot of fun.
Malkmus and Jicks came out and bumbled around the stage for a few minutes before even playing a note. Their set was heavy on new material, which is similarly riffy. The laid back quality of the music has a certain charm, but I don't think it sustained itself over the course of a set. In fact, Malkmus seemed at times lazy, not trying too hard or very carefully, with wrong notes, fluffed runs, and some lame improvisation. The band followed him very closely, but their leader unfocused, they were rarely able to pick up the slack.

I'm hard-pressed to detail highlights; the tunes ran into one another and were difficult to tell apart. As someone who really did like the last record and the band's exploratory extension of songs past the typical 3-minute barrier, I was surprised by how unengaging it was in a live setting. There wasn't any point where the jams "took off." It was a homecoming show, so the band was comfortable, and certainly isn't in a position where they need to win over any new fans, so my impression was that they (or at least, Malkmus) felt perfectly content to step on stage, walk through some of the chord changes, and just fuck around.

Ezra, I know you love the emo and all, but turning your favorite president into a character from your My Chemical Romance fan fiction stories is one step over the line.

Once again we sent Liza Lubell to the Doug Fir for some photo excellence. Last night she witnessed the splendid twee vocal-pop of Bodies of Water, plus those Scottish sensations, Sons and Daughters. Enjoy.

Bodies of Water

Sons and Daughters

It never seemed intentional, but the VSS were a gleaming beacon of hope to the dyed black haired masses, the white belters, the spock rockers, and any restless hipster kid who felt out of place in the cartoon uniformity of punk music or the lazy slack predictability of indie rock. Fronted by Sonny Kay—who, along with MacKaye and Biafra, was a culture changing lead singer whose influence wasn’t just limited to the stage, his label (GSL) was a longtime frontrunner of the independent scene before shutting down last year—the band took a page from the Gravity Records (a label they once were a part of in their previous incarnation, Angel Hair) playbook and kept things short, sweet, and loud in their brief run.

Their masterwork was Nervous Circuits, released a decade ago, and now (thankfully) getting the reissue treatment via Hydra Head. The record captured the band at what they did best, the unsettling blasts of goth keyboard heroics, the raw guitar tones, Kay’s desperate howls, and the thumping drums of Dave Clifford (a former Portland who has played in Pleasure Forever—that’s a good thing—and written for WW—that’s a bad thing). On the few tours that followed Nervous Circuits it seemed that the VSS were changing the face, and dress, of modern punk music, as their crowds, no matter how big or small, were being seduced by the band’s dark sound and style. Hell, I was one of them. After seeing the band I desperately wanted to crawl onstage and be one of them in the worst possible way. It was punk’s rebellion repackaged for the kids who couldn’t really give a fuck.

After they unplugged the light show and packed away the keyboards for good, you could hear the VSS in everyone from Ink and Dagger, to the Locust, and—god, I am so sorry to even write this—even less worthy bands such as AFI or Atreyu. But don’t blame them for that, the VSS’ contribution to the underground landscape is far more important than some clowns dressed in black with a soft smear of their mom’s eyeliner running down their faces.

MP3:
The VSS - In Miniature

PURCHASE:
Nervous Circuits, the special reissue version with a bonus CD.

Thanks to Rubin Recommends for the help.

VETIVER, KELLEY STOLTZ, THE BATTLE OF LAND & SEA
(Roseland Grill, 8 NW 6th) Vetiver’s survival of the buzz wave from San Francisco’s freak-folk scene has finally yielded some much-deserved ballyhoo. The band’s upcoming album, Thing of the Past, an all-covers album, briskly braises Dead-esque jam leads in woven tapestries of murky folk rock. Vocalist Andy Cabic (also a member of Devendra Banhart’s band) is a natural frontman, all spastic and enchanting, and it comes through even when the band branches off to tap into others’ songs (material from Hawkwind, Bobby Charles, and Biff Rose is featured, among others). There’s a tenderness to even their most brazen tunes, and an undeniable ’70s vibe permeates almost every pore of their sound—not as a detriment, but as badge of authenticity. Expect to laugh, cry, mourn, and sway in elation all in one set—that’s a pretty potent concoction. RYAN J. PRADO

MP3:
Vetiver - Been So Long

Photo by Alissa Anderson

“Wolves” was one of my favorite tracks last year, and here we get a nice video of Phosphorescent performing the song for the Black Cab Sessions. Even stripped down to just a guitar and a funny hunting hat, the song still holds most of the haunting beauty that made me love it so much in the first place.

To appease the aggressive, and often violent, demands of the pro-cat spinsters that are my co-workers, here is my token cat blog post on “National Blog About Stupid Cat Day,” or whatever it is called.

You just get one, so you better enjoy it.

Unlike their superior canine pals, felines tend to get the short end of the songwriting stick. While there are plenty of great songs for the catnip crowd—the Weakerthans have a pair, as does Mark Kozelek—mostly when I think of songs written about cats, I either have thoughts of Mr. Mistoffelees, or this jingle (which, after watching that clip, is now stuck in my head—FOREVER!). Thankfully the sensitive Canadian crooner Hayden has written a great little tale about Woody, his restless, and horny, cat who disappears ever spring to sew some wild kitty oats.

“This is a story about my cat, his name is Woody… Woody has a hole in his heart. Which sucks because he’s just living on borrowed time as they say. I love him but every year he runs away at about spring time in early May. He leaves and comes back three days later and he stumbles into the house and he’s dirty and his eyes are bloodshot and he stinks like whiskey. He’s obviously been up to no good, but what can I do? This week I’m gonna sit him down and tell him he’s neutered, because I don’t think he knows.”

MP3:
Hayden - Woody

A split 7 inch between Hey Lover and Cafeteria Dance Fever came out a couple months ago on Hovercraft. It’s called “On Safari With…” and it’s a six-song, 33 rpm 7 inch. Each band gets two songs a side, then teams up for a third tune at the close of each side. It’s pressed (as you can see) on clear green vinyl—and it’s a gleeful, thrashing stinkload of fun.

Hey Lover’s side is the poppier of the two, with “Full Costume Bible Dance” starting with a back-and-forth two note riff. The White Stripey drum ‘n’ guitar combo is plenty thick, then the song stops for a slow arpeggio, with a forlorn vocal from Justin Varga. “Take the stage and shine like a star,” he sings with drummer and wife Terah Beth. “She’s the Girl for Me” continues with the guitar scratching out sixteenth notes, then a prime pop melody and thumping backbeat kick in. The side closes with the duo teaming up with Cafeteria Dance Fever for “Itchy Scratch,” which dumps a bunch of noise on top of a descending four-note riff that sounds kind of like “Sense of Doubt” from Bowie’s “Heroes” album. It’s a squealy feedback punch out.

Cafeteria Dance Fever continues on side B with “Cancer Ward,” a punk bass ‘n’ drum backbeat over a scraping distorted guitar backdrop. The band drops out for a brief, bizarre breakdown, with xylophone, acoustic guitar, and childlike vocals. “Color Coded” is perhaps the best song on the side. It opens with cartoon sci-fi sounds then continues with creaking strings, groaning amplifiers, and a muttered vocal that evolves into a bratty whine for the chorus. An instrumental break features swirls of stretched-taffy feedback, then the beat comes back, with the hi hat chipping away like an icepick. The side concludes with another team-up between the two bands for a song that’s listed on the artwork as “Dead in the Ball Pit,” but I think it’s actually supposed to be called “Snake in the Ball Pit.” The vocal and guitar duplicate a weird, tightrope melody, then the chorus is a singsongy chant at a different tempo. The final verse is shouted as a steroid raging scream for a strange, disorienting end. The two bands obviously have fun playing together and they’ve got a tour of Europe planned later this year.

Hey Lover play Holocene Friday, May 9. Go to Hey Lover’s MySpace to hear all their songs, and you can hear 2 out 3 songs from the Cafeteria Dance Fever side at their website; the third is at their MySpace.

CRYPTACIZE, THE DEAD SCIENCE, GHOST TO FALCO
(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) Nedelle Torrisi and Chris Cohen alternate lead vocal duties for California’s Cryptacize, and their respective approaches help characterize what makes this trio noteworthy. Torrisi’s guileless yearning gives the band an at-times theatrical feeling, while Cohen’s drier delivery and Morricone-ready guitar lines shift the territory from stage lights to Cinemascope. On their debut, Dig That Treasure, they literally invoke transcendence at certain points (“Cosmic Sing-a-long” and “Heaven is Human”), and there’s also a sparse, discernible silence hovering behind the music that they make. It’s the rush to overcome this that ultimately makes the band’s songs as compelling as they are, lending a greater gravity to their offbeat pop sensibility. TOBIAS CARROLL

MP3:
Cryptacize - Cosmic Sing-a-long

Futuristic space photo by Kate Fruchey

Another week, another Mercury music section to read after you play Grand Theft Auto IV for over 25 hours in a row. I hope you finally rescued the princess from that mean ‘ole Bowser. Same game, right?

Ellen Allien knocks down the Berlin Wall, and torches Detroit, to claim her position atop the club music throne. Okay, maybe she did it with less violence.
MP3:
Ellen Allien - Caress

DON’T GO INTO THE WOODS! Unless, of course, you want to end up as a member of Dark Meat. That’s how they get you: One minute you are leisurely on a bird-watching excursion, and the next minute you are in a crazy 17-member psychrock band, painting your body, living in tress, and stirring the commune’s compost pile.
MP3:
Dark Meat - Freedom Ritual

Minus the Bear have this post-punk-pop (not to be confused with post-pop-punk) thing down. Remember that time they played Paris Theatre? God, that place was terrible.
MP3:
Minus the Bear - Knights

Know who had a body of water? This guy. Remember when he was all in the pool, and then he came out and killed people and shit? Think you’re alone? Think again. Ugh, why can’t I go one week without talking about that damn movie? Oh, we wrote something about a band called Bodies of Water this week, they’re really good.
MP3:
Bodies of Water - I Guess We’ll Forget the Sound, I Guess, I Guess

End Hits: Why won’t someone buy us that Hollow Man soundtrack?

The core of the Thermals, Hutch and Kathy get the La Blogothèque (or if you like your links en français) “Take-Away Show” treatment on the Oregon coast.

Filmed by One Shot Seattle, the pair enjoy a lazy afternoon on the beach (Astoria? My coast detection skills are not what they used to be.) and debut some new songs which might be for their revitalized acoustic project, or for the Thermals. Who knows?

Hutch and Kathy - “That’s Inertia”

The Night Marchers last night at the Hawthorne Theatre.

The Night Marchers, the new band of Speedo (AKA John Reis, formerly of Rocket from the Crypt, Hot Snakes, and a million other bands), performed last night bringing a catalog of mostly new material, all of which had the accelerator punched down firmly to the floor. They were joined by the Muslims, whose record got me all giddy, and Red Fang, Portland’s own grunge metal heroes. More to read, and more pics, after the jump.

The Muslims' direct, punky rock was muddled by a poor-sounding mix and perhaps a too-cavernous venue. It's music meant to be heard up close 'n' sweaty, and the chilly high-ceilinged Hawthorne didn't do them any favors. It was interesting to see their drummer's super-extended floor tom doubled as a bass drum, with the pedal swinging upwards to hit the bottom skin of the tom.
Singer Matt Lamkin thrashed on what looked like an open-tuned guitar, with an unaffected delivery that didn't reveal too much. He has, on record, a lackadaisical everyman quality that allows the listener to put themselves in his place. In a live setting, it seemed a little uncommitted though, kind of pushing the crowd off instead of inviting them in.

I actually missed most of Red Fang's set, so I don't feel qualified to give an opinion. I will say, though, that two different people, who have both seen the band before, told me it was the best they'd ever seen them. So I guess they were good. For the record, I should mention that another person told me he couldn't stand to be in the room while they were playing and was forced to duck out to the Balcony Bar and get assaulted by stray pucks during their air hockey tournament.
John Reis of the Night Marchers

Meanwhile, the Night Marchers were consummate professionals, playing heavy, energetic rock carved up into jagged punk chunks. At no point did they lose momentum or seem anything less than 100% confident. I do like some of their songs, but I don't think I loved any of them. A couple tunes seemed slightly derivative too; at one point I thought I heard the riff to "Paint It Black." But it was solid, brawny music, with no gimmicks or tricks, and they more than filled the Hawthorne Theatre with their outsized, full-fledged clang.

A final note: I saw more people crowding the merch table than I've seen at any show in recent memory. Most people were buying the Night Marchers' CD, but I saw quite a few people fondling their new copies of the Muslims' bullet-ridden 12". It was reassuring to see so many people buying the music; I wonder if it's a demographic thing. Anyway, people were eager to take the night home with them, which is always cool.

Let’s start with a quote from a eighty-two year old folk singer, right before she was sent to jail for selling marijuana:

“That jury’ll never convict me. I’ve sold moonshine to half of ‘em and fucked the rest”

Hot Damn!

That came from a fabulous New Yorker piece on folk music archivists by Burkhard Bilger. I’ve been searching around for it online, and although the magazine offers most of it’s stories free online, this particular one, “The Last Verse”, has been removed. (If you can find a print copy of the April 28 issue, grab it—it’s a good read.)

The story centers around old field recordings, tracking them down, making new ones, and a reportedly fabulous six-CD box set compiled by Lance Ledbetter. It’s called Goodbye, Babylon and the goddamn thing, which comes in a cedar box, looks fucking amazing. I want it, and will have it—just as soon as I scrape up an extra $100.

Back to the Bilger’s story—while I haven’t been able to find a copy online, there is a decent audio interview with clips available here. Nestled in the clip there’s a field recording of blues man, singing on what must be his porch. A dog howls and something like a heavy stick or an axe whooshes and thumps an absolutely fearful, haunting beat. It’s thrilling.

PETER MORÉN, TOBIAS FRÖBERG, DAWN LANDES
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Peter Morén’s solo debut The Last Tycoon takes its title from a famously unfinished F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, and its cover sketch has a decidedly lo-fi aesthetic—both clues to the fact that Morén’s solo work might lean towards the sparse side of things. Best-known for his work as part of a band with two other guys named Björn and John, Morén here shows off a different side of his pop sensibility, from the crooning on display in “Missing Link” to Francophone pop (“Le Petite Coeur”). And while most of the arrangements here do sound like Morén alone, fans of the grandeur of his band will find some of the same elements at work—the slow-building “This Is What I Came For,” for instance. TOBIAS CARROLL

MP3:
Peter Morén - Social Competence

DEVOTCHKA, BASIA BULAT
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) The greatest Valentine’s Day of my life was spent with Basia Bulat. It’s not what you think, I swear. Our relationship is strictly fan-to-performer: platonic, respectful, and polite. But having seen the Canadian singer (alongside her adorable backing band) inside a half-empty Doug Fir was the greatest way to spend that dreaded faux-holiday. At first, Bulat’s songs feel simplistic and bare, but last year’s Oh, My Darling is littered with a deep-rooted sense of whimsy and artistic vision—it reminds me of a fairer-gendered Jeff Mangum had he grown up on the sweeping plains of some unnamed province north of the border. Bulat isn’t overly nostalgic for simpler times, but her songs tug towards the past, as they are soft reminders of the unyielding power a simple pop song can hold. EAC

For reals. Bulat and her band (matching outfits!) were great live, and her closing Daniel Johnston cover (“True Love Will Find You In The End”), complete with a story on how he wanted to share some pizza with her, was a perfect ending to a perfect night.

MP3:
Basia Bulat - In the Night

Photo by A. Von Seckendorf

Well, maybe more like “coffee table hell”, but either way, my footstool (and occasional drink holder) is going to look to absolutely naked until it holds the new book by Peter Beste, True Norwegian Black Metal. Seriously, how rad does this book look? I’d give it about Seven Circles out of nine on Dante’s Inferno scale.

As a plus, what a way to always make things awkward with your in-laws. “Hey, Mrs. D, take a look on page 41. There’s a dude slaughtering a lamb while, like, eight bodies burn in the background. It’s totally epic.”

Thanks to Gawker for the tip.

Friend to all, Kiala Kazebee has been kind enough to grant us a peek into her superior life, one where she dines with Dave Allen, Cut Copy, and talks about The Thornbirds while stuffing her face with tortilla chips. Face it, her life is just better than ours.

Gang of Four’s Dave Allen threw a dinner party for Cut Copy, Australia’s new New Order, on Monday night at his home in SW Portland and I was invited. Like any rock journalist worth her salt, I did a little Googling seconds before meeting the band. I am that good at what I do. What I found out, in the one half minute of signal service I could get in the West Hills, was that they are from Melbourne and Melbourne is in Australia. Sufficiently prepared, I headed inside.

I found the guys sitting at a table surrounded by beers and tortilla chips (in other words, heaven) and quickly ran over to Dave’s computer to look up who was who on the band’s MySpace page. Chanting “Dan, lead singer, gets the most chicks,” “Tim, guitar, slightly less chicks,” and “Mitchell, drums, might die unexpectantly and/or lose an arm but still—chicks” under my breath I sidled up to the boys and, in a desperate panic, asked them about the only Australian thing I knew anything about—The Thornbirds.

The Thornbirds is a book, but more importantly a 1983 miniseries, set in the Australian outback. Starring Richard Chamberlain, Bryan Brown, and Rachel Ward, it set the bar for romantic Australian sexy priest movies and will forever be known as that one movie my mom made me watch a million times.

“How many of the songs on your new album In Ghost Colours are about The Thornbirds?”

Breathless with anticipation, I waited for an answer from the band. “More than half, I think?” said Mitchell (not dead yet, still attracting chicks). Delighted and encouraged I asked my next question, “And of that amount, how many would you say are about Bryan Brown?” Dan and Tim said in unison, “All of them.”

And there it was, confirmation of a theory long held for at least 15 minutes, and now a Mercury exclusive—Cut Copy‘s new album will go down in history as the world’s first (and probably only) Thornbirds concept album.

You’re welcome.

You’d be hard pressed to find another publication as obsessed with the enigmatic head Mountain Goat (and skilled writer, and former Portlander) John Darnielle, as we are. It’s a bit unhealthy, actually. But now we can add another Darnielle accomplishment to the list, guest blogger for Powell’s.

In honor of Darnielle’s contribution to the 33 1/3 book series—a reckless teenage psych ward homage to Black Sabbath’s Master of Reality—he is blogging for everyone’s favorite bookstore, and sharing some great Portland tales as well.

I was eighteen the year I lived in Portland. It was a fertile time for heavy metal, though a lot of what was going on was strictly under the radar: the music press wasn’t reporting much on it except for the obligatory satanic-scare stories, and the cool kids — the ones people like to call “hipsters” now in order to let you know that they know who the hipsters are — could not be bothered with it. Celtic Frost played Satyricon that year, but I wasn’t twenty-one, so I couldn’t get in.

Or, this great tale of tweakers and the almighty Mercyful Fate:

I used to think a lot about Mercyful Fate because of a particularly difficult evening I once had in Portland, which involved speed freaks colonizing my apartment, commenting ominously on the possible hock value of my stereo, and writing poems — swear to God — while seated at my writing desk. The author of the now-all-but-forgotten poem had used a single piece of writing paper, and she’d pressed her ballpoint pen so hard into the paper that the text of the poem was forever impressed into the desk’s wooden surface. The poem completed, she had handed it around the room like a child showing off a drawing; I remember everyone reading it without comment. Lots of things pass without comment in the sort of environment I’m describing. The poem was a description of an imagined Mercyful Fate concert.

It makes for an entertaining read, and while you are at it, be sure to order the book as well.

FOR IMMIDIATE RELEASE
Contact: Coachella Police Department
Indio Sheriff Station
82-695 Dr Carreon Blvd
Indio, California 92201
(760)863-8990

All Points Bulletin:

All officers be on the lookout for an inflatable two-story giant pig, which “escaped” from Coachella Music Festival, Sunday, April 27th.

Rumors abound as to the pig’s whereabouts. Numerous tips point towards a contingent of three to four stout, blonde, box-headed men in their early 20’s. Dressed in frayed, Abercrombie cargo shorts, flip-flops, and pooka-shell necklaces, the young men were overheard plotting the pig’s disappearance. The pig was reported missing during Roger Waters’ second set, around 11:00pm, Sunday night.

A concert-goer, reportedly overheard the following conversation in the main-stage field, Sunday at 10:00pm:

“This shit is gay, dude,” one said.

“Rage was so tight last year,” another said.

“YEAH DUDE, but nothing can TOUCH Woodstock ’99!”

“Hell yah, brah. Where’s all the trim? I NEED SOME PUSSAY! THIS IS Fuckin’ gay, brah. I NEED SOME PUSSAY!”

“ FUCK YEAH DUDE! Dude, you see that pig? Let’s FUCK THAT SHIT UP, DELTA TAO STYLE!”

“FUCK YEAH BRAH!”

The group reportedly proceeded to chug their remaining case of Miller “Chill”, then disappeared behind the Mojave tent. Local authorities later discovered a number of empty syringes, which are believed to have contained the anabolic steroid Depo-Testosterone and Deca-Durabolin.

The group is believed to be driving a Dodge Ram King-cab, with vanity plates (“BUTTSXXX”). Approach with caution—if indeed the men are using anabolic steroids, they may be volatile. Tasers should be drawn and used liberally.

Suspect Descriptions:

“Todd” – White male, 5’8”, 220 lbs. Brown hair with “frosted” blonde tips. White t-shirt reading: “I Shaved My Balls for THIS?”

“Chad” – White male, 5’8”, 185 lbs. “Jersey-style” pencil beard. Club shirt.

“Rich” – White male, 6’,1”, 200 lbs. T-shirt reads: “Giggity Giggity”

“Todd” – White male, 6’, 195 lbs. Club shirt, Oakley sunglasses. May be Todd Whitemore, who was cited and taken to Coachella Detention and Detox. Whitemore was suspected to applying date-rape drug rohypnol to a female concert-goers drink. In an attempt to avoid charges, Whitemore claimed to have prepared the cocktail for himself, and quickly drank the evidence. Whitemore was then moved to the detox tent, where he remained glassy-eyed and vomiting until Saturday morning.

—

OK, that’s a load of shit. But seriously, the pig IS lost and there’s a big reward: $10,000 bucks and four tickets to next year’s show. HAH! Anyone with info can email lostpig@coachella.com. HAHAHA!!

Okay, maybe not kill you, but it just might cause the Devil himself (he’s no fan of Starfield) to collapse the concert floor and send you tumbling down to the lake of fire… or maybe the church basement.

Same thing, really.

LYRICS BORN
(Berbati’s Pan, 10 SW 3rd) After milking his 2003 debut, Later That Day, for all it was worth (first there was 2005’s remix album, Same !@#$ Different Day, and then 2006’s Overnite Encore: Lyrics Born Live), Lyrics Born finally has a legitimately new LP, Everywhere at Once—which, kind of surprisingly, is more or less a bouncy, funky dance record that largely downplays the rapper’s gravelly, laidback cadence in favor of hyper-produced hooks and cheesy background vocals. Lyrics Born—a founder of Quannum Projects and half of Latyrx—has enjoyed plenty of backpacker cred, but with this disc, one suspects he’s either hoping for more club play, or he’s just now noticing how many units Kanye moves. When the album’s showy, oft-annoying choruses are pushed to the background, though, Lyrics Born gets to roam around, punching and mumbling and singing his lyrics over simpler, catchier hooks, proving his delivery and personality are as strong as ever—tracks like “I Like It, I Love It” balance the old-school charm of classic funk and the immediacy of hiphop into a blend that feels like nothing else out there. Lyrics Born is also one of the rare hiphop artists who can deliver in person, so expect tonight’s appearance to show off his best attributes, while hopefully leaving the less successful elements of Everywhere at Once back in the studio. ERIK HENRIKSEN

MP3:
Lyrics Born - I Like It, I Love It

Well, I’m going to jump on the bandwagon here and proclaim my love for Santogold’s self-titled debut album. It’s pretty incredible, and on top of having some amazing cover art, the thing manages to act as an awesome melting pot of, most notably, dub and pop.

And yes, there are tracks produced by Switch and Diplo, but please, do not listen to people referring to Santogold as M.I.A. 2.0. They aren’t even in the same vein. Santogold sounds closer to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs covering a non-produced Lily Allen (and yes, I realize I may get crucified by more than one person for the previous sentence). If “L.E.S. Artistes” isn’t this year’s “Maps”, I don’t know what is.

The above video of her performing the song on Late Night With Conan O’Brien makes me really sad I didn’t get a chance to see her at SXSW, seeing as how she has no current plans on hitting Portland anytime soon.

Santogold’s debut album was released today! Go get it! No really, right now, go get it!

Pure, unadulterated garage rock—when done properly—can be one of the finest things around. Its beauty lies in its functional simplicity, wherein the nutrients of music are stripped down to their purest, most pleasurable form: motion, shape, tune, groove, and twang. No gluey fat to clog the arteries, no unnecessary garnish to confuse the palate, no confusing ornamentation to distract from the matter at hand.

And, oh yeah, it also rocks.

MP3:
The Muslims - Nightlife

The Muslims, out of San Diego, make that kind of music. It’s goofy and badass at the same time. It’s heroically slackerish, or slouchingly triumphant, if that makes any sense. It’s the kind of music that always makes me excited because it exists out of context, not following any current trends or movements. It sounds like it could have been played in 1968, or 1988, or 2028. It’s all about youthful energy, and by that I don’t really mean it’s about being (or feeling, even if you’re not) young. It just contains that force of life, that momentum, that excitement about things that you like and feel good to you and about which you want to know more. Like that twanging, silvery guitar tone, or that color of light that the air turns at a certain dusky hour, or that girl whose smile you trust implicitly even though you don’t know too much about her.

MP3:
The Muslims - On My Time

The Muslims have a seven song vinyl record out on 1928 Recordings, which also comes packaged with a CD that includes all seven songs, plus 3 extras. So yeah, it’s a 10-song record for all intents and purposes. What’s more, they’re playing tonight at the Hawthorne Theatre, opening for the Night Marchers. They’re going on first, so be certain to get there in time. Meanwhile, listen to more Muslims here, and buy the record—which comes complete with bulletholes shot by a former NYPD cop—here (more tunes there, also).

The Muslims play TONIGHT with the Night Marchers and Red Fang; Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th, 8 pm, $15, ALL AGES

Quite possibly the greatest music site on the mighty interweb—and home to occasional Merc contributor Sean Moeller—Daytrotter has just posted a great set from local duo-now-trio, Quasi. The session includes one older track, “Seven Years Gone” from 2003’s Hot Shit, plus three brand new unreleased jams as well. Our favorite is below, and despite it’s title (“Bye Bye Blackbird”), I don’t believe it is about the former Portland venue.

MP3:
Quasi - Bye Bye Blackbird (Daytrotter Session)

In honor of the hotshit show of the week—Cut Copy and Black Kids—we sent our entire photography team to the Doug Fir to document the occasion.

On film!

Minh Tran is responsible for the shots of Black Kids, while Liza Lubell is the one behind the Cut Copy pictures. Enjoy.

Black Kids

Cut Copy

The full trailer for the Darby Crash biopic What We Do Is Secret has hit the web and it looks pretty promising. It seems like the film, which stars Shane West (E.R.) as Crash, focuses on the Germs as a band just as much as it does on their enigmatic/destructive lead singer.

The movie also will feature modern day bands playing the role of notable acts of that era, including Mae Shi as the Screamers and Smashmouth the Bronx as Black Flag.

No word on a Portland release, but we’ll keep you posted.

It doesn’t take much for my tiny brain to overload and tumble over like a drunken game of Jenga. For instance, this clip of the Shins performing on the kid/LSD-friendly show, Yo Gabba Gabba!…

The unreleased song (“It’s Okay, Try Again”) seemed to please the brightly colored nightmarish creatures, which most likely distracted them from their true intention; tearing the band limb from limb and consuming their very souls as the cameras roll. The Shins aren’t the first big name to appear on the show, in the past Elijah Wood, Biz Markie, Tony Hawk and more have all stopped by to delight kids, and confuse adults.

Link courtesy of Videogum.

The thing about the Black Kids—amidst the, justifiable, “hyperactive Cure” references and the blinding hype—is the fact that the Jacksonville, FL band just isn’t ready.

Yet.

Black Kids show tremendous promise, a keen sense of smarts, and the unteachable ability to pen a mammoth pop hook within the context of an otherwise simple song. Granted, it’s still enough to be worthy of the ridiculous amount of attention they’ve received (nor is the term “bloggergum” acceptable, ever), but the talent is definitely there.

It’s odd to think about how these kids, and they are indeed kids, have been propelled so quickly into the pop culture crosshairs. If you think the bloggers were cruel to Tapes ‘n Tapes, once can only image the “here today, gone tomorrow” treatment the Black Kids will get once they deliver their eventual full-length. Then again, all this hype and attention has landed them a pretty sweet record deal, management company, and a road trip alongside Cut Copy, so feeling bad for them might be out of the question. Let’s just hope they develop a thick skin, steer clear of Pete Wentz, and keep writing songs like “I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You.” They do that and they’ll be fine.

MP3:
Black Kids - I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You

Black Kids perform tonight at Doug Fir.

Throw Me the Statue played the last date of their extensive first tour last night at the Doug Fir. Many of their friends came down from Seattle for what was not quite a homecoming show; the band looked very happy to be (almost) home. Throw Me the Statue’s album Moonbeams is primarily the studio work of main Statue Scott Reitherman, but live it is very much a band effort. The chemistry between the five members was solid, and they all took turns and switched instruments, moving between guitars, floor toms, keyboards, tambourines. Only the very deft, speedy Jarred Grimes stayed on one instrument (drums) throughout the show.
No, this picture is NOT from the Doug Fir show.

I initially thought Throw Me the Statue took their name from Raiders of the Lost Ark, but I discovered the actual quote from that movie is “Throw me the idol.” It turns out TMTS threw a bunch of magnetic words onto a fridge and took their name from the random assortment of words that stuck. At any rate, the origin of their name is apt for a collagist style that takes canned drumbeats, guitars, and percussion and puts them through a giddy, infectious pop filter. Their super-catchy tunes sound like colorful scrapbooks where every corner of the page is covered with some souvenir or remembrance. In a live setting, their set seemed speedy—over too quickly—but a satisfying, bubbly comedown after a long tour.

VIKING MOSES, GOLDEN GHOST
(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) Coming a long way from the days of making self-released cassettes, Brendon Massei (Viking Moses) has reached a somewhat stable point in his career. He has a label (the well-respected local outfit Marriage Records), a sometimes backing band, and the man is always on the road. And I do mean always. His latest tour is a baffling two-month journey, which takes him from East to West Coast and back again. Massei’s brand of off-kilter folk music (often dubbed “freak folk,” although it’s more homespun and quaint than it is freaky) is stripped bare of pretension, and instead just shimmers on its own as a true testament to the limitless nature of artistic expression. Plus he totally nails that Possum Dixon cover (“Invisible”), thus proving his taste in music is pretty stellar as well. EAC

MP3:
Viking Moses - Country Gown

Photo by Hanna

While I didn’t completely agree with our take on Forgetting Sarah Marshall, I do think that Erik is correct regarding the “Apatow Seal of Approval,” which the film definitely has. To me, the jokes were hit and miss, but the scene where Peter Bretter (Jason Segel) first performs the theme (“Dracula’s Lament”) to his Dracula Musical (with puppets!) is absolutely priceless.

MP3:
Jason Segel - Dracula’s Lament