THE PARSON RED HEADS, DOLOREAN, JEREMY BENSON
(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) See our article on the Parson Red Heads.
RICHARD BUCKNER, DAVID KILGOUR
(Bunk Bar, 1028 SE Water) If fans of Kiwi pop progenitors the Clean aren't already familiar with co-founder David Kilgour's solo work, they've got some catching up to do. Now eight solo albums deep, Kilgour (and backing band the Heavy Eights) offer all the shambling good nature and mercurial humor Kilgour brought to the Clean while indulging his left-field curiosities. Each record has extrapolated upon these impulses in a special way, but new LP Left by Soft is more than just a fresh paint job. It's Kilgour's take on, of all things, Americana. All the better when you consider he's co-headlining the bill with alt-country balladeer Richard Buckner, whose stubborn analepsis will close the night with an invigorating sense of purpose. CHRIS CANTINO
JOHN CRAIG AND THE WEEKEND, TANGO ALPHA TANGO, LEAVES RUSSELL, NICOLE BERKE
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) John Craig and the Weekend's Numbers is billed as an "eclectic electro-pop odyssey concept record," which is a lot to digest for a single press blurb. The electro-pop I get: It's a well-stylized collection of warm pop with a tinge of vintage nostalgia, somewhere along the lines of My Favorite or Portland chart toppers Hockey. Not quite an odyssey—it's more an excursion—Numbers fails to tread on fresh soil, although Craig's soulful delivery is enough to carry the album, even during its weaker moments ("We Are Whatever" and "Out All Night"). As for the "concept record" claim, I have no clue. It's not about a street kid named Rael—or that deaf, dumb, and blind Tommy—so perhaps Numbers is only a concept album in concept. EZRA ACE CARAEFF
ROYAL BATHS, BROKEN WATER, HORNET LEG
(East End, 203 SE Grand) With the rest of the new breed of San Fran garage-psych bands overdosing on oversized lollipops and weekend "trips" to the Redwoods, it's a wonder the urban vampirism of Royal Baths hasn't slipped through the cracks. Or perhaps it has, in a more literal sense. The band's brooding psychedelia drones with a nocturnal echo so distant and void that it sounds as though they have been amplified from the bottom of the abyss. Think the repetitive nihilism of "Venus in Furs" injected with just the right amount of that Jesus and Mary Chain pill-swagger. When dealing with sedatives this powerful, just be sure to keep hydrated. And stop burning yourself with cigarettes. CC
THE SUICIDE NOTES, SI SI SI, GUANTANAMO BAYWATCH
(The Know, 2026 NE Alberta) Plenty of leather-clad punkers have tried to combine the gooey choruses of the girl-group acts of yore with the energetic pogo of punk rock, yet not all can claim to be Ronnie and Joey. Enter the Suicide Notes, the so-new-they-have-yet-to-play-a-show supergroup consisting of Patrick Foss (Pure Country Gold), Tim Connolly (Epoxies), Howie Doodat (Mean Jeans), and a trio of female singers. While their past screams punk, their future coos pop, and the result is a delectable and bouncy sound that harkens back to the glory days of Lookout! Records. Tonight marks their first performance to date, but if their effortless marriage between Spector pop and vintage punk is any indication, we'll be fortunate to hear a lot from the Suicide Notes in the very near future. EAC
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