WEINLAND, DENVER, THE LOWER 48
(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) Read our article on Weinland.
NIGHT OF THE LIVING ALES: BOY EATS DRUM MACHINE, OH DARLING
(Burnside Brewing, 701 E Burnside) Dodging the dictates of fashion, Boy Eats Drum Machine's sixth album, The Battle, is aurally overwhelming, with all the layered abundance of 2005. This is not to say that the songs aren't enjoyable or relevant (see "Election Drinking Song"), just that the pared-down, thinner turn that electronic music has taken lately clearly doesn't speak to Jon Ragel. His monolith of sound—samples, electric guitars, synths, saxophone, and percussion, along with his soulful vocals—means that your brain simply can't comprehend everything that's happening at any given time. "I, William Your Ex-Lover" is an irresistible song with an addictive hook, whose crowd samples and carnival bloops are tethered by fuzzy, muscular guitars and marching-band style drums. The small trade-off for BEDM's continuous experimentation is that, despite the recurring religious imagery, The Battle sounds more like a collection of songs than a unified album. REBECCA WILSON
ORQUESTRA PACIFICO TROPICAL, 1939 ENSEMBLE, SUN ANGLE, GULLS, ELECTRIC ILL, DJ MICHAEL BRUCE
(Oregon Portland Cement Building, 111 SE Madison) Where better to celebrate Halloween than in a creepy old warehouse under the Hawthorne Bridge with a huge cumbia band? Nowhere, that's where. Get your sexy bumblebee/trashcan/Romney/whatever costume on and head to the Oregon Cement Building for a party-down time with Sun Angle and the Orquestra Pacifico Tropical. SARAH MIRK
CULT OF YOUTH, ARCTIC FLOWERS, INDUSTRIAL PARK
(The Know, 2026 NE Alberta) As a general rule of thumb, the decision by members of previously snarling rock, punk, or metal groups to begin a solo acoustic project should be taken with a whole lotta bath salts. With the tendency to expose one's vulnerability by being quieter, it's a tricky proposition. That is, unless you say fuck it to the ordinary route like Cult of Youth (former Love as Laughter bassist Sean Ragon) does on his new LP Love Will Prevail. Ragon's conflicted vocal sneer, sea-shanty melodies, and neo-Celtic uppers are an inviting vessel for boldly evolving tunes like "Garden of Delights." You get the perfect taste of Ragon's worldly sonic ambitions, as well as a lethal, nightmarish song that piles on flutes, car-horns, background static, and huge guitars underneath equally inspiring/pissed-off vocals. Think of this as a political rally in a punk-house basement and you're close enough. RYAN J. PRADO
PERFUME GENIUS, DUSTED
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) There's something so raw about the songs Perfume Genius (Seattleite Mike Hadreas) makes, something so transparently painful, that you almost want to turn away, but they're also mesmerizing and immensely rewarding, inducing rolling waves of angst and longing, grief and gratitude, suffering and relief. ANNA MINARD
HUSKY, HANNAH GEORGAS
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Husky have absolutely nothing to do with purple and gold sports teams, and everything to do with four-piece fragile-folk from Melbourne, Australia. Husky get their name from lead singer Husky Gawenda (questions he must never get sick of: "Did you have hippie parents? Dog-enthusiast parents? Were you an overweight baby?"), and their music is like watercolor painting—very soft and layered, delicate and subtle. It's the kind of music you have to focus on and listen to intently, because it's not going to jump out and bite your face. This Husky would never do that. EMILY NOKES
THE ASTEROIDS GALAXY TOUR, MILLIONYOUNG, FOREIGN ORANGE
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) If you want to sate your ambitious Danish-pop jones, the Asteroids Galaxy Tour have you covered (in kaleidoscopic glitter). Over the albums Fruit and Out of Frequency, the sextet—led by vocalist Mette Lindberg and multi-instrumentalist Lars Iversen—has crafted sweetly melodic, rhythmically punchy songs that brashly claw their way into your consciousness. They have that Scandinavian glossiness that somehow seems less obnoxious than their US/UK counterparts. If "Heart Attack"—the ridiculously catchy, carefree standout from Out of Frequency—isn't a worldwide hit by the time you read this, I'll slowly shake my head in disbelief. DAVE SEGAL
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