ALABAMA SHAKES, MICHAEL KIWANUKA, SAM DOORES AND RILEY DOWNING
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) Your current favorite Southern-fried rhythm and blues band Alabama Shakes are everywhere right now—including televised stints on Saturday Night Live and Austin City Limits. However, there's no substitute for seeing them live, so beg, borrow, or steal tickets for this sold-out show, which is sure to be a foot-stompin' good time. WM. STEVEN HUMPHREY™
EIGHT BELLS, THE BODY, SEDAN, USNEA
(Backspace, 115 NW 5th) SubArachnoid Space's Melynda Jackson and Christopher Van Huffel have teamed up with bassist Haley Westeiner to form Eight Bells, and their debut album The Captain's Daughter has just been unleashed by Seventh Rule. Tonight the Portland experimental metal trio performs an all-ages record release show, bringing the tangled, cinematic sounds of the album into the third dimension. Pummeling, heavy passages of metallic fury interlock with misty psychedelia and lockstep prog; The Captain's Daughter's four lengthy tracks explore terrain with an almost reckless sense of adventure. NED LANNAMANN
HEY MARSEILLES, DEEP SEA DIVER
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) The Decemberists-shaped hole in our collective heart is about to be filled, kind of, by Hey Marseilles' second LP, Lines We Trace. With his conversationally mournful manner of singing, Matt Bishop still sounds an awful lot like Colin Meloy, but this album is darker and more somber than To Travels and Trunks. The exhilarating sense of discovery has been replaced by an earnest staring-into-the-eyeballs of the moments that make your heart swell, punctuated by those lovely strings. Most of the band's seven members write songs in various combinations and permutations, which means that there's a welcome range of styles, though the album sounds of a piece. The music is self-serious, but that's not a negative, nor is the absence of a drum machine and loops. REBECCA WILSON
B.B. KING, CURTIS SALGADO
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) I saw B.B. King almost 15 years ago at a free show at Nashville's Riverfront Park on the shores of the Cumberland River. He was old then, and he's older now. Catching that show was more or less luck; I hadn't made any great plans to go out of my way to see B.B. King, but there he was, a living legend in the flesh. That show was outstanding, and King was riveting; I remember he stood for a good part of the show but had to sit down for some of it. I'm guessing he sits down even more now. I always recall that evening when I think about passing up the countless opportunities to see musical legends in person. It's a show I'm truly thankful to have seen, and while B.B. King is 87 years old and still going strong, it's unlikely there will be too many more chances to see one of the great original bluesmen in the flesh. If you've never seen him, seriously, what are you waiting for? NL
SUGAR TOWN'S LADIES OF CLASSIC SOUL
(The Spare Room, 4830 NE 42nd) The folks at queer soul dance night Sugar Town are celebrating Women's History Month with a lady blowout! Roll down your silk stockings and employ some crazy legs at the Ladies of Classic Soul edition of the fun recurring dance night. Things should get real hot with DJ Beyonda and Action Slacks on the turntables. COURTNEY FERGUSON
CEREMONY OF SLUDGE: HEAVY VOODOO, ANCIENT WARLOCKS, HOLY GROVE, WITCHASAURUS HEX
(The Alleyway, 2415 NE Alberta) For the second year, NE Alberta's Alleyway Bar becomes a haven of all things loud and stoned, as the second annual Ceremony of Sludge festival showcases metal bands from around the Pacific Northwest. Taking into account the thousands of different microgenres within metal, what you need to know is that these bands traffic in thickness and heaviness, where the almighty riff dominates all. It's put on by the folks at Captain Couch Records, and all attendees receive a free download of the Ceremony of Sludge Vol. 2 compilation, plus the shows will be recorded for the possibility of a future comp. Get loud, get heavy, get sludged for three days straight. NL
PSYCHIC ILLS, KINSKI, FOLLAKZOID
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) New York's Psychic Ills use their many influences for the sole purpose of spacing out. Over the past decade, core members Tres Warren and Elizabeth Hart have dabbled in electronic psychedelia, improvised raga, and, more recently, jangly garage rock. Their latest, One Track Mind, is probably Psychic Ills' most straightforward record, while still retaining some of the band's out-there sounds. Also on the bill is Kinski, who recently made the jump from Sub Pop to Kill Rock Stars. The longtime Seattle noisies' upcoming LP, Cosy Moments, shows the band using their firepower for simpler songs that lean more toward the garage than an armed fortress. MARK LORE
DEKE DICKERSON, TWO MAN GENTLEMEN BAND
(Duff's Garage, 1635 SE 7th) The joke with Andy Bean and the Councilman—otherwise known as the Two Man Gentlemen Band—is that though their general dispositions earn their gentlemanly moniker, their music is a tongue-in-cheek exposition of adolescent revelry. Their most recent album, Two at a Time, for instance, relishes such immature subject matter as cheese and crackers ("Cheese and Crackers"), peeping girls in their bathing suits during a pool party ("Pool Party"), and girls that taste like pork chops ("Pork Chops"). But set against the duo's jazz-swing foundation, every one of their songs makes me want to cut the nearest rug to shreds. The band's set at Pickathon 2012 was well received, and the band has been busier than ever bringing their juke-joint revival to clubs all over the country. Duff's Garage is almost too perfect a venue for this duo; they're also playing Miz Kitty's Parlor at the Mission earlier this evening, and Sunday afternoon at the Secret Society as part of the Portland Lindy Exchange. RYAN J. PRADO
RVIVR, DEFECT DEFECT, 48 THRILLS
(Katie O'Brien's, 2809 NE Sandy) I have a complicated love/hate relationship with Rvivr: On one hand, the Olympia band has produced some of the best post-power-pop this side of Superchunk's first two records. On the other hand, however, they're generally—and perhaps ironically—oppressive personalities. As the group's popularity has increased, its focus an the music appears to have ebbed considerably, to the point where the group's sets are laughably scant and equally (if not primarily) devoted to delivering its anti-almost-everything animus. And ultimately they're right about a lot of issues, but any message the band attempts to communicate is more or less obfuscated by the sort of righteous indignation that skirts dangerously close to swaggering condescension. I love the group's self-titled record and probably always will. But sometimes it's hard to get behind a band whose members would probably hate you. MORGAN TROPER
MASERATI, HOT VICTORY, GRAPEFRUIT
(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) Athens, Georgia's Maserati make some of the most aerodynamically cool driving music in America. A strictly instrumental quartet, they concoct a spacey prog-rock/stoic-disco fusion that fosters efficient, linear motion. Fans of Goblin, Zombi, and Trans Am should buckle themselves in for a heroic, epic joyride. DAVE SEGAL
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