FRIDAY, AUG. 29 BROADCAST OBLIVION This is one of those Seattle-in-a- nutshell shows that tourists from far and wide can wander into and then away

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Shooting Gallery

Seattle Weekly music writers choose the best bets for your Bumbershoot dollar.

FRIDAY, AUG. 29 BROADCAST OBLIVION This is one of those Seattle-in-a- nutshell shows that tourists from far and wide can wander into and then away from going, "Oh, so that's what Seattle is all about." Comprised of one Murder City Devil, one area booker/promoter/label guy/all-around "playa," and one world-touring punk/pop veteran, Broadcast Oblivion perpetuate that silly rumor that there's something in the water around these parts. LAURA CASSIDY 2 p.m. at EMP Sky Church. VISQUEEN Barre chords. Palm-muting. Meaty distortion. Blistering drum volleys. Bittersweet female harmonies. Visqueen solder the most beautiful, basic elements of hard rock together on the long-awaited, addictive 10-track jigsaw, King Me (Blue Disguise), which breezes by in just under a half-hour. Tougher and faster than the Go-Go's or Blondie, but too charming and accessible to slither under the punk umbrella, they churn out heavy, happy riffs and undeniable sing-along choruses. Guitarist Rachel Flotard and bassist Kim Warnick complement each other perfectly on ax and mike. It'll be over before you realize how much fun you're having. ANDREW BONAZELLI 2:45 p.m. at What's Next Stage in Exhibition Hall. THE DIVORCE Indie boy pop is giving synth-punk a run for its money as the Emerald City's chic subgenre. The Pale, Dear John Letters, Vendetta Red, the Lashes, and the Divorce are infiltrating not only KEXPa givenbut scraping away at The End's weekend and late-night playlists. The Divorce, in particular, are perched for a breakout, muddying and distorting the hooky flava and simultaneously tempering singer Shane Berry's way-out-in-front Fred Schneider 'roid-rage catcalls. Bubbly single "Redcoats" is not quite indicative of the mean streak that permeates the remainder of their full-length debut, There Will Be Blood Tonight (Fugitive). A.B. 4:15 p.m. at What's Next Stage in Exhibition Hall. THE JESSICA LURIE ENSEMBLE A flame-throwing saxophonist who can sustain long solo flights better than just about anyone in town, Lurie first got notice as a member of the Billy Tipton Memorial Saxophone Quartet, and has gone on to lead even more aggressive ensembles, such as her fusion unit, Living Daylights, and this band, with fellow Tipton-ite Sue Orfield and the acoustic bass of Keith Lowe. A "special guest" is promised on guitarfrequent collaborator Frisell, perhaps? MARK D. FEFER 6 p.m. at Northwest Court Lounge. SOLOMON BURKE If you've uncovered the U.K.'s Pretty Things and schooled yourself on their early, R&B-flavored garage rock, you've heard the song "Cry to Me." (And if you're like me, that track is likely one of your favorites.) If you're less judicious but still a fan of the sound that the Pretty Things helped define, then you've no doubt spent countless nights replaying the Rolling Stones' version of it. Only the truly resourceful among you have a copy of the original by soul pioneer and master of the evocative phrase, Solomon Burke. For the rest of us, his appearance here is mandatory. L.C. 7:45 p.m. at Blues and Volkswagen Stage in Mural Amphitheater; also 12:15 p.m. Saturday at Comcast Mainstage in Memorial Stadium. CHICO HAMILTON & EUPHORIA Perhaps best remembered for his mallet-wielding, grimly spiritual performance with Eric Dolphy in the classic 1959 concert film Jazz on a Summer's Day, drummer Chico Hamilton has had a long, long career that stretches back to the pre-bebop days. At age 81, he's the most senior of the jazz drumming royalty, older than Max, Elvin, or Roy Haynes. But unlike those legends, he's been mostly stationed on the West Coast anddespite some commercial success around the time of that documentarymostly in the shadows. These days, he's playing less of an abstract, chamber style and going for more straight-ahead grooves, surrounding himself with young upstarts on electric bass, horn, and guitar, but still pursuing his restless, pianoless, open approach to music. M.D.F. 8 p.m. at Northwest Court Lounge; also 2 p.m. Saturday at Northwest Court Lounge. SATURDAY, AUG. 30 MINUS THE BEAR I could go on all day about Dave Knudson's love-it-or-hate-it, precision- engineered finger-tapping, Jake Snider's deadpan, gang-of-gents-with-fags-on-the-make pulp fiction, or the ongoing booty-shaking beats vs. intoxicated ambience battle occurring in the rhythm section between bassist Cory Murchy, drummer Erin Tate, and keyboardist Matt Bayles, but the real, unspoken phenomenon behind the Bear is tight black T-shirts and jeans. Do they coordinate this shit beforehand? Guaranteed if they don't read this or if a friend doesn't tip them off beforehand, at least two members will be wearing a tight black T-shirt and jeans. Now that's a Seattle Weekly exclusive, baby! A.B. 1:45 p.m. at What's Next Stage in Exhibition Hall. BLIND BOYS OF ALABAMA + ELECTRIFYING MIGHTY WARRIORS Led, as they have been for the past two-thirds of a century, by the great Clarence Fountain, the Blind Boys of Alabama are the solid rock of gospel.On last year's Higher Ground, they cannily nudge secular material that's right on the verge of the pop- gospel divide (Stevie Wonder's title track, Prince's "The Cross," Jimmy Cliff's "Many Rivers to Cross") into full-on Sunday morning rapture. MICHAELANGELO MATOS 2:45 p.m. at McCaw Hall. KINSKI My Bloody Valentine and Mogwai may have too closely informed their early booster-thrust psychedelia, but this more-or-less instrumental powerhouse is setting their own thresholds and crushing them at an alarming pace. When they're on, when they leave no cards unplayed, when the dissonant squalls and white noise percussion are exploding overhead, as in wind tunnel "Semaphore," Kinski are unstoppable. Hell, even when Chris Martin's vocals infrequently slide in over the churning, jagged chord patterns and shuddering bass, even when they grunt out an indecipherable blob of black ambience like "The Bunnies Are Tough" to offset the thunder, Kinski slays. A.B. 5 p.m. at EMP Sky Church. BABY GRAMPS A master showman with miles of material both original and borrowed (plenty of it from Bob Dylan), not to mention an equal amount of technique on his National Steel guitar and a voice that slips into something out of a vintage Max Fleischer cartoon a good deal of the time, Baby Gramps is one of the most reliable tickets in townor anywhere. His 2000 debut, Same Ol' Timeously, and the brand-new Hossradish (both on his wonderfully named Grampophone label) will hopefully be available at the merch table. M.M. 6 p.m. at the Busker Stage on the International Fountain Lawn; also 7 p.m. Sunday and 1 p.m Monday. THE JULIAN PRIESTER QUARTET The Slide Priest of Seattle jazz, as some genius at the Weekly once called him, trombonist Julian Priester is the elder statesman of the local scene (from which he typically keeps his distance), with a r鳵m頴hat includes recordings and performances alongside just about every one of the immortals, from Sun Ra to Blakey to Duke. An instructor at Cornish since the '70s, Priester recently fought his way back from a liver transplant and released a strong new CD, In Deep End Dance, which features some hugely talented younger, post-Cornish players. For astute jazz with class and maturity, Priester is always worth hearing. M.D.F. 6:15 p.m. at Northwest Court Lounge. AESOP ROCK + MURS + BOOM BAP PROJECT New Yorker Aesop Rock and Los Angeleno Murs may be the two best MCs on New York indie-rap standard-bearers Definitive Jux Records. The 6-foot-7 Aesop is a sharp-tongued slacker observer of everyday life ("Life is not a bitch/Life is a beautiful woman/You only call her a bitch because she won't let you get that pussy") with a bent sense of humor and a penchant for self-examination. Murs turns his gaze outward, dissing fake gangstas while managing not to sound like a moralistic sourpuss. Their styles should mesh nicely together onstage. M.M. 6:30 p.m. at What's Next Stage in Exhibition Hall. WANDA JACKSON Everyone from the Dixie Chicks to the saucy frontwoman of the Gossip owes a great debt to Wanda Jackson, one of the first female country and rockabilly singer/guitarists to get away with being beautiful, talented, loud, and proud in a man's world. Alternating between the country and pop charts throughout the '60s, Jackson shared bills with Elvis and had Hee Haw star Roy Clark lead her backing band. Although she later got religion and put out some gospel albums, her live showslucky for youtend to focus on the hits. L.C. 8:15 p.m. at Blues and Volkswagen Stage in Mural Amphitheater. THE DANDY WARHOLS See CD reviews, p. 73. 8:45 p.m. at What's Next Stage in Exhibition Hall. SUNDAY, AUG. 31 HIP HOP 101: COMMON + DE LA SOUL + BLACK EYED PEAS See CD Reviews, p. 74. 1 p.m. at Comcast Mainstage in Memorial Stadium. SKERIK'S SYNCOPATED TAINT SEPTET There's more than a couple screws loose in this party machine, the closest thing to a full-on bar band of the many groups led by Seattle saxophone industrialist Skerik. If you haven't caught their regular gigs at the Owl & Thistle (recently captured on a live CD on Ropeadope Records), or even if you have, Bumbershoot energy is likely to bring out some of their finest madness. Which is not to say there isn't some serious method behind it: Skerik has gathered four outstanding horn players (Dave Carter, Craig Flory, Steve Moore, and Hans Teuber), along with the city's most inventive young drummer, John Wicks, and the bemused Joe Doria on organ, for sets of power noise, New Orleans rhumba, Tower of Power punch, and balladeeringsometimes all in the same tune. M.D.F. 1:45 p.m. at Bumbrella Stage. AMERICAN HI-FI Score a modest hit called "Flavor of the Weak" and it'll come back to bite you in the ass. Despite working feverishly to replicate the structure, hooks, and 'tude of their lone chart-topper on the appropriately titled The Art of Losing (Island), the cutie pies of American Hi-Fi have fallen into the sophomore-slump alt-rock abyssweird how rewriting The Hit only kinda works for Sugar Ray. Still, the slow slide down is worth a glance, maybe even a headbang. Surfer dude frontman Stacy Jones pens fun, self-aware power-pop, and his band looks mighty purty rockin' the trucker hats and flying Vs. A.B. 5:15 p.m. at What's Next Stage in Exhibition Hall. DONOVAN Hey, he's just trying to catch the wind, OK? Though he was often poo-poo'ed as just the Scottish Dylan, Donovan wrote some damn fineif awfully whimsicalfolk tunes and later got all psychedelic and groovy, no doubt influencing future Scot folk-rockers like Belle & Sebastian, the Delgados, and the Pastels along the way. L.C. 8 p.m. at McCaw Hall. EVANESCENCE + COLD Gravity Kills put an abrupt end to the unfortunate, mid-'90s, post-Downward Spiral, Goths-go-Gap trend on rock radio, so how to account for the popularity of Cold and Evanescence? The former has a mad catchy, if utterly dumb-as-fuck hit in breakup anthem "Stupid Girl," which got a huge cred infusion courtesy of Rivers Cuomo's pen. The latter? Dude, their singer's hot! Amy Lee's corsets and arias bounce up against a visceral, melodramatic grind akin to a Meatloaf/Disturbed cage match. The former Christian rockers hit big with ubiquitous Daredevil smash "Bring Me to Life," possibly the pioneering achievement in n-Dracula. A.B. 8 p.m. at Comcast Mainstage in Memorial Stadium. MONDAY, SEPT. 1 THE CRIPPLES Before kitschy electroclash wanna-bes got ahold of keytars and before new wave was new againhell, even before KEXP got hip to their 2002 Dirtnap release local band the Cripples were making push/pull garage punk with smart but snotty sensibilities. Yeah, their guitarists push keys instead of slam strings, but this is not your little sister's novelty band. L.C. 12:30 p.m. at EMP Sky Church. NICKEL CREEK + LEFTOVER SALMON Any bluegrass group forward-looking enough to cover Pavement gets my vote. Nickel Creek's version of "Spit on a Stranger" is hardly the band's only trump card: Last year's This Side (Sugar Hill) is jumpy and broad, moving from the traditional "House Carpenter" to appealing, band-written originals. Leftover Salmon are similarly bluegrass-inflected; they're also one of the brightest spots of the entire jam-band scene, which means a lot more than it ought to. M.M. 1:45 p.m. at Comcast Mainstage in Memorial Stadium. SUGARMAN 3 & CO. FEATURING LEE FIELDS Like Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, the Sugarman 3, led by saxophonist Neal Sugarman, apes the golden age of funk (1968-72) with glee and aplomb. An organ-heavy quartet (despite their moniker), the 3 make some of the wildest, tightest funk anyone's heard in years: If you weren't watching them create their greasy grooves in the flesh, you'd swear you were hearing a rare-groove compilation. (That goes double for their excellent, recently released Pure Cane Sugar, on Daptone.) For this show, the normally instrumental combo will be fronted by Lee Fields, a raspy singer who comes on like a cross between James Brown and Bobby Byrdwhich is to say, all dynamite. M.M. 2 p.m. at Northwest Court Lounge. SHARON JONES & THE DAP-KINGS See Previews, p. 76. 4 p.m. at Blues and Volkswagen Stage in Mural Amphitheater. THE NEW PORNOGRAPHERS Can't get it out of your head? The New Pornographers probably wrote it. Their Mass Romantic (Matador) is easily the best rock album of 2003, all giddy harmonies, stuttering beats, archly intelligent lyrics, and arrangements so dynamic they practically scream in your face while twirling you around the room. And their live show is sloppy fun. Resist at your peril. M.M. 4:30 p.m. at What's Next Stage in Exhibition Hall. KARL DENSON'S TINY UNIVERSE If you are a hippie or jam-band fan, you know about Karl Denson. If you aren't, here's what you need to know: Denson, a saxophonist/flutist, worked as a sideman to Lenny Kravitz and, then, through the mid-90s, led the Greyboy Allstars; along with Medeski, Martin & Wood, they were the band that spread groove jazz/acid jazz throughout the land. Since the Allstars parted ways, Densona sick horn playerhas fronted the Tiny Universe, a combo that is tighter and funkier and somehow straddles the gulf between jam bandism and serious jazz, and is an all-around party. You have to listen closely to hear the Sonny Rollins packed into the James Brown, but it's there. PHILIP DAWDY 5:30 p.m. at Bumberella Stage. IMPERIAL TEEN Sure they perform up here all the time. But here's the secret: Imperial Teen just keep getting better. Last year's On (Merge) may be the best of their three insta-catchy, irresistible albums, and their shows are uniformly good-to-exhilarating. M.M. 6:30 p.m. at What's Next Stage in Exhibition Hall. R.E.M. & WILCO Continuing Bumbershoot's tradition of spotlighting little-known artists, here's a pair of up-and-coming beat combos who are sure to get your attention. Wilco, from Chicago, used to specialize in rootsy rock, but then discovered samples and weird electronic textures. Last year's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (Nonesuch) was released to a spate of critical acclaim. R.E.M. accomplished something similar on their recent albums, 1998's Up and 2001's Release (both on Warner Bros.), but they're best loved by their small but loyal following for the jangly pop-rock they specialized in before that. Allegedly, they're pretty entertaining live, too, which bodes well for their future in this rough-and-tumble business we call show. M.M. 7 p.m. at Comcast Mainstage in Memorial Stadium. PEDRO THE LION Dave Bazan has been an admirable, challenging fixture in Seattle's indie-mope subset for years. He delivers eerie tales of interpersonal injury in a plaintive, calm drone. A progressive Christian artist with broad secular appeal, Bazan is likely to explain onstagein precise, eviscerating termswhy Dubya or Clear Channel are fucked. The man clearly operates from his own playbook, oozes legitimacy, and commands respect. He often performs Pedro tracks in solo acoustic form as Paperback, but this full-band crunch is just right for the most recent, somewhat more rollicking effort, Control (Jade Tree). A.B. 8:30 p.m. at What's Next Stage in Exhibition Hall. CAFɠTACUBA How's this for ambition: Coming off a madly eclectic double-CD, Reves/Yosoy, Mexico City quartet Caf頔acuba's new Cuatro Caminos manages to go even further in a shorter (14 songs) amount of space, blending ska, pop, funk, tradder Spanish styles, and lots more into a heady brew. But die-hards swear the show's the thing; even if it weren't, Caf頔acuba's effortless eclecticism would make them a perfect Bumbershoot closer. M.M. 8:30 p.m. at the Backyard Stage on Broad Street Lawn. info@seattleweekly.com

 
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