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From this Week's Short List:
Triple Door Mainstage, $25, 7:30 p.m.
Most folks know David Lindley as one of the session musicians in 1970s Los Angeles. The guitarist—slide is his specialty—backed a long list of coked-up, smacked-out superstars, including Jackson Browne, James Taylor, Graham Nash, Warren Zevon, and Linda Ronstadt (back when she was a sexy earth mama). That basically means Lindley is on soft-rock radio nearly 24 hours a day. But the guy, like Ry Cooder and John Fahey, is also one of the modern pioneers of world-folk fusion. This is something he’s been doing since the ’60s, when he co-founded the psych-rock outfit Kaleidoscope. Oh, and another thing about Lindley: He tells a lot of jokes. In fact, he’s funnier than Bobcat.
-- JUSTIN FARRAR
Son of Rose, Mutant Data Orchestra, Prison Food, CuntZero
JewelBox/Rendezvous, $5, 9 p.m.
“I am interested in sound for its impermanence, non-object nature, and structural integrity,” says Kamran Sadeghi, most well-known as composer Son of Rose, of his work. He performs sporadically and is in the same experimental school as locals Yann Novak (also on Dragon’s Eye Recordings) and Chris DeLaurenti. If you’ve tried ambient before but, perhaps, fallen asleep, I implore you to check out Sadeghi’s video excerpts on www.kamransadeghi.com. But prepare to be won over the way a Northwest winter creeps up on you: slowly, imperceptibly, effortlessly, and completely, until it looms so large you can only feel it in your life. With Mutant Data Orchestra, Prisonfood, CuntZero.
-- RACHEL SHIMP
Terrible Twos, Coconut Coolouts, Red Herring, Le Shat Noir
Funhouse, $6, 9:30 p.m.
Cancer, hemorrhoids, bleeding ulcers, gastritis, tears in the esophagus from violent vomiting, foods like black licorice and blueberries, iron supplements, lead exposure, Pepto-Bismol, and anal sex can all be causes of black stool. Sometimes referred to as starting a Hershey windstorm, logging into the toilet and making a huge download, negotiating the release of the chocolate hostages, sending the big brown boat down the porcelain river, having an out-of-ass experience, or taking a ‘Pohemian Crapsody,’ these dark doodies derive their appearance from blood in contact with the body’s digestive juices. Yet from the most uncomfortable, cringe-worthy of life’s experiences can come something beautiful, so say Seattle’s own Le Shat Noir. The band who declare themselves “longtime underground purveyors of the shitcore genre” make far from shitty post-punk, styled up with a little Devo-ness and a whole lot of “scattitude.” With Terrible Twos, Coconut Coolouts, Red Herring.
-- MA’CHELL DUMA LAVASSAR