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Blood on the Wall, Loving Thunder, Katharine Hepburn's Voice
Sunset Tavern, $7, 9 p.m.
They sound like a big, sloppy mess of Sonic Youth, Pixies, and Dinosaur Jr. But they don’t just go through the motions, either. This strange dichotomy has caused Blood on the Wall to be equally maligned and praised. Some folks call them derivative, while others champion them for echoing the hallowed ‘90s. But to me, it seems that Blood on the Wall are really just the natural by-product of Midwesterners who listened to too much college radio back in the day. The way they recklessly approach their music throws all accusations of mimicry out the window. If they were mimicking, Blood on the Wall would sound awfully overthought and stiff, like Serena-Maneesh. Instead, they sound like another pretty good band thriving on booze, sweat, and an overall distaste for proper tunings. And since we’re in Seattle, did anyone ever notice how much singer Brad Shanks’ screams sound like a castrated Mark Arm? With Loving Thunder and Katharine Hepburn’s Voice.
-- BRIAN J. BARR
Editors, Hot Hot Heat, Louis XIV
Showbox at the Market, $17, 7 p.m.
Moving on up the venue food chain, Birmingham’s Interpol sound-alikes (who do that type of “dark,” brooding romance better, IMHO) Editors finally make it to the Showbox after two gigs in as many years at a bursting Chop Suey. Now everybody can finally get a good view of lead vocalist Tom Smith’s tortured genuflecting and the manic guitar mastery of Chris Urbanowicz, who tends toward U2-esque spirals of sound. So while I do suggest arriving early for your good view, I can’t lend the same recommendation regarding these openers, both of whom I had no idea had a remaining fan base.
-- RACHEL SHIMP