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House of Song Reception, featuring J. Tillman, and Hoquiam (Damien Jurado)
The Anne Bonny, 1355 E. Olive Way, Free, 7 p.m.
“Art, home accoutrements, and dead people’s furniture.” That’s what they’ve got on offer at the Anne Bonny, a newish Capitol Hill shop that feels best-of-the-estate-sale brilliant and also like the warm living room of a friendly eccentric during its sporadically programmed art shows and musical performances (a Blood Brothers side project recently debuted in its cramped quarters). This evening, two of Seattle’s most talented women use the space to present a book release for their project House of Song. The children’s tale, one of “tragedy, triumph, and tunes,” was written by SW Clubs Editor Aja Pecknold and illustrated by artist/former Sub Pop publicist Joan Hiller. Now just about everything my colleague does is charming (including promising ants on a log, PB&J, and Goldfish crackers as tonight’s hors d’oeuvres), but penning a story about little birds—one with an injured wing, one who learns a song to cure it—just about tops it. Those in the local music scene know that these women wear many artistic hats; ours is off to them as they publicly unveil even more. The reception includes performances by Hoquiam (Damien Jurado) and J. Tillman.
John Lee Hooker Jr.
Tractor Tavern, $18, 8 p.m
Hell hath no fury like a bluesman scorned, and, yessir, that woman done John Lee Hooker Jr. mighty wrong indeed. Just who that woman is might be up for debate, however, because when I listen to him bemoan some noir-style femme fatale in the title track from his '06 release, Cold as Ice, I can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, he's anthropomorphized his addictions from the bad old days, before he squared up and reacquainted himself with his enormous talent. The son and namesake of the—need it even be said?—legendary Delta-born master of the down-and-outs has mastered his own demons and produced the songs to go with it. He's emerged with a backwoods-meets-urban style tinged with the residue of dysfunction and, yeah, a little fury.
-- KEVIN CAPP
The Heels, Candy Apple, Pneumonia Jones
Funhouse, $6, 9:30 p.m.
Candy Apple are a bunch of white kids from Chico, Calif., who make some extremely retro, organ-heavy garage rock. I know—been there, done that, right? Before you stop reading, perhaps the following scenario will turn you on to their dirty freshness: The 13th Floor Elevators and the Doors have been in a relationship for a long time, and things in the ol' sack have gotten a little stale. So one night, after a couple of bottles of wine, they start a conversation about bringing their sexy back, and come to decide on that tried-and-true standby, the three-way. After a week or two of flirting with the White Stripes and the Black Angels, guess who they end up bringing home? The Dandy Warhols! What's left on the sheets the morning after this hot and sticky raucous encounter sounds exactly like Candy Apple. With the Heels and Pneumonia Jones.
-- MA'CHELL DUMA LAVASSAR