Paramount Styles, "Come To New York"

David Bazan, Damien Jurado, See Me River at Chop Suey, 8 p.m., $15

There's probably no better songwriter than




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Tonight's Show Suggestions


Paramount Styles, "Come To New York"

David Bazan, Damien Jurado, See Me River at Chop Suey, 8 p.m., $15

There's probably no better songwriter than David Bazan to play a

benefit for John Spalding, the 33-year-old Seattle musician who died in

November after a long battle with lung cancer. In his decade-long

musical career, Spalding played with 90 Lb. Wuss and Raft of Dead

Monkeys, and built friendships within the music community. Bazan's

lyrics -- especially the songs he wrote while fronting Pedro the Lion --

are mostly first- and second-person narrative; in short, Bazan sings

about a nebulous "you" who is experiencing something poetic, tragic or

inspirational. The stories told in songs like "June 18, 1976" or "Slow

and Steady Wins the Race" are tragic tales of death, but they are

ultimately metaphors for greater emotions like loss and fear. Only

Bazan's songs could give voice to the sadness Seattle feels over

Spalding's passing. PAIGE RICHMOND

Le Hatepinks, the Hacks, Autolite Strike at Funhouse, 9:30 p.m., $7


I recently had the pleasure of seeing the Dead Milkmen reunite. They

were smart, political, subversive (altering their lyrics to "Tiny Town"

to include the verse "I knew a girl named Sarah Palin, she blew all the

roadies for Van Halen") and just as awesome as I wanted them to be at

16. I bring this up because Frenchies Le Hatepinks give their songs

titles like "I Am A Divorce," "Should I Kill Myself or Go Jogging?,"

"Ikea Kitchen (it's like a gas chamber)" and remind me of the Dead

Milkmen in their simplicity, wit, fuck-you-itude and fevered commitment

to promoting the punk rock epitaph that life is, in fact, shit. They

differ in that Le Hatepinks have wrapped themselves so heavily in a

black Snugglie of guttery clich├ęs it's near impossible to figure out if

they are seriously serious or a brilliant, French, punk rock Spinal

Tap. Regardless, it's a treat to ponder the question, as they are

superbly fast, irreverent and raw. MA'CHELL DUMA LAVASSAR

Paramount Styles, Robert Roth, Red Jacket Mine at Sunset Tavern, 9 p.m., $8


With the notable exceptions of Fugazi's Guy Picciotto and Boss Hog's

Cristina Martinez, few figures in the mid-'90s punk scene possessed the

aggressive sexuality and disarming stage charisma that Girls Against

Boys' Scott McCloud had in spades. With GVSB on hiatus for the most

part (they still play random club dates from time to time), McCloud has

turned that magnetic energy towards more contemplative, down-tempo

territory with his new project, Paramount Styles. McCloud and GVSB took

a spiritual and fiscal beating at the hands of the major label system,

and the scars and wisdom that came with it are on full display on their

debut, Failure American Style. Blessedly, it's more heartrending than

hateful, with McCloud relaying vivid tales about drunks, whores and

dastardly music business people in his trademark husky growl. Uncharted

territory? Certainly not, but it's not without poignant potency. HANNAH LEVIN

 
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