Destroyer, Wednesday, May 6: Destroyer songwriter Dan BejaraE™s flowery, narrative prose wraps the nut of a songaE™s message in a thick layer of surrealism, one that renders his meaning almost as difficult to decipher as an e.e. cummings poem. In tandem with BejaraE™s nasal sing-speaking, itaE™s safe to say that Destroyer is an acquired taste. But like an appreciation for fine wine, itaE™s a taste that, once acquired, not only brings the same measure of pleasure on the first go-round as the two hundredth, but those subsequent listens (or aEœsips,aE if you like) often unmask new linguistic subtletiesaE”puns, pop culture references, what have youaE”that you mightaE™ve missed on the first few dozen rotations. But itaE™s the instrumentals that help DestroyeraE™s compositional style retain its exciting freshness, even though thereaE™s been little sonic evolution over the thirteen years that BejaraE™s been releasing records. From the unbelievable organ solo in aEœQueen of LanguageaE (from 2000aE™s Thief) to the breakdown on Trouble In Dreams closer aEœLibbyaE™s First Sunrise,aE Dan BejaraE™s music is as layered and as intellectually absorbing as his lyrics are. While itaE™s best to experience Bejar in person after youaE™ve become familiar with his music, Bejar appears solo on this particular tour, which means itaE™ll be a little easier than normal to pick out the buried meanings and subtle jabs hidden in BejaraE™s bizarre wordplay. With Azida. The Crocodile, 2200 2nd Ave. 8 p.m. $12 adv. Note by SARA BRICKNER

Napalm Death, Wednesday, May 6: Few bands are capable of taking an anti-violent political stance with as much fury as the venerable grind institution Napalm Death. And fewer still have matched NapalmaE™s blunt courage in confronting the terrifying realities of American fascism under the Bush regime. Universally recognized as the band that invented grindcore, itaE™s astounding to consider how Napalm Death in its aE˜80s infancy must have appeared to have a life expectancy not much longer than its infamous one-second song aEœYou Suffer.aE Lo and behold, the band has not only survived, but creatively thrived when it could easily have gone on auto-pilot or, uh... burned out. These days, following an experimental period in the aE˜90s, Napalm has chosen to refine, rather than expand on, its established sound, but by no means has the music lost its energy. New album Time Waits For No Slave conveys as much agitation as when an entirely different lineup, then teenagers, railed with all their might against the evils of corporations. Back then, the convincing aggression in NapalmaE™s music covered up the bandaE™s naivetAc. Now, coming from the perspective of an adult concerned with the world around him, vocalist Barney GreenwayaE™s lyrics hit even harder. And GreenwayaE™s outspoken stance against the Nazi presence in metal, among other things, comes as a beacon of hope for fans who are sick (and rightfully wary) of the whole skinhead/violence factor at shows. With Kataklysm, Toxic Holocaust, Coliseum, Trap Them, Crush Your Enemies. Studio Seven, 110 S. Horton St. 286-1312 6 p.m., $17 adv., $20 dos. All ages. Note by SABY REYES-KULKARNI

Scout Niblett, Thursday, May 7: Scout Niblett is the nom de indie rock of one Emma Louise Niblett aE“ a native of Nottingham, England and current resident of Portland, Ore. aE“ whose unhinged, bluesy moans and wails bear at least some resemblance to fellow Brit Polly Jean Harvey, circa Rid of Me. Like ol' Peej, Ms. Niblett can make your little hairs stand on end with either an eerie whisper or a raw howl. Her powerful voice and knotty lyrics are generally accompanied by lo-fi guitaring and rudimentary drumming that makes Meg White look like Neil Peart, but sometimes itaE™s a roaring, Nirvana-worthy sludgefest. With Triumph of Lethargy Skinned Alive To Death, TacocaT. Tractor Tavern, 5213 Ballard Ave. N.W., 789-3599. 9 p.m. $8. Note by MICHAEL ALAN GOLDBERG

The Prids, Friday, May 8: When you hear a band described as moody post punk revival with proto-goth leanings and a somewhat radical vegan, animal rights based political agenda, youaE™re generally either in or out. Such a confluence of galvanizing and, letaE™s face it, sanctimoniously mopey elements arenaE™t an open invitation to the merely curious. Yet, somehow, the Prids manage to maintain an engaging musical persona. While they make no bones about their socio-political beliefs and affiliations, the Prids is not a aEœmessageaE band. Sure, the lyrics are occasionally pointed, but they donaE™t bludgeon you with the smug stick; you can actually listen without hearing word one about foie gras or beakless chickens. On the sonic side, the Prids are definitively on the darker end of the post-punk inflected indie spectrum, with minor-key melodies, moody atmospherics, and a penchant for poetic indulgence in the vein of William Blake and his Romantic cohorts. Balancing all this beguiling darkness is an undercurrent of ecstatic electro-pop that owes a lot to the New Romantics of the early aE˜80aE™s, including occasional sojourns into the world of synth-pop. With Romance, Catholic Comb. Funhouse, 206 5th Ave N., 374-8400. 9:30 p.m. $6. Note by NICHOLAS HALL

Baby Gramps, Saturday, May 9: Highly conspicuous anywhere outside of a ZZ Top impersonatoraE™s convention, SeattleaE™s own renegade steel guitarist Baby Gramps literally sounds like a flesh-and-blood Muppet whoaE™s just a little worse for the wear. Gramps alternates between a high-pitched squeal and throaty growl that would make both Jim Henson and Tuvan singers proud. With his rusty strings and completely unrefined playing style, Gramps appears to aspire to folk and Django-era jazz guitar, but keeps both feet planted in the dirt of American roots music at its most raw. His playfully absurd lyrics, however, transcend both. And, while Gramps might initially look like heaE™ll appeal to children with his silly antics, heaE™s just as likely to make aE˜em cry. At the same time, Gramps would no doubt incorporate the sound of a screaming child with panache. aEœDo you believe in faeries?aE asks Gramps on one of his songs. Whether you do or you donaE™t, youaE™ll have little doubt that Gramps is a creature in a class all by himself. With Daddy Tree Tops. Bit Saloon, 4818 17th Ave. N.W. 782-1680. 9 p.m. Note by SABY REYES-KULKARNI

AfterMath, Saturday, May 9: In the decade since he left Seattle, former Screaming Trees drummer Barrett Martin has covered a lot of musical ground, doing the L.A. studio thing, studying percussion traditions around the world, and keeping up Tuatara, the cinematic-rock band with R.E.M. guitarists Peter Buck and Scott McCaughey. All of these strainsaE”along with MartinaE™s jazz training at Western Washington UaE”come together in this new quintet, formed when Martin moved back home a few months ago. With some of the shrewdest progressive-groove players in townaE”including trumpeter Dave Carter, ubiquitous Joe Doria on keys, and fat-toned Brett Joseph on saxaE”this loose collective mixes funk, Afro-beat, Afro-Latin and a deep swing. Just two gigs in, AfterMath definitely adds up, and their first-Saturday shows at ToST are going to be a highlight of the new-jazz month. TheyaE™ll be joined this time by the Nigerian-British singer Adama (a sometime collaborator with Tuatara), the local Senegalese drum master Thione Diop, the Circle of Fire dance crew, and who knows who else. ToST, 513 N. 36th St. 547-0240. 9:30 p.m. $5. Note by MARK D. FEFER

Bassnectar, Saturday, May 9: Bay Area jock Bassnectar (aka Lorin Ashton) has a balls-out sonic and performance style thataE™s made him a club and festival circuit favorite (heaE™s a headliner on Lollapalooza this year with a whoaE™s who of electronica, including MSTRKRFT and Simian Mobile Disco.) He puts dub-step, hip-hop, breaks, and much more through his production meat-grinder and then plastic wraps it in everything from a cataract of synths to a torrent of rhyming. The end result is something he calls aEœomnitempo maximalism.aE Which you might take to mean that, if Bassnectar were a writer, heaE™d be David Foster WallaceaE”stuffed to the gills and loving it. Besides Blackalicious rhymesayer Gift of Gab, heaE™ll have a custom-built sound system in tow tonight thataE™s sure to melt the walls. With Sidecar Tommy. Showbox at the Market, 1426 1st Ave, 628-3151. 8 p.m. $18 adv., $20 dos. All ages. Note by KEVIN CAPP

Steve Earle, Monday, May 11: At first blush, TownesaE”an album of Townes Van Zandt covers from Steve EarleaE”seems fairly obvious. After all, EarleaE”the outlaw roots rocker turned pinko folkieaE”learned the art of songwriting directly from the enigmatic Texas icon. But just as Dylan wound up sounding nothing like Woody Guthrie, Earle wound up sounding nothing like his mentor. Van ZandtaE™s words were expressions of the soul that took the form of country-folk poetry that was both wistful and devastating. EarleaE™s material, on the other hand, is less poetically sensitive and more tell-it-like-it-is blunt. Suitably, his delivery is like that of a barrel-chested attack dog, which is what makes his covering of Van Zandt's songs trickier than youaE™d think. But EarleaE™s brawny vocals and thick-thumbed guitar actually add something to Van ZandtaE™s songs...an oomph thataE™s akin to being punched in the chest. Townes is EarleaE™s way of saying: aEœThis guy was the greatest songwriter on the planet. If you arenaE™t convinced yet, then wake the fuck up!aE Easy Street Records, 20 W. Mercer. 691-3279. 6 p.m. Free. All ages. Note by BRIAN J. BARR

Leon Russell, Tuesday, May 12 and Wednesday, May 13: Veteran singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Leon Russell aE“ he of the Old Testament-looking white beard and flowing white locks aE“ may be the ultimate all-time session musician: Since the early aE™60s, when he got his start working with Phil Spector, heaE™s been the go-to keyboardist for the likes of Bob Dylan, the Stones, the Beach Boys, George Harrison, B.B. King, Glen Campbell, Elton John, Joe Cocker, Eric Clapton, Frank Sinatra, and the Band. And Gary Busey. But RussellaE™s own songs and sprawling discography across that span are impressive in their own right; a swampy sort of Southern rock, gospel, blues, country, pop, and funk aE“ all rendered with grit and soul, and brought to life by his idiosyncratic drawl aE“ have all found their way into his work. RussellaE™s solo career has been one of relatively brief but prolific bursts and lengthy hiatuses; right now he seems in the midst of the former, as he recently released three albums. Tonight should provide plenty of reasons why Russell has been so in-demand by the best for most of his 67 years. With Jeff Fielder. Tractor Tavern, 5213 Ballard Ave. N.W., 789-3599. 8 p.m., $30. Note by MICHAEL ALAN GOLDBERG

Eric Alexander, Tuesday, May 12 and Wednesday, May 13: Museum pieces are no good for jazz. But then there are players who speak a vocabulary of the past with so much power and conviction that they make it a living tongue, and Eric Alexander is one of the most valuable of these. The Olympia-reared saxophonist is fully planted in the Blue Note hard-bop tradition, but he never sounds like an homage act; heaE™s got too many surprising ideas, too many sparks flying off the bell of his horn. With his regular New York pianist, David Hazeltine, and Seattle support from Chuck Deardorf and Matt Jorgensen, Alexander will make his persuasive case that the muscle-swing format of the aE˜50s and aE˜60s can yet reach the hearts and minds of the Twittering class. DimitriouaE™s Jazz Alley, 2033 Sixth Ave., 441-9729. 7:30 p.m. $22.50. All ages. Note by MARK D. FEFER