The Weekly Wire: The Week’s Recommended Events


Futbol: Sophomore Slump

The Sounders season-ticket holder behind me wondered if Boca Juniors were a teen team, maybe the youth-outreach arm of some club called Boca? No, they’re adults, named after the Buenos Aires suburb where they’re based (for 105 years!), and they’re here for the Sounders‘ first friendly (of three) this season. Our team’s second season has seen some of last year’s euphoria fade, with an exhibition-match loss to…Jesus, Portland—that dumped a big bucket of cold, muddy water on the start of the season; a demoralizing 4-0 crushing by Los Angeles (whom last season we tied once and beat once); a brief stint at the bottom of the Western Conference standings; and an intensely frustrating 1–0 defeat by San Jose this past Saturday. A loss to Boca tonight—well, OK, they’re legendarily awesome (with a roster full of stars like Martín Palermo, their all-time leading scorer, who’s been selected to play on Argentina’s World Cup team, currently ranked #7 in the world). But a win…a win might just restore the ecstasy of Opening Day 2009. Qwest Field, 800 Occidental Ave. S., 877-657-4625, $25–$95. 7:30 p.m. GAVIN BORCHERT


Books: An OP Too Far

Not many journalists have the balls to embed in a combat zone, but Sebastian Junger situated himself at just such a testosterone outpost while reporting the Vanity Fair dispatches that became War (12 Books, $26.99). With the companion documentary Restrepo playing at SIFF this week (and opening in theaters July 2), Junger’s account of a year—with breaks—spent among the U.S. soldiers fighting in Afghanistan’s Korengal Valley is bathed in the sweat, piss, and blood of weird male intimacy. The outpost (OP) is named for a Colombian-American immigrant killed in combat, Juan Restrepo. The other 150 members of Battle Company, whom Junger follows in 2007 and 2008, are like cycle sisters in an all-male sorority. If one guy’s urine stinks too much, the others rebuke him for not drinking enough water; being dehydrated in such a high, dry combat area could cost you a buddy’s life. Between firefights and frustrating jirgas with Afghan elders, the soldiers bitch about the lulls between combat and enact “strange pantomimed man-rapes.” There are no women in this story. The Pakistani and Saudi Arabian mujahideen firing at OP Restrepo are no less sexually frustrated. But that’s war, Junger writes, “a pure, clean standard” by which men can measure themselves. His book isn’t pretty, it isn’t definitive, nor does it look beyond the confines of one high, hellish valley. (Our forces withdrew from there last month.) Never mind politics, he concludes: “I think I finally understand the idea of brotherhood.” Town Hall, 1119 Eighth Ave., 652-4255, $5. 7:30 p.m. BRIAN MILLER

Music: Elephant Dance

One of the deans of old-school upright bass, Ron Carter has had a less-than-brilliant career in the decades since serving as the rock-solid anchor to Miles Davis’ whirling 1960s quintet. But then, nobody in that band quite reached that pinnacle again. With an instrument that can sometimes seem faceless, Carter has carved out a fleet and thrumming sound—like an elephant nimbly leaping—that’s as unmistakable as Miles’ own. He has tended to stick to pretty straight-ahead settings, and his drum-less Golden Striker Trio—with Diana Krall’s favorite guitarist, Russell Malone, on the traditional hollow-body and Mulgrew Miller on piano—is no exception. If old-school truths earnestly rendered are your bag, then this is your band. (Through Sunday.) Dimitriou’s Jazz Alley, 2033 Sixth Ave., 441-9729, $26.50. 7:30 and 10 p.m. MARK D. FEFER

Stage: Endlessly Provoked

Henry Rollins hasn’t met a media project he could turn down. Or maybe he just can’t turn down his energy level. Since the 1986 breakup of Black Flag, he’s written books (including a memoir about that seminal punk band), published other authors, hosted TV shows, acted in a David Lynch movie, blogged about politics, entertained our soldiers with the USO in Iraq, and campaigned for gay rights and other causes. But his spoken-word performances have been a constant for two decades. Rollins has released more than 20 albums of such material—a mixture of stand-up, poetry, and intense, slightly frightening political and cultural rants. The famously tattooed, muscular Rollins is now 49—an elder statesman of punk. And he’s lost none of his punk outrage. In a recent performance, he bemoaned the electronic-music scene and attacked its sampling DJs. “You’re a fucking thief of music!” he declared. “Where’s the balls?” The guy won’t calm down. Moore Theatre, 1932 Second Ave., 467-5510, $23. 8 p.m. ERIN K. THOMPSON


Film: No Rip-Off

Many things about The Great Rock ‘n’ Roll Swindle make it great—the mix of animation and documentary footage, the blurring of myth and reality. But what really stands out 30 years later is what a non-joke the Sex Pistols were. This 1980 film—the brainchild of recently deceased Pistols mastermind Malcolm McLaren and director Julien Temple—is now legendary for portraying the British punk icons as little more than a big marketing put-on. This is partially true, but it’s harder to swallow when watching footage of the band in action. Their cover of the Stooges’ “No Fun” is as caustic as punk gets. (Yet the blank look on bassist Sid Vicious‘ face during “Pretty Vacant” proves just how vacant he really was.) Many have dissed McLaren over the years as a greedy poser, but now that he’s dead and the Pistols’ music lives on, this film’s a reminder that the swindle couldn’t have been pulled off without a real band. (Through Sun.) Northwest Film Forum, 1515 12th Ave., 267-5380, $6–$9. 7 and 9 p.m. BRIAN J. BARR


Winter Sports: Blades of Glory

Put down the remote. Hang up the phone. No longer will call-in votes be the only way for locals to appreciate dancing/skating wonder Evan Lysacek. After a season of topping the leaderboard on Dancing With the Stars (not to mention his recent gold medal in Vancouver), Lysacek will join many fellow Olympians for this traveling one-night show, Smucker’s Stars on Ice. With the anxiety of the Olympics (and hopefully the bitterness of medal standings) behind them, these sequin-covered winter athletes will include new names, like pairs gold medalists Xue Shen and Hongbo Zhao, and familiar ones, like 2006 silver medalist Sasha Cohen. (Definitely not among them: Evgeni Plushenko, still pissed about Lysacek forgoing a quad in Vancouver.) Expect lavish costumes, pearly white smiles, and romantic music to dazzle fans of all ages. But don’t worry about any more relentless self-promotion from tall, lanky, heavily bronzed Lysacek regarding his DWtS standings. The show—and most likely his dancing career—wrapped for the season last night. KeyArena, 305 Harrison St. (Seattle Center), 800-745-3000, $33 and up. 7:30 p.m. PARISA SADRZADEH

Visual Arts: A Gazebo in SoDo

A group show, Box With the Sound of Its Own Making gets you thinking about process and materials. Two wall-sized posters by Ryan Gander depict a tidy studio where a fluttering blank white sheet of paper has escaped from the artist’s pencil. Text ideas in the background—”Illustrated guide without images”—are waiting to be inscribed, but the errant sheet is resisting its role. Practically empty, Western Bridge’s largest gallery is occupied by a copper water pipe on the floor and an electrical cord running to a bulb (both by Jason Dodge); they’re conduits, means to an end that can’t be separated from their form. The thing is instrumental. Or an instrument, since the show’s name refers to a 1961 Robert Morris sculpture—not on view here, but part of SAM’s permanent collection—that includes an audiotape of its manufacture. Outside the building in the parking lot, the art gets even more conceptual with Use It For What It’s Used For, by Eli Hansen and Oscar Tuazon. A concrete slab with titled timbers suggesting a gazebo, lit by solar power, the humble platform was occupied on opening night as a place to smoke, chat, and drink beers. On a warm spring evening, with the buzz of conversation in the air, Use It was useful and even pleasant. Take away the people, however, like the water in the pipe, and it’s empty, nothing worth looking at. (Through July 31) Western Bridge, 3412 Fourth Ave. S., 838-7444, Free. Noon-6 p.m. BRIAN MILLER