I cannot get enough of this video:

Broken Disco: Egyptian Lover

(Chop Suey) Egyptian Lover (born Greg Broussard) is nothing short of an electro/hiphop pioneer. In 1984, his debut single, “Egypt, Egypt,” solidified on the West Coast a template laid down back East by Afrika Bambaataa: 808 drum machine beats, simple (often sampled) synth lines, record scratching, and cool-ass deadpan raps. Bambaataa may be better known (for his Zulu Nation mythology, his John Lydon collaboration, etc.) but the Lover’s tracks (“Egypt, Egypt,” “And My Beat Goes Boom”) are every bit as archetypal, and his Egyptology pillow talk is, if anything, more goofy fun than Bambaataa’s Planet Zulu shamanism. Live, Egyptian Lover still does it old school—an 808, two turntables, and a microphone—time-warping modern dance floors back to ancient Egypt, circa the 1980s. ERIC GRANDY

This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, the Pharmacy, Vena Cava, Pleasureboaters, Ima Gymnist

(Fusion Cafe) Let’s be blunt: The Fusion Cafe is not an ideal place to see a show. You’re basically watching a band play on the floor of a conference room, with more or less the kind of limited sightlines and sound such a setting suggests. But who gives a shit when the place is booking bills like this one? Headliners This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb hail from the same Florida folk-punk backwoods as Against Me!, although they’ve yet to outgrow the basement show quite so dramatically. Like that band’s earlier incarnation, TBIAPB holler political rally cries—antiwar, pro–Dumpster diving, etc.—over stomping punk hoedowns. San Diego’s Vena Cava recall golden-age California pop punk (Lookout Records and the like) before that genre came to mean smirking MTV douchebags—they’re smart, cute, sloppy, and barely held together by duct tape. Teenage Smell protégés Ima Gymnist round out the bill along with the Pharmacy and Pleasureboaters, two local bands poised for a banner year in 2008. ERIC GRANDY

Peter Parker, Guns & Rossetti, Young Sportsmen

(Jules Maes) Dick Rossetti is the frontman of Guns & Rossetti (which explains the band name), and you might recognize his name from his former status as afternoon DJ on 107.7 The End. The man had such a cult following at the station that when he left (and was replaced with the talk-heavy, not-so-funny “Church of Lazlo”), fans made a MySpace page begging for his return. The dry wit that made him popular on the airwaves bleeds into his lyrics (“Word to the wise, stay out of Bellingham”), and his love for ’80s cock rock obviously fuels the band’s lo-fi arrangements (lo-fi in the sense that they’re lacking the huge stadium-worthy guitar solos and have a less glam, more punk attitude). While theirs is a more bitter sound, Peter Parker’s power-pop has crunchy guitars and lovely boy-girl harmonies that will complement Guns & Rossetti nicely. They’re just as bitter, mind you, but it’s hard to hear that under their catchy melodies. MEGAN SELING

Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, Concern, Baby Panda, Ghosts & Liars

(Vera Project) Online videos aren’t the most romantic way to discover music, but La Blogothèque’s Les Concert à Emporter #8.2 is a beautiful introduction to the well-stocked canon that is one-man band Casiotone for the Painfully Alone. In the video, Owen Ashworth stands alone in a telephone booth on a wet, abandoned street. The characteristic drone of simple chords and beats emanates from a cheap keyboard, and in his unapologetically imperfect voice he sings to no one in particular, “Some days I think about moving up north, the rent is cheaper I can have a house and a porch to watch the rain, walk out in the rain, stand under the rain… and let Seattle wash me.” When the song ends and the camera pans away, Ashworth says, “That was the first song I ever wrote”: In the 10 years since he started CFTPA, his songs—and maybe his reverence for Seattle and its rain—have only gotten stronger. MOLLY HAMILTON

From the Stranger Suggests:

Lupe Fiasco

(Showbox at the Market) Lupe Fiasco’s headlining slot at last year’s Bumbershoot was a star-making performance. Lupe, wearing all white, owned the stadium, shaking its foundations with deep, bass-bomb beats and flying around the stage while still nailing his intricate rhymes. His sophomore album, The Cool, is a conflicted record—misfired cheeseburger rap gives way to a comic-book narrative starring characters named the Cool, the Game, and the Streets—but it’s wall-to-wall dexterous wordplay and grand, summer-blockbuster production. (Showbox at the Market, 1426 First Ave, 628-3151. 8 pm, $22.50 adv/$25 DOS, all ages.) by ERIC GRANDY