
[Most Uplifting Songs Ever (aka MUSE) is a recurring Line Out feature that spotlights the tunes on which I can rely to elevate my mood (with no negative side effects), no matter how oppressive my deadlines, no matter how grim the news is, no matter how lousy the weather, no matter how severely the publishing industry continues to collapse (okay, maybe they can't ameliorate that last one). You may feel the same way about them.]
At 5:15 this morning, I awoke to KEXP playing Bow Wow Wow’s “C30, C60, C90, Go!” It had been several years since I'd heard this furiously joyous blast of Burundi-drumming-enhanced pop from 1980 and, goddamn, did it sound invigorating, even at that insane hour. When the stridently chiming guitar slashes in at about 38 seconds, it’s like [insert favorite drug/drink] kicking in. You feel as if your face is going to crack from smiling too hard. [View the video here; embedding disabled.]
Also, songs on major labels about illegal home taping are inherently funny (those pioneering, cassette-brandishing pirates somehow didn't kill the music industry). Stealing rhythms from Burundian drummers, maybe not so much…

Part two! Of sort of a series.
A DJ and producer from Montreal, Tiga is usually irritating.
Tiga's the one that re-cooks middle-of-the-road dance and disco to inexplicably grateful audiences while stuffing his first full-length, 2006's Sexor, with four whole covers, including Talking Heads, Public Enemy, and Nine Inch Nails and then overkills it even more with an album sleeve recreating the one for Bryan Ferry's In Your Mind.
Ah, imagination.
But the worst is his version of Altern-8's "Infiltrate 202". It's been everywhere for the last few years and we can't stand the thing. A sin of being both too similar to the original and lukewarm and ordinary in itself, the song misunderstands one of rave's grandest moments and tries to get away with it with cheese and inverted-quotes irony.
On the other hand, there's "Shoes".
What's that?
I'd love to comb your hair,
Your hair is such a mess,
Now just take off that dress.
Good!
The shoes stay on my feet,
The shoes stay on my feet,
The shoes stay on my feet,
The shoes stay on my feet.
Better!
What's that sound?
I like that sound,
I love that sound,
It's the sound of my shoes.
Best.
Local promoters Knightriders have booked Chicago techno legend Robert Armani for the Baltic Room on July 4. This is a major coup; I don't think Armani has played here in a long time, if ever. Knightriders' other recent big bookings include New York producer/DJ Dietrich Schoenemann (ex-Prototype 909) May 8 at Re-bar and Detroit DJ Punisher June 6 at Baltic.
Knightriders are no doubt shelling out a lot of bucks for your bang(in') techno; let's hope Seattle's ready for this influx of killer showcases.
Dyme Def are celebrating the release of their new EP Panic at the Crocodile on Saturday night with One Be Lo, the Saturday Knights, Spaceman and D.Black. This is the Croc's first hiphop show since re-opening last month, and it's probably going to be amazing.
Tickets are $10 and on sale now (and going fast, I'm told), but one lucky Line Out reader gets to go for free! To enter, send your first and last name to freetickets@thestranger.com, with Dyme Def in the subject line. A winner will be chosen at random and notified via e-mail Friday afternoon.
Good luck!
It's just come to my attention that Ronald Reagan is part of a local tattoo artist's portfolio of US Presidents... a whole bunch of them! LOOK! I officially declare this a political race. First person to go get ass-tatted, with any of the 44 prezzies, well, they get to be (or pick) the next Drunk of the Week. Ready... GO!
It’s pretty easy to slap the label “progressive” on a band if they play noodly guitar parts and change up their time signatures. For the most part I like “progressive” bands, more so than most other rock genres, but seeing Mastodon play their new record Crack the Skye in its entirety last night made me realize how few “progressive” bands actually progress anything, compared to Mastodon at least. They’ve been pushing the metal envelope with every record they’ve released, and with Crack the Skye they seem to have transcended that envelope completely, creating a record masterfully melodic and chaotic, precise yet sweeping, and neither prog nor metal specifically, leaving them peerless at the top of a genre that they themselves are forging. Though the songs are equally meticulous and energetic the band plowed through them with ease, effortlessly scaling and soloing and drum filling while three of the four members shared vocal duties. For this tour the band created a psychedelic video to run in the background, the content of which can most easily be described as “space travel meets Rasputin,” which, coincidentally, is as far as some nay-sayers get into the concept of the new record before nay-saying it. Although the general story behind Crack the Skye is pretty sci-fi, this is the first record where the band has intertwined their own personal experiences into the lyrics. The band has said that this record was meant to be their opus, that if Mastodon ceased to be at least they could be proud that they had put this record in to the world. As a fan who has seen them five times now, starting with the Leviathan show at El Corazon, I wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment. This is a benchmark in their career, and though I hope and assume they will continue to make great records, if for some reason the band ended tomorrow I could at least be glad that I saw them perform such a masterfully realized record.
After finishing Crack the Skye, the band began moving backward though their catalog, playing several songs from Blood Mountain, then Leviathan. It was interesting hearing the prog elements slowly slip away from their music as they went on, ultimately reaching the pulverizing metal they began their career with on “March of the Fire Ants” off Remission. For the finale they closed with the epic whale hunt that is “Hearts Alive.” By this point the band had been pummeling their instruments for an hour and a half, yet drummer Brann Dailor looked like he was hardly winded. Though there is no weak link in the band, and Brent Hinds may claim to be the best guitarist in the world when he drunkenly punches people in the face, the sheer drumming prowess of Brann Dailor is worth the ticket price alone. Mastodon’s performance was nothing short of incredible, easily the best I have seem out of them. It was so good it was actually exhausting - by the end of their set I had been bombarded so completely with sound that my brain and body ached for rest, but you know, in that good way. The fact that Mastodon continue to push themselves as musicians and songwriters with each new record propels them further and further in front of their peers, cementing them as one of the most talented and exciting rock bands on the planet.
What connects this video, Mc Solaar's "Le Nouveau Western"...
...with this one, Illegal's "We Getz Busy"...
Matt & Kim's new video for "Lessons Learned" from their latest record Grand is... eye-opening? Ballsy? Whatever, THEY GET NAKED!*
Matt & Kim are playing Neumos on May 20th.
*All the nudity is blurry, so it's probably safe for work unless your boss has something against pixilated private parts.
It didn't make the cut for this week's Up & Coming listings, but arguably worth the required, corporate-sponsored RSVP tonight: Cosmo Baker (of deep-crated NYC DJ triumvarite the Rub) will be spinning at Chapel along with DJ Spinna, Rich Medina, and Seattle's own Supreme La Rock.
The reason I hate going to most hardcore shows is because most hardcore singers don't know when to shut the fuck up. Before every song, the guy with the mic's gotta go on and on about what the song's about and why it was written and how we all need to do this and we should all think that... and that's fine. I get it. I'm all for spreading the word about things you believe in (as a writer I do it too). But do you have to sound so fucking angry?
The moment some guy starts yelling at me about how fucked up something is, I want to tune him out despite what points he's attempting to make—if you're just going to start yelling, start cramming things down my throat, I'm going to walk away. (108, I'm looking at you.)
Every frontman could learn a thing or two from Trial's Greg Bennick. The guy's a professional motivational speaker (he's also a professional juggler and that's awesome), but even more importantly he's one of the most influential figures in Seattle's hardcore music history. And while he has been doing the same "This song is about" or "This song goes out to" before every song since the ’90s, he knows how important it is to deliver his messages with well-spoken grace. He's passionate, not pissed off, and he urges everyone to do their own research and have their own ideas. And that's why I have loved Trial since I was a teenager and, as was proven last night, I still love Trial at almost 30.
Their songs go beyond the band's own personal struggles—Bennick looks out into the world for things he could change, and he brings those ideas back to us through his music and we can take 'em or leave 'em, all he asks is that we're open minded. He doesn't scream about how "This is fucked up! Let's all agree this is fucked up! Here's a song about how fucked up it is!" He reminds everyone what we're capable of and because he does it with love and respect, we fucking listen.
Trial hasn't played live in Seattle since 2005, and before that their last show was around 2000, so this was the first time most kids in the room had ever had the chance to see the band. For over an hour, for songs like "Falling From Grace," "Scars," "One Step Away," "500 Years," and "There's Nothing Left to Lose," the crowd clearly made up for lost time—Vera's showroom was a pit of flailing bodies while everyone piled on top of each other and rushed the stage, dancing and singing along. But between songs, they all stopped. They waited to hear what Bennick had to say.
And last night he said a lot, but what stuck with me the most, was what he said almost an hour into the band's sweaty, booming, thrash-happy set—before playing "For the Kids," he pointed out that the Vera Project is physical proof that anyone can find inspiration in an idea and turn it into something real. The Vera Project wouldn't exist if it weren't for the people who believed it could happen, and he urged everyone in the room to take the energy they were feeling that very moment, and not only remember it, but take it out into the world and do something with it. And I hope every kid in that room takes his advice.
Photos by Robby MacDonell.

Friday, May 8 brings the third-annual Stranger Gong Show to Chop Suey, where a parade of talented citizens—professional and amateur, old and young, sweet and sour—will make its way across the stage, and one lucky winner will be showered with prizes including $300 cash!
Like every year, each act will have a minimum of 45 seconds and a maximum of four minutes to perform and try not to get gonged by our panel of judges. What kind of acts are we looking for? The usual: Jugglers, magicians, jug bands, tap dancers, strongmen, yodelers, standup comics, sword swallowers, contortionists, slam poets, marching bands, mimes, bird callers, puppeteers, tuba players, hula-hoopers, comedy skits, chanteuses, ventriloquists, clog dancers, celebrity impersonators, Butoh dancers, vaudeville acts, burlesque dancers, accordionists, air bands—and any other unique and entertaining acts.
Sign up for the competition and find complete show and prize info right here. (Or sign up in person the night of the show—complete info on how to do this is here as well.)
REGARDING LIVE BANDS AND THE GONG SHOW: Think "unplugged." You'll be provided a mic and two minutes to set up, and we'll have a CD player for all who want to sing/dance/rock the fuck out to a backing track. It's a bit restrictive, but musical magic is completely attainable via Gong Show. See clip below for proof.
You should totally invite Party Crasher.

Charles Mudede on why Fatal Lucciauno was booted from Dyme Def's show at the Crocodile:
Fatal is dogged by the fact that, on that night he performed at Chop Suey, a gunman opened fire into the club, killing one man, MC 29-E, and wounding two, Trama and 1st Black Prez—although, according to his manager, DeVon Manier of Sportn' Life Records, Fatal was long gone by the time the bullets started to fly. On Wednesday, April 15, Manier was informed of the Croc's decision, and though disheartened, he was not at all surprised. It was not the first time his artist had been banned from a venue or removed from a lineup. "Since the shooting, it's been tough," he says.

My Bloody Valentine returns to Seattle! Dave Segal reminisces on the band:
From 1987 to 1991, MBV had one of the greatest creative runs in rock history. It rivaled those of the Beatles' 1965 to 1969, the Velvet Underground's 1967 to 1970, Can's 1969 to 1974, and Hüsker Dü's 1984 to 1987. Shields's hot streak was such that even relatively overlooked EP cuts such as "Swallow," "Honey Power," and "Glider" radiated unparalleled brilliance

Check out Up & Coming for previews of this week's performances by artists like Franz Nicolay:
You may know Franz Nicolay as the mustachioed pianist for the Hold Steady. His perfectly groomed lip hair is as iconic as Craig Finn's glasses (and dance moves). As a solo artist (who's partnered up with folks like Demander and the Dresden Dolls), Nicolay tries on a few different hats. On his new record, Major General, he's got everything from anthemic blasts of rock and roll to a quasi lounge number replete with clarinet. The first single, "Jeff Penalty," is one part Hold Steady and one part Against Me! (with perhaps a tinge of Ted Leo).

Buraka Som Sistema's kuduro sound is burning up Data Breaker:
Buraka Som Sistema's debut album proper, Black Diamond (Fabric), flaunts hectic, galloping beats, extreme high and low frequencies (the main sound in "Luanda Lisboa" could be a pitched-up band saw), and declamatory vocals from several male and female vocalists, including M.I.A. on the stomping, carnivalesque "Sound of Kuduro" and grime MC Kano on squiggly, staccato banger "Skank & Move." BSS's sensually thuggish rhythms are accentuated with cowbells, shakers, and hand claps.

Larry Mizell Jr reviews Panic, the new EP by Dyme Def:
Panic, at a mere seven tracks long, is Dyme Def's strongest statement and without a doubt the best work they've yet put in—as it should be. The three MCs have grown even more distinct in voice and style, while at the same time refining their hot-potato pass-offs to a sweet science. Haters should also note that DD are no mere swag panderers, obsessed with flash, work snatching, or ego buffing—Panic finds DD at their most topical, bringing forth some much-needed real talk on the title track: Busy playing golf while they leavin' niggas stranded/Talking about abortion 'cause a young girl pregnant/Find love in the streets 'cause they never felt cherished/And slap they mom and dad for never being good parents.
Casey Catherwood hypes new music by Dan Deacon and his upcoming Vera Project appearance:
Deacon layers high-speed digital drums and shrill synthesized sounds, creating an inhuman electro-pop that sounds as if Daffy Duck, Kid 606, and the guys from Lightning Bolt started a dance band bent on causing riots in warehouses and basements. It's a shame Deacon hasn't played a house show on his past few visits to Seattle—that's what happens when your favorite little band blows up—but his performance this Saturday, April 25, at the Vera Project will be well worth attending. To perform the songs from his celebratory new album, Bromst, Deacon is touring with a massive 14-piece band, incorporating multiple drums, keyboards, marimbas, xylophones, and glockenspiels.

Christopher DeLaurenti on the Ballard Jazz Festival:
Make sure to check out the Hadley Caliman Quintet (Conor Byrne Pub, 9 pm) and Hans Teuber Trio (Egan's Ballard Jam House, 10:30 pm). Caliman unfurls sinewy bop lines that retain an intensely funky feel. Teuber, a saxophonist and flutist, offers a singular, intimate kind of chamber jazz. I'm overdue to hear the Seattle Women's Jazz Orchestra again (Leif Erikson Hall, 8:45 pm), and don't miss the winsome-voiced Kelley Johnson (Bad Albert's 8—11 pm), who coltishly scampers through standards and forgotten chestnuts with ease. Ben Thomas, Cynthia Mullis, Bill Ramsey, and a slew of other fine musicians make the Jazz Walk essential to any jazz lover.
Michaelangelo Matos reviews Yeah Yeah Yeahs' recent SNL performance:
SNL's legendarily wonky sound quality was—for me, not a regular watcher—less an annoyance than a diversion, a way of hearing the song anew. It seemed more urgent somehow, and that had a lot to do with watching Karen O in action. She didn't move nearly as much as she used to—your mid-30s will do that to you. The great surprise for me was that she didn't have to: She basically mimed, totally rooted in '72 Bowie, particularly when she tugged the collar of her studded biker jacket on the line "Put your leather, leather, leather on, on, on, on, on."There's something about that gesture that really got to me. Maybe because it's so corny on its surface, and here was Karen O, shrewd at archetypes, underselling it, implying, not pushing. And as she vogued along, it struck me how total her vision was, how absolute.

Plus, album reviews on the latest records, including Prefuse 73's Everything She Touched Turned Ampexian, Black Lips' 200 Million Thousand and Papercuts' You Can Have What You Want:
Beach House's Alex Scally contributed his arranging acumen to You Can Have What You Want, and you can hear some of that band's sundown grandeur creeping into Papercuts' compositions. Fans of Grizzly Bear will also snuggle up to Quever's wonderstruck melodies and quavering, little-boy-lost vocal approach. The song "A Peculiar Hallelujah" stands out among the 10 here, both for its exquisitely lovely tune and for its title, which captures the disc's spirit. You can sense Quever striving for elation, but he's too pragmatic and/or innately subdued to go for full-on exultation in his songs; he won't be writing the 21st-century analogue to the Beach Boys' "Good Vibrations" at this rate.
Also: things get a little hairy for Party Crasher! Poster of the Week, New Column! And the Stranger's complete, searchable Music Calendar Listings.
The Last Ever Club Pop
Tonight, Club Pop throws its last bash, celebrating three and a half years of doing the damn-near impossible: throwing an (actually cool) 18+ dance night in a city where it's practically illegal to go out dancing if you're under 21. (Okay, it is technically legal, but can be prohibitively expensive for promoters—extra security staff and all that.) The night goes out with its signature conflagration of rock and dance, featuring local upstart trio the Tempers and L.A. DJ Paparazzi. Where are kids supposed to go in this town now? I don't know. (Chop Suey, 1325 E Madison St, 324-8000. 9 pm, $8 before 11 pm/$10 after, 18+.) ERIC GRANDY
Leonard Cohen
(WaMu Theater) Permit me some star-fuckery: Once, at a book convention, I ate with Leonard Cohen. He was wearing this amazing earth-toned suit that followed every line of his adorably compact body. Cohen wasn't some rumpled goth or drunken douchebag. He was excited about everything. "Oh, really?" he said to one woman. "You're a blogger? Fascinating! Tell me more about that!" And when he talked about music, he looked like a sugar-addled kid on Christmas morning. He's not just a music legend: He genuinely loves music with a giddy newlywed's excitement. Not many people in their fourth decade of superstardom can say that. PAUL CONSTANT
James McMurtry, Tony Fulgham
(Tractor) In advance of writing this blurb, I spent a good couple of hours with Just Us Kids, James McMurtry's 2008 release and an impeccable collection of songs. Over sharp, sturdy roots-rock music made by an ass-kicking band (give the drummer some, seriously), this Austin-based singer-songwriter weaves precise, intricate tales of American life, with a literary skill that leaves even his most literate peers—Steve Earle, Todd Snider, Lucinda Williams—in the dust. Thirty seconds on Wikipedia provides clues to the source of this literary confidence and ambition: father Larry McMurtry, the Pulitzer Prize—winning author of Lonesome Dove and The Last Picture Show, who gave his son his first guitar when James was 7. Tonight, James McMurtry brings his songs and his band—the Heartless Bastards—to the Tractor for the second night of a two-night stand. DAVID SCHMADER
Tonight there's also a benefit for Dow Constantine at the Crocodile featuring John Roderick, Carrie Akre, Kristen Ward, and others as well as a show with Bronze Fawn, Panther Attack, the Oregon Donor, and the Misson Orange at the Comet. See more in the calendar!
I don't know where this fits into Line Out quite, except for the awesome soundtrack, and look at a culture now past. You know, the culture of thuggy Southern Cal white skate chicks listening to punk and stealing boards from dopey guys.
Classic.
(Hat tip, Carla from Re-Bar)