Music & Nightlife

[November 13th, 2002]

PREVIEW
Smashing Plastic
Burning Brides: On a mission.

The most tiresome statement a music writer can read in a band's press kit is, "This is the best band you've never heard of." When a critic's eyes fall upon these words, he or she retires to the restroom for a soothing bit of restorative retching.

The Burning Brides are far too savvy to make such a hackneyed and insupportable claim, and with their reputation rapidly spreading westward from Philadelphia, they really don't need to. However, since they're still relatively unknown here in Portland, I'm going to go out on a limb and say it for them: The Burning Brides may be one of the best up-and-coming American bands you've yet to hear.

Most frequently compared to Queens of the Stone Age, this power trio's brand of sweaty, loud, nasty, dry-humping rock also evokes shades of Motörhead and local heroes Dead Moon. Singer-guitarist Dimitri Coats doesn't affect the cockstrut swagger of many hard rockers, but his wide stance and deep-throated, primal vocals bray defiance with authority. Melanie Campbell plays her bass like the rhythm instrument it's supposed to be, and drummer Jason Kourkounis pounds out the pelvic beats that drive the whole grinding onslaught.

But unlike a lot of people who rock hard, loud and tight, they're not doing it because they're angry and cocky and young and can't think of anything else to do. The Brides are on a self-avowed mission to change the face of rock. Actually, they want to punch it in the mouth, and who can blame them? Rock has been watered down to a Xerox of a Xerox of a Xerox. Creed is now considered "hard rock." Who could disagree with wanting to shake things up a little?

Their album's title, Fall of the Plastic Empire (released in September after a protracted bidding war), is an unabashed slam on the current state of corporate rock, as well as a confident assertion of what the Brides intend to do about it. God willing, they, along with other like-minded bands, will succeed. The Brides have as good a chance as anybody. With buzz heating up in the United States and abroad, they won't be playing venues as small as Satyricon for long, so catch them now--this may be the tour that, in two years, will have people saying I-saw-them-when.
Marty Smith

Burning Brides play Wednesday, Nov. 13, at Satyricon, 125 NW 6th Ave., 243-2380. The Anniversary and the Gadjits also appear. 9:30 pm. $8+ advance (Fastixx).

PREVIEW
Presto Strange-o!
Open your heart to a musical week packed with mystery, magic.

The Devil must've left Hades' gates open. If this November isn't the oddest month Portland has ever seen--with its seemingly endless column of freako musicians and artists--it's close. The upcoming week could be the peak of the strange parade.

On Wednesday, Dante's subjects itself to the surreal space-warp punishment of the Sun City Girls , who gnaw up musical styles with the sort of madness that begets rabid fans and death cults. Anything from opiated gamelan and outré jazz to withering classic-rock deconstructions can show up on a Sun City Girls record, while gigs are notoriously riotous and confrontational. Opening are Miss Murgatroid , whose accordion wheezes out creaking ur-sounds like a schizoid gypsy, and Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 offshoot Listening Station .

Thursday brings a surprise reunion of '80s tribal-rockers Savage Republic at Satyricon. SR's atavistic percussive whumps, strident vocals and snaking Middle Eastern melodies have stamped their influence on everyone from Crash Worship to Godspeed You Black Emperor!; here's a chance to catch the originals.

¡Tchkung! , playing Friday at Plan B (a.k.a. the Medicine Hat), picks up where Savage Republic left off. Blending industrial clang, anarcho-enviro rants and rally-round-the-bonfire tribal chants, the Seattle collective makes old-fashioned insurrection sound new and, at best, terrifyingly exciting. Meanwhile, the 2 Gyrlz enterActive Language Festival hits the Jasmine Tree with "Language of Dissent," where ambient electronica gets irradiated by Thomas Dimuzio and Romulus & Remus ; a tribute to msngr 's Sam Quicksilver, who died suddenly of an enlarged heart in October, makes this an emotional event.

On Saturday, 2 Gyrlz moves to the Hollywood Theatre for "Language of the Senses," at which Brainwarmer , Nequaquam Vacuum and Nommo Ogo sculpt live soundtracks to video installations by msngr , Nine , Thee Temple ov Identity and Atlanta's Supercollider Films .

If your brain hasn't been chopped into froth by this point, England's king eccentrics, the Legendary Pink Dots, will surely do it for you Sunday at Berbati's. The Dots hallucinogenically mutilate folk music with psychedelic guitar shimmers, whirlpooling keyboards, and Edward Ka-Spel's nutty-old-bugger-in-the-flower-garden vocals.

Finally, it's "Language of the Cock" at P.S. What? on Monday. Cock ESP spurts harsh, lacerating shards of white noise with a torture-artist's malevolent sense of humor. Madame Chao assembles centrifugal, kaleidoscopic mixes of samples, sound effects and beats. U Can Unlearn Guitar plays cuckoo acoustic songs with the occasional fit of feedback. And Der Yellow Swans writhe and wail over staticky technopulse rhythms and streams of discordant anti-notes. Even in a week of maximum weirdness, this might be the most...well, most.

MUSIC NEWS AND COMMENT
HISS and VINEGAR

VICTORY! DEFEAT! BOTH! NEITHER!

Last week, Berbati's Pan and Thrasher Presents asked veteran industrial-noise misanthrope Boyd Rice not to play his scheduled show with "European folk" act Death in June, after a Northwest activist group raised Cain over both acts' use of right-wingish aesthetic tropes.

"We do support free speech," writes Pan booking agent Leah Eberhardt in an email, also stressing that the club has no truck with Rice's confrontational self-proclaimed "elitism." "However, the end-all was what type of situation we were putting our employees in, and what sort of liability the establishment could face if the worst-case scenario took place (skinheads, SHARPs [that's Skinheads Against Racial Prejudice --ed.] and protestors potentially clashing on our premises...)...."

Rice, a doomy Denverite, has banged around various subcultures for years, talking trash about humanity, wearing freaky black uniforms, making atonal music and pursuing a peculiar interest in '60s girl-pop groups. Industrial noise and ostentatious species-hate may no longer be shock-culture state-of-the-art circa 2002, but Rice still packs the power to rile some folks up.

The Northwest Coalition for Human Dignity, a watchdog group that often targets allegedly right-wing music, sounded klaxons of alarm when it found out about Rice/DIJ shows in PDX and Seattle. "Unless we can successfully mobilize against him, Boyd Rice and Death in June will perform...during the same week as the anniversary [of] Kristallnact [sic]," said a Coalition news release, referencing (but misspelling) the infamous 1938 Nazi atrocity known as Kristallnacht. The NCHD bombarded both Thrasher and Berbati's with faxes and emails. Seattle's Catwalk Club, confronted with the same pressure and turned off by Rice's shtick, also booted Boyd from a Nov. 8 show.

But not everyone bought the panic. The Coalition's barricade call inspired vigorous debate on the left-field Seattle Independent Media website (http://seattle.indymedia.org).

"You fucking idiots," writes someone calling him- or herself "Noam Chomsky." "Boyd Rice and Death In June are not fascists. Period. Grow the fuck up and do your fucking research you censorial, orwellesque jackasses."

A film featuring Rice played at Berbati's in his stead, though the man himself appeared at an Ozone UK Records in-store show. One local fan described Rice and DIJ's Douglas Pearce as "total sweethearts."

Who's right (or Right?) in this tempestuous teapot? Berbati's and Thrasher are within their rights not to host an artist they fear might cause problems for club employees. The Coalition's heart is probably in the right anti-racist place, though in the past it has been over-quick to attack artists using "scary" imagery. And Rice, maybe or maybe not a real live "fascist," can't protest too much. He's out to offend, so can it be that surprising when the strategy works too well? (Maybe he should follow the lead of the old Onion story about Marilyn Manson, and try going door-to-door to shock people.)

On the other hand, you can't exactly call a show scrubbed for its (possible) political content a huge win for Liberty's sacred cause. Whether Rice is somehow dangerous or just another purveyor of all-bark-no-bite "transgressive" art, it seems "mobilizing" against him grants him out-of-scale importance. His artsy jackbootery may be unpleasant, but if it hasn't capsized the Republic yet, it probably won't.

And though those who opposed the show insist in press materials that free speech isn't the issue, it must be said: If every musician went under the social-responsibility microscope, there would soon be a distinct chill in the air, and a lot fewer rock shows. Should we get our coats?