Music & Nightlife

REVIEW
Do the Worm
Calexico conjures a hot, dusty, drunken desert world.

Something about Calexico's music provokes the desire to drive to Tucson with little more than an acoustic guitar, a cheap pair of shades, a four-track recorder and an inspired partner in crime at your side. After all, there must be some desert magic that makes for great recording there, where Calexico's Joey Burns and John Convertino have been crafting their sophisticated brand of Southwestern-inspired Americana for the past few years.

Like previous albums, the band's fourth and latest, Feast of Wire, exhibits the duo's knack for soaking up the sounds and styles around them--mariachi bands, lap steel, Latin rhythms--and deftly painting them into their own sun-baked musical landscape. Convertino's subtle, masterful percussion and Burns' warm, worn vocals are touchstones throughout. Tracks range from the succinct and loping opener, "Sunken Waltz," to ambitious instrumentals like "Crumble," with its sultry, spy-movie swagger steeped in big horns and jazz guitar. "Black Heart," a dark and slinky string-laced number, creeps in like a fog.

Despite the influence of their rich surroundings, Burns and Convertino's sheer talent as musicians and producers is what, at core, makes their records so fine. Oh well, your car probably wouldn't make it past the Oregon border, anyway. But keep the shades on and the wanderlust fired up, pour some tequila, sit back and listen to Feast of Wire. It's fine consolation. (Liz Brown)

Calexico plays Monday, March 3, at the Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie Ave., 233-1994. 8 pm. $12.50 advance, $15 at the door.

Synchronicity
The firm of Zappa & Crouse gets its thing together with Conscripts.

The distinct strains of composer Elliott Carter blare from stereo speakers in a rehearsal space off North Mississippi Avenue. Nine musicians who have assembled as part of Stanley Zappa and John Crouse's new venture of words and music, Conscripts, listen intently. When it's finished, Zappa jumps up and talks about the tonality and tempo of the work. After a short discussion, Zappa says, "Let's try something."

The "something" is a 12-minute free improvisation with three saxophonists, a trumpeter, three drummers, vibes and four porches worth of wind chimes. Within the first few seconds, the musicians are already negotiating notes with each other. For improv, this is tight, uncannily so, as these people seem able to read each other's minds. "We've been getting together for a couple of months now," says Zappa after a set of four pieces, "and we understand each other."

The free-flowing opening act is part of what makes this large ensemble click. For weeks the group has been reading chunks of philosopher Theodor Adorno's thoughts on music together while listening to Carter, the madrigals of 16th-century composer Carlo Gesualdo and work of Zappa's mentor at Bennington College, Bill Dixon. This, according to Zappa, helps "synchronize our aesthetic."

The result will be Conscripts, a music/spoken-word performance debuting Thursday.

Conscripts marks the first collaboration between Zappa--who is, indeed, part of the famous Zappa clan--and writer Crouse. The two collided in the warehouse of a famous local bookstore, where mutual frustration with incompetent management betrayed a shared aesthetic. Conscripts is their first joint expression of it.

Joining Zappa (who plays sax) will be Quasi's Sam Coomes and Janet Weiss (also drummer for Sleater-Kinney), Jeffrey Helwig (who works with the Steven Lobdell-led Davis Redford Triad) and Sara Lund (of the now defunct Unwound), among others. (Steffen Silvis)

Conscripts will be performed Thursday, Feb. 27, at Disjecta, 116 NE Russell St., 335-6979. 8 pm. $5. All ages.

A Plague on All Y'all
The Locust sez: Bring it on.

Please, if you must slash the tires of the Locust's van when the band plays Nocturnal on Sunday night, COME ON! Slash at least two.

See, when the Locust plays, there always seems to be a small gang in the audience that, for some mysterious reason, wants to anger the already angry San Diego hardcore quartet. But what really annoys the band is people too cowardly to follow through.

"They're fucking chickenshit," says Locust singer-bassist Justin Pearson, half-laughing. "They only slashed one tire. We have a spare, you know? If you want to be tough about it, if you want to create problems for us, slash all our tires."

No one knows why the Locust draws such hatred. Maybe sexually repressed, testosterone-overdosing tough guys don't appreciate their wild, skin-tight uniforms, crazed stage antics or use of the keyboard. Or maybe they're just dumbfounded by the socially conscious politics within Pearson's disturbing and indecipherable shrieks and the band's dark and frighteningly fast instrumentation.

But seeing how this is noisy hardcore at its scariest, strangest and maybe even artiest, in all likelihood people are just jealous.

Lost in their own maniacal sounds, the four Locust-ites handle it well. "It's this weird state of mind," explains Pearson. "You become irrational. You have adrenaline and all these endorphins. I don't think about what I'm playing--it just happens, and then it's over. It's like a dream state."

Until reality sets in. "Occasionally I get hit with a bottle or someone keeps yelling 'Fag!' at me over and over. It's not my name, so I'm like, 'Oh, OK, assholes.'" (Jenny Tatone)

The Locust plays at 8 pm Sunday, March 2, at Nocturnal, 1800 E Burnside St., 239-5900. Cover. All ages.

Calexico

(Quarterstick Records)

WWeek 2015