Jeff Trainor

Wilco
Confirmed!
Famous last words, right? Indeed, if Modest Mouse has taught us anything, it's that announcements of hugely awesome flannel shirt≠≠≠-related (we hereby declare a moratorium on the phrase "indie") bands playing shows at Les Schwab Amphitheater are best taken with a grain of salt.

just like the real thing, except in a much smaller stadium.In the spirit of fearlessly exploring the oft-scary phenomenon of
tribute bands, Sound Check moseyed over to the Reed Pub Company last
Saturday night to catch a face full of Motorbreath.
Around a
hundred souls were holding down the wee pub's peanut shell-sprinkled
floor and spilling out into the smokers' patio outside when we showed
up. Once the openers were done, the smoke machines had the joint socked
in and the audience had had their fill of obnoxious Nickelback hits on
the sound system, the main event started at darn near the stroke of
midnight.

Smith (left) and Crow (right), deep within the realm of sickly soul.Pinback is a band of human beings. We suspected as much, but we had to see it to believe it.

The members of the San Diego-based band have a reputation for superhumanly intelligent melody and prolificacy, and their sound on studio recordings is a strangely precise exercise in dense, viscerally ethereal, rock-bred think-pop.

The Rawk Zone, where clothes are flying and riffs are ripping everywhere you look.Call Sound Check a pigeonholer, but there's something a little
contrived - Jack Black-esque, if you will - about five young women
taking to the stage to fulfill their rock dreams via the prepaid glory
of AC/DC's music.
Thing is, Jack Black kicks all the ass he wants, and so does Washington tribute band Hell's Belles.

Skeletonwitch frontman Chance Garnette - just one of countless Persistent Angry Young Man Syndrome (PAYMS) sufferers. Awareness heals."I just don't like that kind of music, and I don't like those guys, either."

So
said one of three spiky young punk rock girls making their way out of
Saturday's all ages show at the Domino Room, just as Sound Check was
heading in the front door. It was a good sign.
Inside the storied
venue, the omen came immediately to fruition. Inky black, thrashing
death metal was on blast, courtesy of Athens, Ohio-based Skeletonwitch.
Two guitarists, a bassist, a drummer and a nicely crazed mic-jockey
with a forearm full of spikes all tossed hair and musical evilness
around the stage like demons on healthy doses of beer and/or crack. The
place was packed full of youngsters in various shades of headbanger,
with a small contingent of over-21s lurking in the upstairs bar area. A
small fight-pit had formed in front of the stage, by and by sending
freshly bashed teens hurtling into those brave enough to stand around
the edge.

Laurel Brauns
Closed for the Season
★★★1/2 out of 5 stars
It's remarkably
appropriate that the cover of Bend-based singer-songwriter Laurel
Brauns' latest album is black and white (mostly black). The cover photo
is a moody, monochromatic shot of a wet-haired, shirtless young boy
standing outdoors. He looks cold, and he's holding an earthworm
awkwardly in the palms of his hands. You can't tell if it's dead or
alive - only that the boy seems to harbor a solemn fascination for it.
The
songs on Closed for the Season echo the mystery and the melancholy of
the photo…mostly the latter. In fact, Brauns' words and music push a
would-be "folksy" sound deep into a strange, enthralling realm of
Old-Worldly organic gothic.

It's something of a testament to the productivity of Central Oregon's music scene that music CDs - whether they come from record labels, local promoters pushing out-of-town acts, or local players - tend to stack up around here like panties at a Neil Diamond show. At times, the sheer quantity of music coming across your trusted Source Weekly writers' desks means some solid albums are bound to get buried for awhile without ever seeing the inside of a pair of headphones. Here are two such relatively recent, rediscovered works from local artists - stay tuned for future excavations.