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Wednesday, Jul 10 1996
Wednesday, July 10
Jack Duval Combo Hey kitten, lookin' for something that's finger-snappin' cool? Every Wednesday night, this suave combo serves up seductive platefuls of Charlie Parker, Thelonious Monk, Benny Goodman, and Duke Ellington, all soaked in a savory marinade of laid-back street savvy. Proponents of this mellow, smoky groove should dress accordingly; a black catsuit with dark bubble shades or a skintight cocktail number will do. It's kinda loungy, kinda jazzy, kinda like if Esquivel went beat instead of space age. Max & Sam's Hi-Ball Lounge, 9:30 p.m., free.

Thursday, July 11
22 Jacks You got Wax vocalist Joe Sib, as well as members of the Adolescents, No Use for a Name, and Face to Face. Hard to go wrong, eh? Their show at the Paradise earlier this year came as a surprise to many who expected their music to be a little bit more, um, crunchy. But the Jacks were irresistible, winning over the crowd with an assault of joyous intensity that put most local bands to shame. The Jacks wear the spotlight like a second skin, and their crisp power-pop anthems are dangerously contagious. I challenge you not to hum "So Sorry" for three days after the first hearing. Their new record, Uncle Bob, should hit the streets in September on Sib's label, SideOne/Dummy. Jale and D Generation headline. Bottom of the Hill, 9:30 p.m., $6.

Friday, July 12
Bedhead A five-piece band from Dallas with three guitars? Sounds really obnoxious, but you'd be surprised. While on previous recordings the quirky moniker conjured images of a mussed, static-ridden scalp, this is the first time in the group's history that the name seemed really fitting. The songs on Beheaded (Trance Syndicate) are warm, intimate, and sleepy -- almost vulnerable. It's like waking up very slowly on a foggy morning with someone you care about who knows you have morning breath, but doesn't mind. The moody bill is rounded off with Tarnation and Stars of the Lid Symphony Orchestra opening. Bottom of the Hill, 10 p.m., $6.

Saturday, July 13
Los Fuckers Says here that Los Fuckers are four giants cast out of a Mexican pygmy tribe for their unnatural size. Their obscene musical talents made them stars, until they were taken out of Mexico's punk rock pantheon after allegations of wild geriatric sex-parties involving El Presidente's grandmother. Undaunted -- in fact, intrigued -- our own Incredibly Strange Wrestling imported the Mexican renegades for this one-time-only shitfest. In attendance will be the Demonics, Hayride to Hell, and all your favorite madcap wrestlers. Transmission Theater, 9 p.m., $7.

Sunday, July 14
Apples in Stereo Candy apples and cotton candy float across a fuzzy landscape of psychedelic trees and Day-Glo clouds. It's all very peppy and poppy in that oh-how-the-'90s-have-rediscovered-the-'60s way. Complete with nerdy Moog effects and fantastic la-la-la harmonies, it's no small feat that the Apples in Stereo have managed to transcend the pitfalls of insipid sappiness to produce an album -- Fun Trick Noisemaker (spinART) -- that is, to be perfectly honest, very enjoyable. GodheadSilo headline; JFKFC open. Kilowatt, 7 p.m., $6.

Monday, July 15
Man ... or Astro-Man? Born of woman and spawned by space aliens, these Estrus faves have put out the best meth-induced space-age surf music that green money can buy. Live performances are often silver in theme and include an abundance of alien hardware such as helmets with blinking lights, crystal gizmos with whirring things, robots that go haywire, and supercharged space guitars that make purty music. As long as they don't get abducted by their home team before the show, they rock! The Subsonics open. Bimbo's 365 Club, 7 p.m., $10-12.

Tuesday, July 16
Toledo Every inch the showman with his Stetson hat and his smoky purr, Toledo is a consummate choreographer and dancer extraordinaire, but it's not just the stage show that will dazzle. The music will snatch you away to a dangerous place where women in fishnets seduce with a flip of their long black hair and a promise from their painted lips. It must be said that Toledo delves into the same worlds that Tom Waits discovered on Swordfishtrombones: Cigarette smoke exhaled by a dying man wafts among discordant bongo rhythms and skewed jazz dreams; sideshows breed misanthropes and malcontents with hearts of gold among the tinkling of ivories. But even if it is Waits' shtick -- damn if Toledo don't do him proud. Bruno's, 11 p.m./12:30 a.m., $5.

By Silke Tudor

About The Author

Silke Tudor


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