HOP ALONG, FIELD MOUSE, LITHUANIA
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Frances Quinlan is determined to make this interview happen. She and her band, Hop Along, are driving through New Mexico on the way to a show in Albuquerque, and cell service is spotty to say the least. We can't really manage more than a minute or two of decent conversation without the call breaking up and eventually disappearing into the digital ether. But with a level of professionalism I've never encountered from a musician on the road, Quinlan calls me back numerous times, trying from her phone, then from her bandmates' phones—navigating our office's phone system to reach me, resolved to complete the interview. That dedication and commitment is evident on Hop Along's new album, Painted Shut, one of the most remarkable rock records to come out in 2015. Quinlan, along with Joe Reinhart (guitar), Tyler Long (bass), and her brother Mark Quinlan (drums), whirl up compact tornadoes of sound that contain elements of heartland-style classic rock, the volcanic muscle of bands like Crazy Horse and the Who, and the DIY ethos of punk (in the 21st-century sense of the word). It's all cemented by Frances Quinlan's jaw-dropping voice, which yowls and howls to its outer limits, finding beauty in the distressed, ragged edges of human expression. NED LANNAMANN Read our full article on Hop Along.

BARRY MANILOW, DAVE KOZ
(Moda Center, 1 Center Ct) Her name was Lola. She was a showgirl. We all know the story of "Copacabana." Even babies who can't yet speak can sing it. But why? Why is this song lodged into the collective memory? Simply put, because Barry Manilow is blessed with a rare and powerful knack for melody and his voice is triple platinum. To date, the 71-year-old newlywed Manilow has sold more than 80 million records, with more than 50 Top 40 hits. Read our interview with Barry Manilow!

CHUI WAN, HORNET LEG, STILL CAVES
(Foggy Notion, 3416 N Lombard) It's easy to overlook, but North Portland's Foggy Notion has established itself as one of the best spaces to catch a show in the entire city. With delicious fresh pierogi, cheap drinks, and an intimate stage that harnesses the energy of bands and audiences better than most venues, the only strike against the bar (its location) seems a petty complaint to make. That goes double tonight, with the experimental-rock four-piece Chui Wan coming all the way from Beijing. Like their compatriots and Maybe Mars labelmates Carsick Cars did with indie-rock, Chui Wan have developed their own unique blend of psychedelia that pulls from a wide palette of familiar and far-flung styles. The band's latest, a self-titled album released earlier this month, finds the group synthesizing influences from Southeast Asian folk and Sufi meditation music into an entrancing collage of driving rhythm and deliberately crafted noise flourishes. CHIPP TERWILLIGER

QUINTRON AND MISS PUSSYCAT, NOTS, FIRST!
(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) An inventor and a puppeteer combine to reimagine what a show could be, or should be. Quintron and Miss Pussycat create unhinged, bizarre-party performance art where robot drum machines spin in front of mini-theater sets and keyboards are housed in car grills. In their music, a distinctly New Orleans party-in-the-street joy meets goth electro-pop. It has the ability to sound like an Estrus Records trash-rock kegger crashing a chin-scratching experimental music festival. Or the B-52s playing an analog rave. Quintron and Miss Pussycat is a music project whose appeal is broad and unlikely, and they exist as a wonderful unifier—an insane party band that, on some level, everyone can agree on. JOSHUA JAMES AMBERSON

LAIBACH
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) If Laibach is thought of at all in this country, it's via their late-'80s proto-industrial covers of pop standards like "Sympathy for the Devil" and the Beatles' Let It Be, turning both into trudging, deep-throated commentaries on religion and totalitarianism. The Slovenian group has been producing some prescient and surprisingly melodic work since then, especially over the last few years. Their 2006 album Volk adapted the national anthems of various countries into new downtempo and techno tunes that left plenty of room for lyrical commentary on the geopolitical landscape. Last year's Spectre concentrated Laibach's gaze on what they saw as a troubled European Union, fracturing under the weight of personal excess and political malfeasance. ROBERT HAM