Thursday was power-pop night, Friday was grrl rock night and Saturday was country night, full of music steeped in the heady folk and country traditions. The Double Door was packed with what Robbie Fulks has called "roots rock weirdos," and they certainly are. They're also some of the most unexpectedly inattentive fans in music, apparently, if their incessant chattering during pretty much every act is an indication. Thankfully, the music traveled past their ignorance to reach those trying to hear the onstage action.

Mike Ireland and Holler

You can't go wrong with a healthy dose of tear-jerking country, which is what Mike Ireland delivered to a small group of early concertgoers. His set consisted mainly of straight-ahead old-school originals, supported by the group Holler. Ireland layed down a steady if uncreative bass rhythm and left much of the complex musical posturing to the boys in Holler, who crafted some nice guitar solos around Ireland's tales of love gone wrong.

"It's not so much a happy song set. We kinda got a theme going," Ireland commented a few songs into his set, and he was right. Ireland's tunes fall clearly into the grand sob-story country tradition, calling to mind some of George Jones' more weep-worthy moments. If the set lacked some of the energy that later players would bring to their performances, it may have been Ireland's choice of material. Mournful tunes have their place, especially in the country tradition, but they don't always make for a bang-up start to an evening of music. --MS

Jon Langford and Carlos Ortega

The schedule at Noise Pop featured several interesting collaborations between artists you might not normally find together on the same stage. Langford and Ortega's set was one such teaming--though the pair did previously know one another, this is the first time they've shared a stage together.

So what did the teaming produce? Loud guitars. Really loud guitars. Both Langford and Ortega wielded their axes like deadly weapons, cranking out an intense wall of feedback sound along with some edgy chord riffs. They opened the set with the atmospheric pop of "Anything Can Happen" before moving on to more searing material that saw the two cranking each other apart with their explosive playing. Ortega seemed the most preoccupied of the two with producing a righteous noise, but Langford contributed his share too--at times, the two instruments seemed locked together in mutual screams toward the audience. They fared well on lighter material as well, such as the smoky "Biscetti" and the Johnny Cash number "Joshua Gone Barbados."

Joining the duo were bassist Brian Hildenbrandt and guest drummer Mike Zelenko, formerly of Material Issue. Hildenbrandt's bass work seemed mostly content to lay down a solid groundwork for the dueling guitars, but occasionally exhibited a fluid flourish or two. Backing the guitar fury, Zelenko's drumming easily matched it in intensity, letting out with some unrelenting power blasts that fired off like bullets into the crowd. Zelenko managed the perfect mix of deliberateness and wild energy in his playing to match Langford and Ortega's musical mood.

Overall, the set leaned more toward the punk backround of both performers than anything else, and exhibited the kind of remarkable power that all one-off collaborations should. --MS

The Original Harmony Ridge Creek Dippers

Loose, tender and sweet--that's the kind of music the Harmony Ridge Creek Dippers specialize in. Tunes for lazy summer evenings on some mythical front porch in an imaginary secluded spot. Music that makes you pine for a relaxation and emotional peace that may only be possible for the brief moments that their songs last--it's too pure and overwhelming to endure for much longer.

The combo features singer-songwriter Victoria Williams on vocals, banjo and guitar; her husband Mark Olson (former Jayhawk) on vocals, guitar and piano; and multitalented instrumentalist Mike Russell on just about every other instrument you can think of. Also joining the group was Chris Mills on stand-up bass; he would throw in his vocal contributions on a few tunes and end the set as lead vocalist and guitarist while Olson fooled around with his bass in the back of the stage.

There's a definite country feel to the Dippers, a folksy twinge, but a surprisingly pop approach as well. The songs are laconic but at the same time catchy. The band seems to love lyrics about animals, such as hummingbirds and a big black dog named Moses, but also favors tunes about the way it feels to share a sunny day with your lover. "Summer Sunshine," from their latest record Zola and the Tulip Tree, took the Dippers' sound and added a pinch of fifties' doo-wop, with Olson leading the instrumentation with some fantastic piano chord work. Other big standouts included two solo Williams tunes, "Periwinkle Sky" and "When We Sing Together," the latter a duet between Williams and Mills that teased just close enough to cloying to be adorable. When Williams and Olson sang together, they crafted the kind of harmonies that sound like honey being poured into your ears--only far more healthy for your body.

The Dippers conjured the kind of evening that seems so fragile that you can't think about it too much, or you're afraid it will break. Thankfully, their records are equally as beautiful, so it's easy to recreate the moment in your own home. --MS

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A rock show starting at 6pm? Whoever heard of such a thing? Tonight's Noise Pop entry was an "all-ages" show: three bands for your buck, and you can get out of the theater just around the time the bars are starting to pick up. In my case, it means I arrived too late to see the first act, Devil in a Woodpile, but I did get to enjoy the nostalgic thrill of wearing a wristband to buy liquor, a pleasure I thought I'd left behind forever once I started grad school. --DW

Califone

Allow me to quote the following passages from the official Noise Pop program, describing this band: "Califone have figured out the trick to slowing down time...Their sleepy-eyed indie-rock drifts like clouds of hot hazy smoke...Clocks tick behind the beat, and in the stretched-out silence you can sometimes hear your own heart."

All quite pretty, but in case you're not fluent in P.R., let me translate: Califone are stone fucking boring, and all I heard in the stretched-out silence were the conversations of my equally bored fellow patrons. Call me a clueless philistine; I don't care. I enjoy a few slowcore bands, and I can understand the appeal of music that is initially so off-putting and that requires so much from the listener. Not this time.

Give me something. I don't need a catchy hook every four bars--just a sign that the musicians themselves seem interested and involved in what they're doing. The lead guitarist shrieked and wailed like a cowpunk Syd Barrett, but even that lost its charm under the hammering monotony of the material--song after song of slow, arpeggiated riffs, skeletal bass lines, and lyrics which were completely unintelligible. Again, I understand there are those who thrill to this sort of stuff (maybe "thrill" isn't the right word), and it may be I'm just getting old and closed-minded. Well, tough. --DW

Modest Mouse

I knew something was up when I saw the kid outside the venue. His plaintive expression was enough, but in case you missed the point he held a hand-lettered sign, like a begging refugee (or a Deadhead) with a simple message: "Need One Modest Mouse Ticket." He looked so forlorn I wished I'd had another one, so I could give it to him.

Modest Mouse aren't just an indie band: they're a band on which much of the indie-rock community have staked a lot of hope--hope that they'll live up to their early promise to become a truly original musical force. The road hasn't been easy. Modest Mouse's albums have been patchy, with tedium and monotony nestled among the undeniably brilliant material, and as a live act their reputation is troubled; they're known for going on stage too drunk to play well, so that buying a Modest Mouse ticket means you're never quite sure what you're going to hear. Either way, it makes for a great story. No wonder people love them so much.

For my part, I am happy to report that when Modest Mouse are playing well, they're a force to be reckoned with, and Saturday at the Metro they were playing very well. Guitarist/singer/frontman Isaac Brock is the deranged balls of the band, and as he strode onstage and belted the chorus of Bon Jovi's "You Give Love a Bad Name" out into the microphone, it was like a shot across the audience's bow--"I'm going to do whatever the fuck I want." He did not disappoint throughout the hour and a half set, whether he was roaring down the pickups of his guitar or jumping off the stage to play among the audience, or bringing the show to an abrupt halt while he lit a cig. For better and for worse, Isaac Brock is a rock star.

The band largely stayed away from its new (fine) album in favor of more familiar material, which naturally suited the audience just fine. Drummer Jeremiah Green and bassist Eric Judy seemed to provide a deliberate counterpoint to Brock's antics, hunkering down and keeping the music going while their frontman put on the show; Judy, in particular, hardly moved his feet the entire set. Yet the two make a tight rhythm section, keeping together through extended instrumental passages that often veered far beyond any recognizable mooring.

When at last the encore was played and the band was spent, Brock left his still-resonating guitar leaned on his amp, its last note continuing to wail over and around the audience. He returned to the stage alone to pick up the instrument, cradling and shaking it as its last tones finally died away. It was a touching, peculiar gesture, almost loving. And then:

"The show's over. Thanks for coming." --DW