MUSIC

The Thelonious Monk International Jazz Competition is the world's most prestigious jazz musicians competition, and one of its best talent factories; this year it spotlights its namesake's instrument of choice, the piano. Last time the keys were on display, in 2006, all of its top three finishers—Tigran Hamasyan (first), Gerald Clayton (second), and Aaron Parks (third)—were able to parlay that success into the start of major careers. Before that came such pianists as Orrin Evans, Eric "ELEW" Lewis, Jacky Terrasson, Bill Cunliffe, Harry Appelman, Marcus Roberts, and Joey DeFrancesco. The next great name on that long list will be decided tonight at the Kennedy Center. It will also comprise a gala concert that includes most of the past winners mentioned above, as well as an astonishing lineup of greats too numerous to list here. The Thelonious Monk International Jazz Piano Competition takes place at 7:30 p.m. at the Kennedy Center's Eisenhower Theater. $50-75. (Michael J. West)

True story: The first thing I ever wrote for this paper was a review of a Japandroids show in 2009. At that concert, at DC9, the duo probably used some form of the word "rock" at least a half-dozen times; they apologized for one song that rocked too hard, as well as for two that didn't seem to rock hard enough. Funny thing is: Their cocky throwback rock is pretty damn well calibrated. Tonight at Red Palace. $14.

Look for Mike Paarlberg's review of the Washington National Opera's Tosca later this week and for now take pleasure in this post, in which the production's premiere was attended by anti-elitist Republican presidential candidate Newt Gingrich.

Local electronica artist Yoko K is one of this year's artists in resident at Strathmore; she'll have a pair of concerts there in October, but she's also got something more intimate planned tonight: One of the Pink Line Project's Salon Contra events, where she'll play selections from her new album and discuss its making. Only a few spots left, however, so make haste emailing info@pinklineproject.com. 7 p.m. at Pink Line Project HQ.

FILM

Goethe-Institut's "Looking at the Other" film series continues with a program of short films from Pakistan

DC Shorts continues. Look for more reviews on Arts Desk.

For Real Estate's Martin Courtney, returning to his native New Jersey  last summer after graduating from college may have been a regressive move, but it also turned out to be a productive one.

"I almost exclusively hang out with people from high school these days," the singer and guitarist says, echoing that common post-collegiate experience of hometown dive bars and procrastinated job searches.

But Courtney also spent last summer writing songs and jamming in his parents' basement with guitarist Matt Mondanile, bassist Alex Bleeker, and drummer Etienne Duguay, laying the groundwork for what is, little more than a year later, one of 2009's most promising new indie-pop acts in a year replete with lo-fi fast-burners. Six months after its first gig, Real Estate—which plays at the Rock & Roll Hotel tonight with Japandroids and Neon Indian—was generating buzz at the South by Southwest festival in Austin and tickling the blogosphere with woozy, summery singles. Now, the band is about to release its self-titled debut on Woodsist Records.

The pitfalls of blog-fueled, late-oughts meritocracy aren't lost Courtney, who says he doesn't expect Real Estate to break down, Wavves-style, anytime soon. "A couple months ago, that really worried me and freaked me out," Courtney says. "But due to circumstances beyond our control"—intermittent access to a recording space and, later, a problem with the finished album's test plate—"our record got pushed back. Now there’s been time for shit to cool off. I hope that now it’s less of a buzz thing and more that we’re just a band that exists."

That music critics and bloggers have covered Real Estate almost as long as it has existed has been "a little nerve-wracking," Courtney says. "It’s kind of annoying when people ask us if we spend a lot of time on the beach."

He says songs like "Beach Comber" and "Atlantic City"—as well as the band's tropical, laid-back vibe—can't be chalked up to a strategy or ethos. They're simply the result of a summer spent writing music by the ocean. Seeing his band boiled down to one-sentence narratives and minute-old labels "can be frustrating," Courtney says. "You cringe a little bit. But I’m starting to realize that some people that write about music just need something to clutch on to as a reference and to make it clearer."

Courtney says he's somewhat vexed by Real Estate's reputation as a lo-fi act—a distinction undoubtedly reinforced by the fact that several more of his high-school classmates, Julian Lynch and the guys behind the Underwater Peoples label, have also released nostalgic-sounding records that are heavy on tape hiss. "If we could record in the studio, I would do it in a second," Courtney says. The Real Estate album, out on Nov. 17, "has definitely got a demo vibe. I think it sounds good for sure, but it’s not a choice we made to sound that way. It’s just the way it is."

Real Estate performs tonight with Japandroids and Neon Indian at the Rock & Roll Hotel at 8 p.m. Tickets are $10 in advance, and $12 at the door. Photo courtesy of Real Estate's MySpace page.

To the vociferous power duo Japandroids, rock, it seems, can be an adjective, noun, or verb. In a sprawling set at a nearly packed DC9 last night, the Vancouver band—shambolic, self-conscious, in its best moments inspired—played the bulk of its well-received 2009 debut, Post-Nothing, while rarely failing to remind an appreciative audience just how hard it intended to rock.

To wit: Japandroids' set was heavy on foreplay and harder on banter, and throughout, guitarist Brian King promised that he and drummer David Prowse would "rock hard," "commence rock," and "rock out." He asked the audience to forgive an obscure tune with "extensive rocking on our behalf," and seemed to apologize for two concise, angular numbers that, one supposes, didn't rock hard enough. The audience didn't mind, of course; they were too busy ... well, you know.

King and Prowse play noisy, unburdened indie rock (though neither "noise" nor "indie" feels especially apt) that doesn't seek to inspire deep thoughts. Their lyrics don't get much more thematically complex than "I don't wanna worry 'bout dyin'/I just wanna worry 'bout sunshine girls," from their best song, "Young Hearts Spark Fire," which became a raucous singalong last night.

Yet to judge by their live show—with its precise musicianship and emotive gang vocals, but a slightly anxious stage presence—it's clear these guys think a lot about their craft. The immediate reference points are propulsive, vaguely conceptual rockers like Les Savy Fav and Mclusky (Japandroids closed the set with the latter's "To Hell With Good Intentions"), but to see such groups was like witnessing ids with instruments. King and Prowse aren't quite comfortable enough in their skins to match such abandon, even if their most anthemic songs are up to muster. Strangely, that awkward dichotomy mostly proved a boon last night.

That's because Japandroids meant every lyric, gesture, and raw chord. In "The Boys Are Leaving Town," King and Prowse swooped yearningly downward on the final word of "will we find our way back home?" while keeping their mouths angled at the tips of their mics. Often, the wiry King ascended Prowse's bass drum, a rock move remarkable only for the fact that the guitarist underwent surgery for a perforated ulcer this spring. With a Mclusky or Les Savy Fav (or, to go a degree further, a Queens of the Stone Age or Andrew W.K.), there's always a degree of facetiousness. Japandroids, meanwhile, are the type of guys who take This Is Spinal Tap as seriously as Don't Look Back. To them, rocking out is no joke.

DC's Tennis System, who opened, shared Japandroids' big-sound, small-scope ethos, if not the aesthetic. The four-piece played arena music scaled (sometimes awkwardly) to club size, a shoegaze-indebted space rock with soft edges, in which bursts of feedback occasionally melted into hooks.

Toronto's (aptly if redundantly named) Slim Twig had less in common. Following Tennis System, this art-damaged, pompadoured troubadour played a short set of tortured, carnivalesque post-punk, a more acid-tinged take on the sort of Farfisa-heavy art punk pioneered by Suicide. Drenched in reverb, Slim Twig (né Max Turnbull) also had the between-song stuff down: "My banter is on par tonight!" he announced toward the end of his set. "Fuck! I'm doing so good!"