Though born in New Jersey, jazz vocalist Stacey Kent now lives in England and rarely performs in the United States. If that’s not reason enough to catch the internationally lauded singer on her current world tour, she’ll also be performing songs from her latest release, Breakfast on the Morning Tram. The disc is the ideal vehicle for Kent’s affectionate-yet-wearied singing style: She gives thoughtful deliveries of the material, much of which was co-written by award-winning author Kazuo Ishiguro (The Remains of the Day). When not lending delicacy and nostalgia to Ishiguro’s lyrics, Kent finds emotional depth in the French-language songs of Serge Gainsbourg—and even Fleetwood Mac’s done-to-death “Landslide.” Kent performs at 8 and 10 p.m. Friday, Dec. 7, and Saturday, Dec. 8, at Blues Alley, 1073 Wisconsin Ave. NW. $27.50. (202) 337-4141. —Michael J. West

Stones Throw has become indie hip-hop’s premier label thanks to founder Chris Manak, who obviously knows what it’s like to be a fanboy: The California company’s Web site isn’t merely a store—it’s a clearinghouse of information about the artists (Madlib, MF Doom, the late Jay Dee, and so on) and their intelli-funk/fractured-jazz output, which has spilled into television (Cartoon Network) and video games (2K Sports). But Manak isn’t just playing librarian. Under his stage name, Peanut Butter Wolf, he also DJs and, occasionally, produces songs. Madlib is headlining Stones Throw’s latest package tour, but Manak is No. 2 on the marquee, and word has it that he’ll be using DVD decks instead of regular turntables, cutting up old-school videos and whatever else flips his lid. And there’s a lot under that lid. Peanut Butter Wolf performs with Madlib, J. Rocc, and Percee P at 8 p.m. at the Black Cat, 1811 14th St. NW. $20. (202) 667-7960. —Joe Warminsky

What has Amsterdam done to Tom Rhodes? You may remember the hippied-out, longhaired comedian from his Comedy Central appearances in the early ’90s; you probably don’t remember him from his brief and forgettable NBC sitcom, Mr. Rhodes. Either way, you wouldn’t recognize him now: Bucking all stoners-in-Amsterdam clichés, Rhodes went to the Netherlands looking like a bohemian and has come back to America resembling a clean-cut banker. The wild mane may be gone, but Rhodes does bring with him a considerably longer résumé: He first hosted a Dutch network’s American-style late-night show and, later, the network’s travel show. His next destination, however, is a more familiar one: the stand-up stage, where Rhodes seems most at home. Rhodes performs at 8:30 p.m. at the D.C. Improv, 1140 Connecticut Ave. NW. $15. (202) 296-7008; see City List for a complete schedule. —Matthew Borlik

Despite still being in an embryonic stage, the members of the bouncy pop sextet Ra Ra Riot have weathered their fair share of tragedy: Last spring, drummer John Pike passed away after disappearing from a house party. It’s clear that Ra Ra Riot is still grieving; not only is their debut EP titled Dying Is Fine, but on the title track, vocalist-keyboardist Wesley Miles borrows a few mournful musings from e e cummings. (Besides, a band with a string section isn’t complete without a few literary references.) Instead of letting their loss slow them down, Ra Ra Riot finds it more therapeutic to soldier on. The band has charged ahead with touring and still puts on an explosive live show—probably the only one in which audience members have to be on the lookout for an airborne cellist. Ra Ra Riot performs with Jukebox the Ghost, Sam Champion, and These United States at 9 p.m. at the Rock and Roll Hotel, 1353 H St. NE. $12. (202) 388-7625. —Maggie Serota

After each wrongly confessing to the theft of a renowned diamond, three British brothers independently join the French Foreign Legion, where they endure a cruel sergeant and yield to futile self-sacrifice. It sounds like a story that’s been around forever, or at least since the Victorian age, but in fact Beau Geste was published just two years before its first Hollywood adaptation in 1926. Unrest in Algeria scuttled plans to film there, but the Death Valley area proved a fine substitute locale for a picture whose major set piece is the discovery of a fort manned entirely by corpses. Starring Ronald Colman as Michael “Beau” Geste, the movie was deemed “corking” by Variety. Remade twice and then parodied by Marty Feldman, Beau Geste now seems antiquated. But it has an old-fashioned sweep that suits the silent-film aesthetic, which is why the original version is arguably the best. The film shows at 7 p.m. at the Library of Congress’ Pickford Theater, 101 Independence Ave. SE. Free. (202) 707-5677. —Mark Jenkins

Forget the “Thrilla in Manila” and the “Rumble in the Jungle.” Both of those were legendary victories for Muhammad Ali, but when it comes to the fight most laden with meaning for the sport of boxing, you gotta talk about an Ali loss years earlier: Ali vs. Frazier I, on March 8, 1971, at Madison Square Garden, aka “The Fight of the Century.” That’s also the title of a new book by Alexandria writer Michael Arkush, who gives the matchup the full treatment it deserves, dwelling not only on the fight itself—which Joe Frazier won in a unanimous 15-round decision—but on the run-up to the match, with Ali coming back from his post-draft-evasion exile to take on the undefeated Frazier at the height of his skills. Neither Ali nor Frazier would sit with Arkush to talk about the fight, but interviews with Ali trainer Angelo Dundee and more than 100 others more than fill out his narrative. Arkush discusses and signs copies of his work at 7 p.m. at Olsson’s Books & Records, 1307 19th St. NW. Free. (202) 785-1133. —Mike DeBonis

In 2005, Frank Delaney’s fictionalized 2,000-year history of the country of his birth, Ireland, was a sprawling success. Delaney’s latest foray into Irish historical fiction, Tipperary, spans far fewer years but is no less ambitious. In Tipperary, Delaney blends myth, fact, and fiction into a late-19th-century Irish meta-history. A present-day historian discovers the memoir of Charles O’Brien, born in 1860, who is an Irish healer and folktale collector. A compelling (though admittedly unreliable) narrator, O’Brien tells of meet-and-greets with William Butler Yeats and Oscar Wilde, all the while going to tremendous lengths to win the heart of a young Englishwoman. A revolution interferes with his plans. The modern commentator tries to remain impartial until he discovers that his own history may intertwine with O’Brien’s, and, as Delaney writes, “that in Ireland everything is personal, especially the past.” Delaney discusses and signs copies of his work at 7 p.m. at Politics and Prose, 5015 Connecticut Ave. NW. Free. (202) 364-1919. —Krista Walton

Maybe J Mascis was just not cut out for rock star excess. Modern folklore says he lived in his parents’ basement, even at the height of Dinosaur Jr.’s notoriety in the ’80s and ’90s. But then as now, when he steps onstage, Mascis’ quiet, eccentric demeanor becomes lost in a whirling sea of metal grimaces, violently twirling hair, and relentless shredding. That transformation is analogous to the reason it doesn’t feel right to refer to Dinosaur Jr.’s reconstitution—Lou Barlow and drummer Murph rejoined Mascis in 2005—as a reunion, since its latest offering, Beyond, picks up right where the band left off 10 years ago. At this stage, Beyond won’t re-create the magic of Bug or Green Mind—but, at the very least, it’s an effort any seminal band should strive for when they inevitably reform a decade or two later. Dinosaur Jr. performs with Awesome Color and Dead Confederate at 8 p.m. at the Black Cat, 1811 14th St. NW. $20. (202) 667-7960. —Maggie Serota

With a surrealist eye and a pop-culture canvas, video artist Jeremy Blake pushed modernist art into the digital age. Blake’s videos are supersaturated, stream-of-consciousness musings on the freaky and the famous that blur the lines between art forms. One part abstract painter, one part auteur, Blake skipped readily from gallery into the mainstream: Beck used his album art and video for 2002’s Sea Change, and Paul Thomas Anderson commissioned him to animate hallucinatory sequences for Punch-Drunk Love. Blake’s real-life story is as surreal as his art. Last summer, longtime girlfriend Theresa Duncan committed suicide amid rumors of paranoia and a mysterious clash with Scientologists. Days later, Blake took his own life: In a final retreat from the modern cultural ephemera that comprised his art, he swam out to sea and never came back. Citigroup senior art advisor Jonathan Binstock profiles Blake’s life and work in a talk titled “Cinematic Portraits by Jeremy Blake.” Binstock speaks at 7 p.m. at the Corcoran Gallery of Art, 500 17th St. NW. $10. For reservations call (202) 639-1774. —Amanda Hess

Most 9-to-5 office drones know the feeling of being trapped in a mundane existence that is punctuated by daily routines—and the only way to survive is by the blind hope that tomorrow will somehow be better. Of course, being figuratively buried in paperwork hardly compares to the plight of Winnie, the protagonist of Samuel Beckett’s 1961 play, Happy Days—who begins the play, quite literally, half-buried in a pile of earth. Winnie doesn’t question how she got there; she just goes about her ritualistic business of being there and prattling away to whoever will listen—which, in this case, is her inattentive husband, whose terse responses aren’t nearly as important to her as is his simple presence. As time passes, however, so does whatever hope Winnie has of pulling herself out of her sinking situation: By the time Act II rolls around, she’s buried up to her neck—a development that should provide audience members with plenty of material for their next water-cooler chitchat. The performance begins at 7:30 p.m. at the Kennedy Center’s Terrace Theater, 2700 F St. NW; see kennedy-center.org for a complete schedule. $65. (202) 467-4600. —Matthew Borlik

DUE TO A SCHEDULING CONFLICT, PISSED JEANS IS NO LONGER ON TONIGHT’S BILL AT THE ROCK AND ROLL HOTEL. BLACK DICE, ECSTATIC SUNSHINE, PONYTAIL, AND THE METHAMPHETAMINES WILL STILL PERFORM.

A Pissed Jeans performance is probably the only time one can be in close proximity to a sweaty, shirtless dude screeching about ice cream toppings and performing some masturbatory microphone puppetry without feeling entirely uncomfortable. Singer Matt Korvette is no stranger to extreme displays, vacillating between writhing around like a stubborn demon resisting an exorcism and outright teasing the audience. Though the songs often touch on the quiet despair of the working class, Korvette injects both the lyrics and the performances with poignant comic relief. Because Pissed Jeans is signed to Sub Pop, critics are falling over one another to dub them the next Mudhoney, but the Philly quartet’s sound is more of a sludgy celebration of vintage SST. Either way, who can’t love a group of scrawny, crass, and scantily clad guys who sound like they wore out their Black Flag cassettes back in middle school? Pissed Jeans performs with Black Dice at at 8:30 p.m. at the Rock and Roll Hotel, 1353 H St. NE. $12. (202) 388-7625.

A Free Life is the only life for the book’s protagonist, Nan Wu—who, along with his wife and son, immigrates to the United States from China in the wake of the 1989 Tiananmen Square massacre. Yet, despite his earnest attempts to assimilate and his hope that his son will “grow into an American,” Nan finds it difficult to sever his attachment to his homeland. A Free Life, Ha Jin’s first novel set in America, may be his most autobiographical—Jin was at Brandeis University completing a Ph.D. in English when Tiananmen Square prompted him to remain permanently in the States with his own wife and son. Jin discusses and signs copies of his work at 7 p.m. at Olsson’s Books & Records, 418 7th St. NW. Free. (202) 638-7610. —Krista Walton

Oliver Sacks’ latest book, Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain, feels like a summing-up of the neurologist’s four decades of work. That’s partly because he revisits many of the patients featured in his previous writings: People who know Sacks through his best-sellers have already met the woman who couldn’t stop “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” from playing in her head, the Tourettic jazz drummer known for his “sudden and wild solos,” and the tumor-stricken man who recovered his sense of spontaneity when Sacks took him to a Grateful Dead concert. The focus on music gives Sacks a chance to produce a guidebook to a universe of neurological issues, from familiar cases of autism, perfect pitch, and synesthesia to lesser-known genetic disorders such as Williams syndrome, which comprises mental retardation and an intense love for music. Covering a little bit of everything, though, means many of his tales feel undernourished, if not insubstantial. It’s unclear, for instance, why a one-page squib on the connection between a motor disorder and Jewish prayer deserves its own chapter; though he has a great story in Tony Cicoria, a surgeon who developed an obsession with piano music after he was struck by lightning, evidence of emotional damage (such as Cicoria’s divorce) merits only a passing mention. The more details Sacks provides, the more his prose sings: A beautifully turned chapter on Clive Wearing, a pianist who lives in a perpetual state of amnesia, proves that Sacks can be a storyteller as much as a case-study-teller. Sacks discusses and signs copies of his work at 7 p.m. Friday, Nov. 2, at Politics and Prose, 5015 Connecticut Ave. NW. Free. (202) 364-1919. —Mark Athitakis

The four members of Los Angeles folk-pop quartet Lavender Diamond are wildly in love with the notion of love. The band describes its music as “the original sound of love,” titled its debut full-length Imagine Our Love, and wrote songs with names such as “You Broke My Heart” and “Open Your Heart.” Cutesy as they may be, these descriptions and titles are also a tad conflicting. How can one imagine Lavender Diamond’s love as the original sound of love when the band’s sound is much more reminiscent of, say, nth-generation Belle and Sebastian sugary pop ballads? And why in God’s good name would anyone open their heart to someone who has just declared that their own heart was, in fact, broken by that particular person? Sounds like an invitation to a revenge heartbreak more than a plea for romantic reconciliation. More likely, such thematic confusion is the byproduct of Lavender Diamond’s own wide-eyed lovelorn earnestness: Sappy as it may be, the band is nothing if not heartfelt. Lavender Diamond performs with David Bazan and All Smiles at 8 p.m. at the Black Cat, 1811 14th St. NW. $12. (202) 667-7960. —Matthew Borlik

The Tragically Hip is probably the most Canadian rock band ever. The evidence? They managed to chart a single about disappeared hockey player Bill Barilko—and they have band members named Gord and Gordon. Can Rush say the same? No. But the Tragically Hip has more going for it than socialized medicine and an elongated “o.” The Hip is the thinking man’s arena rock, with lead singer Gordon Downie playing the Canuck lizard king, spouting opaque verses and dropping absurdist rants atop Tim Hortons–fueled guitar leads so tough they could be put to work as lumberjacks. Haters might dismiss the Hip as the poor man’s R.E.M., nothing more than a bar band with a mildly edgy frontman, but no. The Tragically Hip is an awesome bar band with a mildly edgy frontman————and some killer songs about hockey. The Tragically Hip performs with Joel Plaskett Emergency at 8 p.m. at the 9:30 Club, 815 V St. NW. $25. (202) 393-0930. —Aaron Leitko

It’s unlikely that Jens Lekman is the only musician to attempt to make a rhyme with “coochie coo,” but he’s probably the only one to get away with it. The Swedish singer-songwriter is also the only crooner who can write an entire album about first kisses, asthma inhalers, and losing a finger while slicing an avocado and pick up an international cult following in the process. With deadpan lyrics set against sunny melodies, Lekman has made a career with his awkward persona; his onstage gawkiness, complete with high-waist pants and dreamy babble, is enough to make any bookish girl swoon. But he may have crossed the schmaltz line on his latest album, Night Falls Over Kortedala, with grand gestures of timpani, orchestral swirls, and Hanson-esque doo-wop. Lekman’s ditched his all-girl backup band in crisp white dresses for a sort-of new band (with old friend Viktor Sjöberg) and some nu-metal-looking contraption called an Octopad—which, coincidentally, Linkin Park also uses. As Lekman says on the new album, “The best way to touch your heart is to make an ass of myself.” Lekman performs with Patrick Cleandenim and Viktor Sjoberg at 8 p.m. Thursday, Oct. 25, at the Black Cat, 1811 14th St. NW. $14. (202) 667-7960. —Jen Girdish

Some people admire and protect their love objects; others tear them apart and force them to do things they were never meant to. Marcin Ramocki and Justin Strawhand’s 8-bit is about the latter kind of lover: devotees of early video games who now use that primitive technology (based on 8-bit processors) to make music and art. The documentary seems to have been shot mostly in New York and includes one Japanese 8-bitter, but many of the participants are European. Remember Atari Teenage Riot? That Berlin trio is not mentioned, but many kindred spirits appear, producing tinny “chiptunes” on antique electronic devices. The film covers the pre-PC video games available only to mainframe programmers and traces 8-bit art to pioneering “crackers.” They opened the gates for cyber-trespassers to strip shooter games of violence, ponder the games’ “illusion of choice,” and turn Gameboys into flashbacks to the Casiotone era. The film shows at 8 p.m. at the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden’s Ring Auditorium, 7th St. & Independence Ave. SW. Free. (202) 633-1000. —Mark Jenkins


The man who invented Charlie Brown liked baseball, loved dogs, and had a persecution complex fit for a Third World dictator. “No one loves me,” Charles Schulz told a friend shortly after the Peanuts creator was diagnosed with the colon cancer that ultimately killed him on Feb. 12, 2000. In his biography, Schulz and Peanuts, David Michaelis depicts his subject as a lifelong injustice collector who grew up in an emotionally distant (but not abusive) household and inflated the least slight from childhood classmates into memories of bullying. Famously, he channeled those anxieties into a comic strip that, in its ’60s heyday, sublimated a generation’s angst into wishy-washy Charlie Brown and its id into freewheeling Snoopy. Less famously, Schulz’s fear of failure made him edgy and hypercompetitive, even when he was the master of a $20-million-a-year global juggernaut. (When For Better or for Worse creator Lynn Johnston told Schulz she planned to kill her strip’s family dog, Schulz threatened to retaliate by having a truck hit Snoopy.) Michaelis’ portrait of Schulz is built on a pair of what feel like simplistic assertions: Peanuts was so melancholy because Schulz’s mother died, and the strip became a snooze starting in the early ’70s because he had settled into a happy marriage with his second wife, Jeanne. But Michaelis’ inventive use of Peanuts strips throughout the book do help bolster his claims—: When Schulz’s marriage to his first wife, Joyce, was in tatters, Lucy Van Pelt was never so crabby, fussbudgety, and prankingly cruel. Michaelis discusses and signs copies of his work at 7 p.m. Thursday, Oct. 25, at Olsson’s Books & Records, 418 7th St. NW. Free. (202) 638-7610. —Mark Athitakis

No good deed goes unpunished, but that’s not the worst of it—the people who set Operation Filmmaker in motion escaped after a few months, while director Nina Davenport was entwined for three years. It all began when Liev Schreiber spotted Iraqi film student Muthana Mohmed on an MTV reality show, rhapsodizing about Angelina Jolie. Schreiber invited Mohmed to Prague as an intern on the set of Everything Is Illuminated, his directorial debut. Mohmed proved too proud, or too lazy, to be a good production assistant, and Schreiber and producer Peter Saraf ultimately stopped trying to help him. But Davenport, who’d been enlisted to document the internship, continued filming as Mohmed fought to avoid returning to Baghdad and begged everyone in sight for money or aid. Davenport’s and Mohmed’s messy relationship ultimately became the subject of this fascinating film, a character study that abandons all pretense of documentary objectivity. The film shows at 8 p.m. at the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden’s Ring Auditorium, 7th St. & Independence Ave. SW. Free. (202) 633-1000. —Mark Jenkins