IFK. Friday, November 24. Svalka.

And you thought that metal rap died with Body Count. But dated music never dies, it just comes to Moscow. IFK is a bunch of honkies from respectable Moscow families who want to act hard. The effect is awfully similar to a fusion of Vanilla Ice and Sepultura. In other words, Korn impersonators. Someone should tell them that white-boy rappers can never be hard, especially when rapping in Russian. The best they can hope for is excelling at the mental aspect of the game, like the Beastie Boys. But IFK doesn’t understand this. They just keep releasing album after album of metal with squeaky lyrics. Their upcoming one is called Zhizen Radikal and no doubt they’ll play their newest popular song Nam Vazhno Vso. If it’s a good show, there will be a couple fights, and maybe even a brawl. Oops, there goes the neighborhood.

Evgeny Kiselov and his ensemble. Friday, November 24. L-Club.

Kiselov is used to the spotlight. Last week, it was in his eye for hours as the FSB interrogated him about his role in Krasnoyarsk Aluminum. But, he must have really wowed them during that exclusive performance, as he made bail without any conditions prohibiting him from giving future concerts. So, at L-Club on Friday folks can go see the man who shaved his mustachio just to play the sax. Rumors that Bykov will be singing backup vocals are still unconfirmed. For anyone who has ever wanted to see Kiselov live, this may be the last chance to do so in Moscow, before he goes on a long Siberian tour. The high possibility of tax police raid and lots of masked men with Kalashnikovs makes us give it a big old two rounds shot in the air up.

Green Gray. Saturday, November 25. Bunker.

Motherfucker. That’s right, long before every fifth grader from sea to shining sea adopted Unclefucker as a theme song, Green Gray was performing their timeless classic Motherfucker. Green Gray is as average a Russian rock group as you could ever hope to see. Along with Chaif, they make up the backbone of third-rate rock festivals around the former USSR. Their music has a Hootie and the Blowfish sound and the topics they sing about are only a little less cliched. At least they give folks an excuse to take out their leather jackets and patched jeans. Waytago!

Austin Powers Party. Saturday, December 2. Boogie Woogie.

Don’t expect us to stoop to that language about freaky 70’s groove being way out, baby. Free love and lots of pill popping fun is good stuff. But worshiping a movie that was a poor mockery of the last decade where an American woman would spread her legs without a contract just goes too far. Even if we sympathize with Austin Powers’ attempts to get his mojo back, who are we kidding? Mike Myers never had any mojo. What is going on? Therein lies the international intrigue. Boogie Woogie promises a night of funky 70’s tunes and a chance to watch a show of girls stripping off their bellbottoms, but it’s probably all a set up. It will take an anal insert to get any drugs past Boogie Woogie’s battalion of bouncers, and, forget any ideas about free love. You’ll either have to pay with money or your life if you get any at Boogie Woogie. Besides, having a retro party is one thing, but people here had never seen bellbottoms before the first Powers movie came out.

Motorhead. Sunday, December 3. Club Gorbuynova.

Thrash metal is entering its golden age. While there aren’t any octogenarian members yet, the average age of metal groups these days has got to be over 50. Who would have thought that their commercial potential would last long enough to supplement their pensions? And it is all thanks to the Russians. Anyone who is looking for a chance to see the thinning gray remains of once powerful manes, along with a couple wilted frames and cotton stuffed ears be sure to check out Motorhead. What else can we say? Das is gut.