Philly's own mad booking scientist Joe Lekkas puts the shoe on the other hand tonight, as he and his motley chamber pop crew, Grammar Debate!, headline at The Khyber. The band, seen here doing the obligatory let's-all-switch-faces press kit photo, will be celebrating the release of their new album, Cheetah Vs Helicopter, and it's strongly recommended that you turn out. Philabuster will be in attendance, playing a little game I like to call PBR vs Liver, probably followed a little later on by Wait To Get Home vs Pee In That Alley.

As the Red Sox and Yankees make their usual charge into the playoffs, their fellow AL East division members The Tampa Bay Devil Rays are making their usual charge for last place and the worst record in all of baseball. Refusing to accept that their team's ninth cellar finish in ten seasons is simply the result of a minuscule payroll combined with a pitching-deficient farm system, the front office has chosen a bold new scapegoat: the team name. Starting next season, they'll ditch the "Devil" and be known as simply "The Rays". Of course, name changes are purely cosmetic, and are more often executed as a PR quick fix than out of any genuine effort at improvement. And the ambiguity of the new name, along with some remixed logos and unis, opens up an entirely new and confusing can of worms for generations of baseball fans to come. After all, what else could Rays stand for if not Devil Rays? Rays of Florida sunshine? Seeing as the team plays its home games inside a covered dome, this interpretation would probably go over about as well as the bottles of sun block in the stadium's gift shop. The only other possibility is Sting Rays, the malevolent beasts who single-tailedly killed Steve Irwin. Is the world ready to cheer on a team of Crocodile Hunter murderers? Probably. But unless they can pitch as well as they stab, the summer of 2008 is gonna be another long season of gopher balls and tropical storms in Tampa.

Tonight at Transit, don't miss Turbo Station, a mega-huge Vice/Colt 45-sponsored party featuring pretty much every Philly DJ worth your time. SuperToddBros, Oh Murder! Inc, Shawn Ryan and the Hurrah posse, and Steven Bloodbath all under one roof at the same time? We'd call it impossible, except that they were all gettin' drunk together at Mission 300 last weekend, too. But if some's good, more's better, don't ya know. Git over there!

As though it knew you'd need some recovery time, Saturday night is a bit on the lean side. There's Bleached Black a-happenin' on down in Medusa, of course. If your live music itch gots ta be scratched, best bet is YYYs-ish Bugs In The Dark, opening up over at Tritone.

When we fearlessly predicted that Klaxons would win the Mercury Prize, long-time 'Stamps loyalist Maria* challenged us comment-style. Of course, we were right. But her alternate pick, a bit of Bjork-fronting-The-Pipettes crazycoolness called Bat For Lashes, is nothing to sneeze at. They're at Johnny Brenda's this Sunday night. Go see 'em, and if you run into Maria, remind her that we're as gracious in victory as we are, well, pretty much any other time.

Monday Bonus Round: Flat Mary Road at Tritone. There's Kool-Aid here, kids. We're not drinking it quite yet, but we are eyeing a very tall glass.

Murphy famously postulated that anything is possible except skiing through a revolving door. It took zoological expert/talk show whore Jack Hannah to prove him wrong. Apparently, it's also impossible to push a caged flamingo through a turnstile. Beyond the superficial comedy of the situation, Hannah's post-rescue quotes provide some added insight into how low on the brain chain he actually is. "I never thought about the crate being square and the turnstile being round," the 60-year said, admitting to a level of spacial comprehension regularly surpassed by parrots half his age. The incident also revealed Hannah's poor understanding of advanced intellectual concepts like irony. "I can't describe the feeling in my stomach. I can't move up or down. The bars are on your face," bemoaned the man who makes his living confining wild animals inside 2-foot-by-3-foot cages. When asked how he was going to recover from the harrowing ordeal, Hannah said he planned to stretch out by the pool and maybe play a little Tetris.

Like the unlimited beer and soft pretzels at the event itself, people just can't seem to keep Mission 300's name out their mouths. This time around, it's Philadelphia Weekly showering some crazy old-media love on our bowling, dancing, drinking, awesomeing extravaganza. Pick up a copy from your nearest magic box, or just check out the party feature in this week's A-List online, replete with incontrovertable visual evidence that yes, your ass does look great as you shimmy up to the foul line. And here's a hot little tidbit that developed too late for the printing presses: we've got the Bleached Black DJs on board, primed and ready to send the first best party of the fall careening toward untold mongo heights. But if you want to live the life, as they say, you need to have that damn damn ticket. Sell-outs are a real and scary thing, folks, and you do not want to be on the wrong end of this one. We had to turn people away last time, and by gosh we'll do it again. Do you really want to look around at 2:30 AM on Sunday and realize you're not in a bowling alley with flowing kegs and bumpin' jamz and sexy people? Exactly, so go buy your tickets online right now. I mean, would Rick Ocasek lie to you?

A brief glimpse at what's presently gettin' spun in the Philabuster household.

Liars - Liars
SkinnySlim tells me he's feelin' this album like the New York City heat, but I'm at a loss. Sure, there's some interesting things going on, and a couple of tracks could pass for decent Jesus And Mary Chain b-sides. For the most part, though, it's as creative, ambitious, and ultimately unlistenable as Return To Cookie Mountain, Sung Tongs, or [insert Phillip Glass composition here]. Thank goodness blogging is free preview copy valhalla, 'cause otherwise Slim would owe me a couple Lincolns.

TTC - 3615
Latest effort from the French equivalent of Plastic Little, with vibes ranging from dancefloor crayzee to dirtysouth crunk and, of course, subdued strip club chic. If their label, the recently [click.]-showcased Institubes, really does rise up and challenge Ed Banger for the musical Franco-hipster crown, they can start by claiming supremacy in the rap game. 'Cause I don't understand a single word these guys say, and I can still confidently tell you that they're way more talented than Uffie.

Shout Out Louds - Our Ill Wills
The Germans have engineering. The Chinese have math. Canadians have Labatt Blue. And the Swedes? They have jangly indie pop music. God bless 'em.

Okkervil River - The Stage Names
There are several things that, musically, I'm a total sucker for: big orchestral strings, horn parts, and anything even close to a hint of pedal steel. The new Okkervil disc has all that, plus one of the best voices in the business in Will Sheff's yowling tenor. Pre-game preparation for the (now sold-out) Johnny Brenda's show on September 29th means the album will remain a fixture in my disc changer for another few weeks still.

Pony Pants - Fives
There are several things that, musically, I'm a total sucker for: big orchestral strings, horn parts, and anything even close to a hint of pedal steel. Pony Pants have none of these. But the processed beats, chug-a-chug guitars, and West Philly house party hook-up stories on their brand new EP pretty much entirely make up for it.

The Aliens - Astronomy For Dogs
Ex-Beta Band peeps prove they're still as trippy as a blind man on an uneven surface.

Yeah, you heard right. And you know you're feelin' it, too. If the thought of some Scandinavian misbehavian' gets you all hot under the hoodie, but the clusterfuck at Ikea during high noon of college move-in season makes you shudder, then have we got the solution for you: a totally free show tonight at the church basement with Peter, Bjorn & John. Take your lunch break early and line up outside the First Unitarian. They'll be distributing wristbands and tickets beginning at noon, one per person, on a first-come first-served basis. Cash 'em back in when the doors open at 8:30 tonight, and rock out with your lingonberry sauced-up self. The featured guest for this early autumn gift from MySpace is Nicole Atkins, who we took quite a shine to during her residency at The Fire earlier this year, and who's absolutely gonna kill on the "Young Folks" lady parts.