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Kelly Clarkson comes to Verizon





7 p.m. Verizon Arena. $42.50-$118.50.

In a particularly fascinating episode of the TLC reality show "Who Do You Think You Are?" the pop star and "American Idol" veteran Kelly Clarkson travels to Ohio to research her great-great-great grandfather Isaiah Rose, a Civil War veteran. She's getting married soon, she explains, and has become newly preoccupied with the question of her roots. An archivist shows her Rose's compiled military service records, which reveal that Rose was briefly taken prisoner by Confederate troops. "Oh my gosh," Clarkson says, holding her head in her hands, "No." The archivist recommends she travel to Georgia to learn more. There, Clarkson drives past the graves of the Civil War dead in Andersonville, and is moved. "How sad is that," she says, "that all these thousands of people suffered after fighting for our freedom?" She visits the grounds of the Confederate prison, where a park ranger explains that just under 13,000 men died there. "Wow," she says. Later, when another expert tells her that Rose was shot, she begins to cry softly. "I wish," she says, stuttering some, "that not only my great-great-great grandfather but all those people knew what they fought for mattered." In the end, she visits the cemetery where Rose was buried. "I'm pretty stoked about it," she says. She brings pink flowers and lays them by his grave.



8 p.m. South on Main. $20.

Anat Cohen, the only jazz clarinetist I know of who has been described in print as a "mad scientist," was born and raised in Tel Aviv, where she discovered Benny Goodman and Sidney Bechet and, later, spent the bulk of the mid '90s serving in the Israeli Air Force. In New York, where she relocated after studying at a conservatory, she spent her nights in the West Village, playing with all-woman big bands and Brazilian samba groups and Louis Armstrong tribute ensembles. The great jazz historian Gary Giddens wrote that her style "bristles with invention," and Nat Hentoff described her sound as "bursting" and "infectious." She has now released seven albums as a bandleader, including her takes on songs by John Coltrane and Sun Ra and Django Reinhardt and the electronic producer Flying Lotus. "Cohen has emerged," the Washington Post wrote, "as one of the brightest, most original young instrumentalists in jazz." She often performs with her siblings — the older Yuval and the younger Avishai. "We can talk without talking," she says. "Often, we don't even have to look at each other onstage." The three of them were on the cover of DownBeat. On her own, she's played the Newport Jazz Festival, the Village Vanguard, Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Center — Little Rock is the obvious next step, I think she'd agree.



7 p.m. The Arkansas Repertory Theatre. Free. 

The Rep advances its production of The Scottish Play with a talk by Michael Heil, an assistant professor of history at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock. Heil will talk about what it meant to be the king of Scotland in the 11th century, the time of the historical MacBeth. Shakespeare's MacBeth is a bit different from the historical king — he probably did not say "Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires" — but the bloody part is pretty much right on the nose. Heil's talk is part of a new speaker series for The Rep. The tragedy opens Sept. 11, but middle and high school students will be able to see it sooner thanks to the $25,000 Shakespeare in American Communities grant from the National Endowment for the Arts.



7:30 p.m. Walmart AMP, Rogers. $31-$71.

Pedro Fernández is as massive a star as you can be in America while remaining completely unknown to the non-Spanish-speaking listening public. Which, it turns out, is pretty massive. He has over 3 million Facebook fans, who leave deeply heartfelt comments like — most recently — "A mi me gustaría ir a verte, pero las condiciones económicas no me lo permiten," which Google translates as "I'd like to come see you, but economic conditions will not allow it." Originally from Guadalajara, he wears leather jackets and cowboy hats, when he isn't dressed in his more traditionally ornamental Mariachi gear. He has the starkly handsome look of a telenovela leading man (he's starred in six) and has recorded 39 albums of glossy, contemporary ranchera. The titles of his biggest hits translate roughly to "How Much I Love You," "Wishes and Delusions," "Labyrinth of Passion" and "How Do You Want Me to Forget?"



9 p.m. Club Elevations.

I met the rapper Que only once, in Atlanta, working on a story about someone else for a music magazine. He showed up unannounced at the apartment of a producer named Metro Boomin, and made an immediate impression, because he had a soul patch and wore snakeskin pants. At the time I knew him from a skittish, breathless song that was huge on the radio then, "OG Bobby Johnson." The music video featured men in robes carrying tiki torches through what looked like an underground cave system. It reminded me of "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom," but with more guns. I hadn't kept up with him much since then, but a couple of weeks ago a friend from Atlanta sent me a more recent single, "Gucci Said," a tribute to his heroes with a beat that sounds like an antique music box. In the song, he says his eyes are so bloodshot they're "ruby red," and claims that he drives a minivan. At one point he lets out a strangely authentic bird call. In the video, he dances shirtless with a pack of beautiful pit bulls. His hair's gotten weirder. His bio is vague — he used to be a basketball player, spent a few years as a welder building ships for the Navy. He smokes e-cigarettes. He's signed to Atlantic Records. He should probably change his name.



8:30 p.m. Revolution. $16 adv., $20 day of.

Athens, Ga., band Of Montreal makes loopy, hyperkinetic dance pop with song titles that seem chosen at random from theory-heavy doctoral theses or Victorian poetry: "Triphallus, to Punctuate," "An Eluardian Instance," "Gelid Ascent," "Authentic Pyrrhic Remission," "Empyrean Abattoir," "Chthonian Dirge For Uruk The Other." I could go on. Originally part of the '90s Athens psychedelic collective Elephant 6, the band has strayed pretty far from its roots, admirably, and now constitutes something like the Emerson, Lake and Palmer of indie rock. I'm also obligated to mention they once wrote a song called "Little Rock," in which front man Kevin Barnes sang: "The only guarantee is that we're never coming back to Little Rock / No, we're never coming back to your shitty little town." I asked him about this last year via email, and he said, "It's all very murky," before recounting a story that involved an "underwhelming" set and a stolen hat — he wasn't really sure. It's been a while. "I definitely don't carry any deep-seated resentment around with me about it," he concluded.



7 p.m. Riverdale 10 Cinema. $5.

"The Sound of Music" is a family-friendly classic about the Third Reich and the power of song. I get depressed even thinking about it. My favorite review of the movie was by Pauline Kael, who described it as a "sugar-coated lie" filled with "luxuriant falseness," and wrote, "We have been turned into emotional and aesthetic imbeciles when we hear ourselves humming the sickly, goody-goody songs." The New York Times, too, found it "painfully mawkish" and "sterile." Adjusted for inflation, it is either the third or the fifth highest-grossing movie of all time.


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