Experimental pop is, to me, an awfully murky term. I suppose it is to pop music whatever progressive rock is to rock music. Faithful readers should know that, whenever faced with a question of progression, I turn to my hippy-dippy dad. Upon being shaken from his "nap-time brain illusion," my father says, "Pop music is a magical, saccharine gnome made of Jujubes and other assorted fictional fruit. It's to be experienced by cattle-milkers with unfurnished teeth." Maybe my dad is right; maybe he's just delusional from lack of Vitamin C. What I do know is Chappo is experimental, but dammit it is pop music. It drags you kicking through the looking glass and onto the dance floor. And you've never danced harder than when you're confused about what you're hearing. 

[The Den @ urbanXchange, with Bird by Snow, Us On Roofs, Caulfield and his Magical Violin, 7 p.m., all ages, $5, 1934 Pacific Ave., Tacoma, 253.722.9987]