Friday, December 21, 2007

George Bush is a Facist.

I love bathroom graffiti. It's even more fun if it's badly spelled. Is a facist someone who judges others on their face? I hate Georgie as much as anyone...but it made me laugh.

I got to the Doug Fir nice and early. Finally, for fuck's sake, I was going to see an opening band. I got to the Df at 9:04 pm. Early enough for ya?!? The Golden Bears were up first. They opened for someone else a while ago, and I missed them, and they were reviewed well, and I was greatly disappointed. So I made damn sure I was there to see them tonight. And...oh, god they suck. Suck of the suckity-suck-suck variety of suck. I mean, they're probably fine musicians. It was a tight-sounding combo, though of the tentative, "we just started doing this together" variety. But it was the worst crappy math-prog '70's-era hippie-fantasy-jam-metal I've ever heard. Their album (which would be on vinyl, of course...not that that's a bad thing) should have "death" in the title and fairies (faeries?...ugh) on the cover. Death Faerie Death Destruction, by The Golden Bears. That sounds about right.

Please don't judge me by that comment. I love vinyl to death. In fact, the next band has a split vinyl 12-inch with another band that seems like the most awesome project. Split vinyl 12-inches should never be allowed to die out. So cool. So great. So indie.

I really did try. Honestly, I did. For a good two long, agonizing, endless metal jam-prog tracks. It felt like 45 minutes, but it was probably more like 12. Then I got the fuck out of there. I went upstairs to sit next to the fireplace and read the Mercury. I happily read at a bar pretty often. I like to be left alone, really, but I don't mind being approached. But this was just damn weird. I'm reading, and someone purposefully walks over to me and sits down right next to me. I look up, expecting someone I know, with that kind of intention (Boring Engineer Guy is supposed to be at the show...though he needs a new name. Mustache Guy? He grew this long, luxurious, creepy '70's mustache and suddenly tried to be interesting, though in my opinion it mostly just makes his head look too small. But that seems wrong--when I met him he wasn't Mustache Guy. Guy Who Wants a Ride Home? I figure that's why he texts me before every show he thinks I might be at--he doesn't own a car). Anyhow, it's some guy who must be in his mid-fifties, with an Eastern-European accent. "Are you enjoying your...maaagazine?" "Uh, yeah." It's the Mercury. Sure, it's not McSweeney's, but it's not like I'm reading porn, or Lucky, or Rachel Ray or something. It's the frickin' news weekly, not a maaaaaaagazine. "Come to the bar with me. I weeel buy you a dreeenk. We weeeel have a nice conversations." "No thanks...I'm just waiting for the opening band to finish, because they suck, and then I'm going back downstairs." "Conversation with me, it weeeel not 'suck'. I weeeel buy you a dreeenk." "I have a dreee....I have a drink, thanks, and I'm going downstairs in a minute." Thanks, Golden Bears. Thanks a lot. Had you not been so unbelievably retro-awful, you could have spared me this conversation. Ew.

I finished what I was reading, and went downstairs again. Although they weren't supposed to take the stage until ten, and it was 9:58, The Builders And The Butchers were in full swing. Crazy-ass blues-folk country-punk with a (thankfully rare) occasional medieval renaissance-fest influence (probably solely due to the mandolin). A six-piece with your basic guitar-lead-vox guy, and....uh....oh. The rest is pretty nuts. TWO guys on the sprawling drum kit (one of whom also occasionally played trumpet and mouth organ). That was internal-organ-shakingly-awesome. Violin. Mandolin. It may be only the second or third time I've seen an acoustic bass guitar used live, and it added a totally guttural undertone. Why more bands don't use this, I have no idea. It just has this amazing rough-edged feel, and it just seems to me like this astoundingly unexplored territory between the clean, detailed electric bass of a rock band and the warm but fuzzy-soft classical upright bass used in jazz or some blues bands.

Quick story about the first time I saw an acoustic bass guitar. I haven't told this story, have I? A dozen or so years ago, when I was still in my teens, I "recorded" an "album" with my "band." I went out to this studio in the horrific suburban wilds of my hometown, and rang the doorbell of the home owned by brothers I knew only by reputation, years older than me, who had gone to my high school. Someone unfamiliar, not one of the T brothers, answered the door. Confusedly, shakily, "Hi...I'm (OMS). I'm...the vocalist?" "I know who you are." The door should have creaked shut behind me after a statement like that. I follow this bizarrely prescient stranger to the basement studio. There, sitting on the couch, between the "manager" of our band and one of the T brothers who owned and ran the studio, was my high school crush, Q. I'd turned him down flat when we were 14 and he was a dorky, pudgy class clown. The next fall, he was nine inches taller, 250% buffer, and Oh. So. Hot. in his obscure rock band t-shirts and condescending attitude toward the girl who'd said no. He'd kept it up through high school, though injecting the appropriate "I'm too cool and barely remember who you are because I'm so busy with the indierock scene" attitude when called upon to do so. By that time, of course, I had a raging crush on him. And there he is, sitting on the couch eating popcorn like a spectator at the recording studio. Jesus Fucking Christ, now what the fuck am I supposed to do? Even my "boyfriend" the "guitarist" has no idea I even know this guy. I pull our "manager" aside and explain my dilemma. I can't possibly sing in front of this guy who's made it his crusade to make fun of me since that one fateful day in junior high. Do something? Please? He doesn't say anything. A couple of hours later, one of the T boys, sitting at the board, says, "OMS, let's get started recording your vocals." I blanch. The other T boy stands up and says, "Q, let's go get some pizza." And he's gone. And I record my vocal tracks. I'm terribly embarrassed by that brief, awful, early-'90's musical history, but Q, and both the T boys, have gone on to pretty decent careers. And the guy who answered the door? Turns out a few months earlier, some friends and I had gone out to First Ave for Sunday Night Dance Party. I avoided SNDP as a rule, but damn, we were all pissed at the boys in our lives, 19 years old, and feeling crazy. We met Mike Brady and his friends, and when we told them we weren't single girls, they asked us to grade them on their pick-up lines to other girls. The one that emerged, despite our advice: "We're starting a ska band called Clog, and we need a female drummer." Well, he's pretty well known as a solo act in the Minneapolis area these days.

Among the tapes on the shelf of the studio in the T boys' basement: Clog. Turns out they were a ska band. With a female drummer. The friend of a friend of a friend we were out with that night at SNDP.

That night, after the other T boy and Q came back, we sat around in the living room and played and sang spontaneously. Add some pot and we would have been real musicians! Add a campfire and we would have been any ordinary high school students. But one of the T boys played an acoustic bass guitar.

Anyhow, that was an exceptionally long aside. I kept listening to The Builders And The Butchers thinking their blues-folk-goofiness was kind of cheesy, except that it so wasn't. I didn't just bob my head. I didn't just bob my head enough to get my hair flying. I didn't just tap that one heel like a hipster-geek. I pounded that foot on the floor. They launched into several tunes that sounded like lost Zeppelin tunes. Okay, they didn't have to be lost Zeppelin tunes. They could have been extremely obvious Zeppelin tunes--how the hell would I know?--but there were so many of them. So they couldn't have been. There was also a lovely, if too obvious, Dylan reference ("there was blood on the tracks..."). But the best was when the vocalist's off-key buzzing, over the bluesy-chord-strumming, sounded for just a moment like they were about to launch into Two-Headed Boy by Neutral Milk Hotel. That was about four minutes in, and I was won over right that very second. Sure, TBATB's lyrics didn't come close to the creepy-dark complexity of NMH, but I don't need that in a live show. Just the sounds to pull me there. They were loud, they were bluesy-folk, they were rockin' and raucous, and they made the crowd crazy. Many people there obviously knew the lyrics (like I did for Nick's band, who followed), and shouted along, but they sucked everyone in.

Then Nick Jaina. I'm sorry, Nick. I'm soooooo so sorry. I don't really wish this upon you. I wish for you all the success in the world, all the success you deserve. As my friend frightwig said, "It sounds like you've got the whole world at your feet." I want that for you, I really do. But...I kinda wanted people to start leaving after TB&TB. And they did. In the middle of TB&TB's set, I got up to get a beer, and suddenly my spot was gone. And it was spot #3 in my list of DF places to sit and stand. And nothing was left, from spots 1-5 and even the "if I have to" standing-at-the-top-of-the-steps spots. I'm so sorry. I wished for people to leave. And they did. Nick had a good crowd, though not the huge, raucous crowd TB&TB had. But I loved what playing after a folk-blues-based band with that unbelievable energy did for Nick and cohorts. It's like he said to the band, "Okay, after that, we should reverse the set. We'll start out with the super-high-energy sing-along ones, then take it down after that." And Nathan responded, "Oh, yeah! Let's start out with super-high-energy and then...oh, hey, look, there's a disco ball. It's sparkly. I like it. Where were we?" So Nick started out with Maybe Cocaine and Dirty Heart. And didn't go downhill from there. Even songs that started out lovely and whispery ended up with Nathan and the drummer and the Shoeshine Blue guitarist guy and Ali singing loudly. I loved it. I pictured the one night, after a Binary Dolls set, when I saw what could only be Nick's vocal coach talking to him. "Dynamics," she said. "Dynamics," he repeated. And dynamic it was.

There was a new, unexpected, uber-twangy but spectacular lap-steel guitar part in...oh, crap. Red Queen? There were new shouted vocals in several songs, though there was one I thought didn't need it, didn't help it, even though it was Ali's voice. It wasn't shouted accompaniment, it was harmony, and it just didn't fit in the song. There were two or so new songs I didn't actually know, and a few I barely knew. There was also a promise to send the new disc as soon as this weekend! I've been waiting forever, but getting it ahead of everyone else is worth any wait. I mean, how cool am I? Elliott Smith's fucking piano. Fuck.

And then the encore. I was heartened by the response, the pounding (Nick's fans obviously have better rhythm than anyone else's, as the clapping and pounding didn't accelerate for a minute or more), the hooting. And we saw various musicians moving around on stage--whoohoo! And then there was a quiet melody going on...jeez, DF, they're coming out for an encore, shut the house music the hell off...and people started to quiet, and the lights hit the middle of the main floor...oh. It's not the house music. It's Nathan's violin! Shhhh....oh, be quiet, crowd, please? That's Nick's unamplified voice! There they were on the floor. Four songs, including If I Were To Make Things Right With Jesus. Three other voices taking over the Oooooh...Oooooh parts mostly drowned out Nick. But it was like being at that cozy night sitting on the living room floor at the house/studio in the outer ring suburbs, but so much better because, though surrounded by strangers, I was listening to something transcendent, not Clog The Ska Band Formed Mostly To Hit On Some Girl Who Played Drums.

Before the fourth song, the drummer went up to the stage where the mics were still. "This is the quietest song," he told us. Chatter continued on loudly around the little circle on the floor. A little strumming started. A remarkable, heartening chorus of "shhhhhh!" went up across the DF. People quieted. The song was heard. It was astounding--not just this amazing, unamplified version of a great song, but being inside this web of rapt attention and closing my eyes and mouthing the words.

Okay, yeah, you get my attention now, Guy Who Wants A Ride Home Because He Doesn't Have A Car, I'll offer you a ride home. But the show was transcendent, elucidating, elevating. And your mustache? It's just a mustache. I'm relieved, in the end, that we both know that, and there's nothing awkward.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Why? Why?!?! Why are there always hippies?

It's a Spoon show. There is no reason for there to be hippies. I've been to sold out shows at the Crystal before, and I've never seen a crowd like this. Even the balcony's stuffed full. People are sitting in my spot. People are sitting in my plan B spot. Plan C is busy---but not 120% full, like everywhere else, so I'll find myself a corner there. And from where I am, I have a pretty good view of the floor. It's packed full. You're an indie hipster? You just want a footprint-sized spot to bob your head? You might be able to find one, if you're lucky and small (and tall enough to see from the back of the floor)..

And then there's the hippie. Dancing like she's in the parking lot waiting for a Dead show. Honey, put the arms down before someone gets hurt. Peace, love, and this-12-foot-radius-belongs-to-me? You're at the wrong damn show, and I don't understand how you accidentally paid this much money to end up here. You may think you're a collectivist, but like every other modern hippie, you think the whole fucking world belongs to you. And your crazy waving arms.

So before I left home, I double-checked the ticket. 8 doors, 9 show. Perfect. I'm busy--making peanut noodles, experimenting with felting, finishing some Christmas ornaments, playing with Diamond Glaze and scissors and a glue stick and the power drill--you know, the typical pre-christmas DIY manic phase. And doing laundry. 'Cause you can't be creative all the time. I'll get there by 9:30, right? Catch a bit of the first opening band (with some dumb name like Blood Arm or Lavender Diamond or...well, Blood Diamond might be an okay name, but wouldn't Lavender Arm be an even stupider opening band name?) and then there should be an okay band and then, about 11:30, Spooooooooon! (Imagine The Tick shouting it. Now isn't it the best band name ever? Let's say it all together, in the voice of The Tick. Spoooooooooon!)

As always, I show up just in time to have missed the opening band by ten minutes. Every. Single. Time. I show up late because I know my time is flexible, so I plan twice as many things as I can manage in the time I have. I show up at ten minutes to ten...and Spoon takes the stage. Jaysus-frickin'-Christ, I totally forgot the show was sponsored by the radio station. For as much money as I spent to be here, the radio station doesn't need to be involved. But they are--and what does that mean? One opening band and an early headliner. Well, the opener probably sucked as usual...oh, fuck. No, the "opener" was The Shaky Hands. Don't let me forget to tell you about seeing The Shaky Hands a few weeks ago--so it's not a tragedy, just somewhat unfortunate that I've missed them. Though this does explain the presence of the lone hippie.

Spoon puts on an incredible show. But I'm torn. I feel like a hypocrite. Here's this band with 10+ years of indie history, and they play maybe 4 songs that aren't from the 2006 and 2007 discs. If I knew their entire history, I probably would have been pissed. But I love it, because those are the two discs I own and know well. Damn it, I hate those people, and here I am, one of them.

But what they do beautifully is take these familiar songs and make them new with fun effects and changes in tempo and other playful reworkings. No matter how well or poorly I know a band's catalogue, if they faithfully replicate the studio recordings and then go home, I feel gypped. Damn it, if I wanted to hear the CD, I can do that without your help. Spoon made every song sound and feel truly live. They took a deeper track from one of those discs and made it sound like a lost Pet Shop Boys track. A-fucking-mazing. You Got Yr Cherry Bomb, which I put on a CD for my mom (you'd love her...do you know any other 58-year-old women who enthuse, "I love Modest Mouse!"), I joked, "Play this for Dad, and then ask, 'Don't you remember this from the late '60's?'" rocked way harder than any garage band from that era. Sadly, though Underdog sounded different from the CD, it was because they upped the tempo and replaced the horns with synths, so it just sounded perfunctory. "Damn, we've got to play this, I suppose." But other than that one song, they really sounded like they were having fun playing. That's a bonus of living in Portland--so many bands have local connections so they start or end their tours here, and go all out in a way they don't manage in Pittsburgh or Milwaukee. Britt Daniels calls Portland home, and you could hear it in the show. He wasn't looking at the note taped to the back of his guitar, like in the Simpsons episode. "Hellloooooo....(uh...)...Springfield!"

My big complaint is how short the show was. Doors at 8, show at 9, headliner takes the stage by 10, everyone out the door by 11:30. With what I spent on this show, you really ought to plan the rest of my night for me. The pretty boy went home early, so I didn't even see him (though he called to review the show---squeee!), so I was off to play pool at the nearby college bar (it's pretty quiet after finals end). And damn, did I play well until the bartender started buying my drinks...

I've been to a few shows I haven't reviewed. First, there was The Shaky Hands and Menomena at the Crystal. You know I have issues with The Shaky Hands. They rock my socks off...and then knit me new ones, chunky wool-and-hemp with stripes when they get all hippie. Apparently having to fill a venue the size of the Crystal with sound challenged them, and they kicked. Fucking. Ass. There wasn't a second when you thought to yourself, "I bet this guy's barefoot," even if you'd already read my previous TSH post.

And then, between TSH and the headliners, Menomena, the Ex sat down next to me. And to make small talk, he talked about the Band of Horses show I missed at the Crystal because I went to see my family for thanksgiving instead (it was a really, really tough call, and the deciding factor was that my dad offered to pay for my plane ticket, and no one offered to pay for my ticket to BoH). "Gee, OMS, that show made me think of you! Wasn't that a great night, when we saw BoH?" "Uh...you mean the night I thought, "what a nice day we've had! I bet things are going to be okay!" and then you broke up with me that night, and told me to stay away from the house the next day so you could pack up all your stuff? That night?" So I spent the rest of the night angry, and pretty much missed the Menomena show. Which sucks, because their shows are so much better than anything my ex has ever managed. It was my own fault for giving a shit, but still...I blame him.

Seriously, who reminisces about how awesome it was the night he broke up with you?

And that brings me back a couple of weeks to seeing Alan Singley at Pix Patisserie on Hawthorne. And I'm still pained by the fact that there's a Pix on Hawthorne. It used to be...oh, hell, it really did have a name...I remember! I do! It was called Bar Pastiche. It was a joint venture between a tapas place and Pix, the dessert place. The food was astounding, and I could order six plates plus a beer, spend ten bucks, and have an amazing dinner. It's not like that anymore, and I miss the Tapas Boys almost as much as I miss the food (okay...almost as much as I miss the pimento cheese, but not nearly as much as I miss the rabbit salad or the olives...). But now that Pix has taken over, they've just very recently developed a policy that they'll bring a little dish of the "fancy corn nuts" to anyone who sits down and orders just a beer. Mmmmm...the "corn nuts" are marvelous, and involve pistachios. There isn't another place in town that gives me complimentary pistachios, so as angry as I still am that Bar Pastiche is no more, and I can't have a lovely dinner plus beer that involves 5 or 6 different dishes plus beer for ten bucks, oh shit. Complimentary pistachios.

Fuck the pistachios. Alan Singley was playing, and he wasn't even drunk, and he was amazing. "If you'd kept me around, the sound of this heart breaking would be impossible. I guess I just can't deal with things not going my way." "I'm glad I've got a phone so I can call you tomorrow...I know that I won't, and I'll be all alone." Alan has recently been through a breakup, and you can hear it. But still, "I will protect you when you sleep." Drunk punk piano lounge making me tear up. I can envision it--hypervigilant though I am--I want to be protected while I sleep. I want to find it, Iwant it to be out there, and more than anything, I want to have the hope to believe it's out there. I don't, but songs like that make me want to try to believe.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Any questions?

Last Saturday I saw Aqueduct at Holocene. It reminded me that a) they put on a kick-ass show I can enjoy even when stressed by other circumstances, and b) that Holocene's a pretty small room. Not much place to hide. I got there a bit after 9, but the "music" started with a DJ. DJs should only play between sets. They should not get their own set. The Online Romance followed. I've seen them once before, and my opinion hasn't changed--damn cute, poppy, a few interesting lyrics, but I'm afraid they wouldn't stand up to much scrutiny. '60's and '70's-influenced boy-girl-boy-girl vox are cute, and make for a good opening band, but would you really want to listen to it over and over? The other opener was Saturday Looks Good to Me. I'd heard of them, but knew nothing about them. They started with a song that sounded like it belonged in the background of a bad movie, being played by the band in a remote country roadhouse, while the hick protagonists slow-dance and fall in love. I wasn't sure how I was going to make it through the set. But by a few songs in, it had morphed into some really awesome twang-punk reminiscent of early Minneapolis sound. Think Soul Asylum with a little Replacements thrown in. And then, of course, Aqueduct, who just tear it up and pull out all the stops for every show. They sound darling on CD. They kick ass live.

Then last night I saw Art Brut and The Hold Steady at the Crystal Ballroom. Finally, in a room with maybe 700 people in it, the joy of solitude. I got there to see a band setting up--oh, crap, is the first band just getting their shit together now? But no, the first band played a really short set and had already finished. I really didn't need to see The Blood Arm. Art Brut is a bit schlocky, fey Brit-punk, kind of Iggy Pop but a bit gayer. The lead singer twirled his mike and even jumped rope with it. The drummer threw his sticks in the air and caught them. But it wasn't just some novelty act--they really did rock. And it was fun to watch the singer jump into the mosh pit and mosh. This band even managed to get the out-of-place-looking aging businessman to jump up and down, moshing all by himself! The guy took stage banter to a crazy extreme, and most of the time he was just shouting, but the first time he said anything between songs, just a couple of songs into the set, he just paused, looked at the audience, and asked, "Any questions?" Classic.

It was kind of an odd crowd overall. Where'd the guy in the cowboy hat and tie-die come from? And where'd he get the dance that managed to combine that all-arms-and-legs jam-band hippie dance, some sort of square dance rhythm, and the elbows of the chicken dance? And--I didn't even think of this--tons of people were in Twins gear. I totally didn't consider the fact that Craig Finn is a huge Twins fan. I should have worn my Twins stuff!

The Hold Steady set was awesome. They only played a couple of songs I know, and stuck mostly to the new disc, and I still loved it. But this is why I don't own all their stuff and know it all by heart. Craig Finn's got this warm, raspy voice. What The Hold Steady have that Lifter Puller didn't is piano (okay, keyboard, but set to "piano"). Every so often, those two things combine to sound like Rod Stewart's Downtown Train. And that kind of kills it for a moment, until it un-meshes and there's good old loud-punk Hold Steady again.

Friday, November 02, 2007

Good Day/Bad Day

A couple of weeks ago, I went to see John Vanderslice at the Doug Fir. I was pretty excited about it for a few reasons. Great show. Terrrrrrible night. Indescribably terrible. Probably enough said. And if anyone reading this had serious car trouble the next day, it may just be that karma's a bitch.

Tonight, I went to see Loch Lomond, Nick Jaina, and Kele Goodwin. It was at a tiny place, I hesitate to even call it a venue, called the Funky Church. They do have a website, but basically I walked into someone's living room. It's an old, tiny former Catholic church where the church itself might have held sixty people if there were pews, but most of it had been turned into a big kitchen, a living room, and a third room that walls had been built around, kind of in the middle. The music performances happened in the balcony, which was open on both sides, more like a loft. Before I realized that people really did seem to actually live there, I sat in the balcony thinking, "I want to live here! And this would be my living room." Near the arched ceiling, with incredibly old hardwood floors, and a perfect view of the stained glass. OLCC clearly isn't involved--it was mostly BYOB, with some bottles of Two-Buck Chuck next to a vase that said "wine $1 suggested".

Kele Goodwin started out. Super-quiet guy and guitar, singing melancholy songs I could kind of relate to. I'm still cynical enough that a lot of the lyrics made me cringe, but it was beautiful stuff for the less-cynical, and a few of his songs really struck a chord with me, too.

Nick Jaina was quieter than usual, but it was perfect for the venue. I could only sing along with a few songs, because he played a ton of new stuff. But so pretty! Weirdly, no Ali, but Nathan was amazing, and even almost adequately subdued for the quieter set! And the bell plates were just perfect in a church.

Followed by Loch Lomond. Lovely details with varying sources. Pretty, celtic-influenced, but less so than last time I saw them a couple of years ago. He's got a really interesting voice. I was in the right mood for the band, but they're maybe a little fancy and pretty for me.

Friday, September 07, 2007

MusicFest NW Thursday

Tonight started this year's MFNW. Thursday is the light day for shows, so there were really only five venues to choose from. Based on the published schedule, I had a nice, comparatively low-key night planned with four great bands. I headed out to the Crystal Ballroom at about ten minutes past nine, and wasn't all that surprised to find out that they were just letting the last few people in. After all, Viva Voce opening for Spoon should sell out the Crystal. Based on the schedule I had, Viva Voce should be about ten minutes into their set...uh...except for the horn section. And the straightforward, eight-bar or twelve-bar standard R&B riffs. And that voice. What's with this opening-band-at-the-state-fair sound? As I was standing in line at the bar, trying to figure it out, I saw set times posted. I looked at the set times. I looked at the schedule I'd stashed in my back pocket. I looked again. And again. The...uh...oh, hell, it was such a generic name I've forgotten it...Joe Brown Experience? Something like that. That's what was on the posted set time list. That's what I was listening to. (Apparently schedules published later than the one I had matched the schedule on the set lists...but wait, it turns out this error benefited me a bit in the end.) It sucked so bad. Even a good band in this genre would have been a mild improvement, a band where the horn section sounded like they'd met each other before, and had some idea they were on the same stage. Every moment it sounded like they were about to launch into Mustang Sally. Like watching The Commitments without the hard-luck stories or the accents. I was seriously discouraged. I was ready to go home. But I started down the stairs, detoured through Lola's room, and went back up to the balcony and bought a beer. The way the schedule was set up now, Spoon overlapped with Aqueduct at the Doug Fir, rather than there being a nice hour cushion in between. But if I didn't stick around to see Viva Voce, then I didn't have anything to do until midnight, and I've gotten old enough that trying to start something at midnight (this blog excepted, of course) is rather unlikely to happen. So I stayed. Things didn't improve until the band stopped. Yay!

Next up, finally, Viva Voce. I was excited to see them, but also worried...this is the biggest venue by at least a factor of five. Would this capacity crowd, and people getting turned away, happen all over town, making my $40 wristband essentially worthless? I sat through the first few songs of the set mostly worried and ruminating. But they had this fuzz-guitar, pretty-vocals, pounding drums combo that is most likely to drag me out of my funk, and I got really into it. They played a couple songs I know, which also helped. They covered some early-'80's solo-girl-rawk song (probably not Pat Benetar, but that was my best guess), and it was awesome. This was the third time I'd seen them, and each time was different. The first time was balls-to-the-wall rock, and it was great (except that there's a bass there that isn't there...Anita plays guitar, Kevin plays drums...no one plays bass). The second time was mid-day outdoor playful acoustic-rock. And the this time started out all marvelous down-tempo fuzz-rock, and got better from there. Except that they didn't finish with their cover of Alan Parsons Project's Eye In The Sky.

Over to the Doug Fir. Walking up to the ID-taking door guy, and there are a few people milling around. I clearly haven't arrived too late to a full venue--whew!--but there's a short line. I look up toward the ID guy, and there's a familiar t-shirt between me and him. Huh...that's unusual. Someone else has that shirt that...oh...yeah, that was a pretty one-of-a-kind buy...so that means... This happens in a few milliseconds, and my stomach plummets to my feet. I have to walk around my ex-boyfriend, my rather recent ex-boyfriend, the one I've been arguing with recently, just to get to the ID guy. After a minute or two of awkwardness and chit-chat-while-staring-at-my-feet, I turn around with relief, hand over my ID, and get a wrist stamp. I knew he'd be there, but I didn't think he'd be guarding the damn door. May the record reflect that the spot at the end of the bar isn't adequately hidden, and if you try to hide there, the person you're hiding from will sit in the little seating well right next to it. I recommend talking to the guy next to you. It will help.

I was there way too early. After worrying that it would be packed, it turns out there was almost no one there. The band that started up, The New Trust, was described in the fest guide as "Dark Rock." Uh...that'll do, I guess. They had a few moments, mostly hidden, of indie-pop brilliance before the rawk guitars and metal drums crashed back in. But those moments were few and far between, and got less and less prominent as the set went on. Twice, I was jarred out of my reading of the Mercury and/or conversation with the guy next to me when the song broke into a melodic La La La La La. But I was relieved when they ended. They sounded like one of those nu-rock-slash-emo-punk bands that I won't listen to long enough to have enough knowledge to compare this band to.

After suffering through that, and wondering what would become of my night, Aqueduct took the stage. The place is starting to look packed, and despite the dismal previous band, it might have been worth it to show up early. Finally, something that works out to be worth it! So, how is it that a band that cute and sappy (even though they still seriously rock out on stage), a band that I last saw with the ex, a band that writes almost exclusively love songs and lost-love songs, could make me feel so good right now? Even the ex glaring at me from across the bar when he went for a beer couldn't dampen it. Oh, thank god. If that's all I got out of the $40 for the wristband, it would be way too expensive, but I'd consider that I might have gotten enough out of it to justify the expense.

The Shaky Hands followed. This is a band that constantly pulls me both ways. They play such bouncy, folky punk songs, with the punk all Modest-Mouse-influenced, but the punk is so diluted, and the folk makes you think of hippies, and then there are bongos...and you worry you're at a hippie show. But then every song is so tight, and the tight pop puts me in mind of The Talking Heads. Whew...I've fixed it. It's not hippie music. And then I start to wonder again...but the guitar becomes increasingly strident, and suddenly he's channeling Lou Reed in the Velvet Underground days, and all is right with the world...until that other riff starts. So pretty, so poppy...so hippie. But never once did this band, whose debut disc I really enjoy despite the potential hippie-ness, devolve into an extended jam, or some sort of Devendra Banhardt freak-out (despite the shaky, more-than-vibratoed buzz of the lead singer). They were just pop songs, even if the lead singer was barefoot. Aware of the multiple impressions, he joked that he wasn't a hippie despite the dirtiness, need for a haircut (obviously he hadn't seen Aqueduct), and bare feet. "I'm a new-wave hippie. I enjoy mashups of the Grateful Dead and Devo." Probably close to the truth.

And then I was worn out and went home. Tonight was a light night, and I only saw 3 of 4 bands. How will I manage the heavy schedules of Friday and Saturday? Will I manage six shows between 8 pm and 2 am each night? Stay tuned for As The Festival Turns....

Monday, August 06, 2007

Day two!

Started the day with Blue Skies for Black Hearts. I really like their track on the '06 compilation, so I had high expectations. It started out pretty '90s alt-country. After a couple of songs, I decided to find some food, or beer, or something. ProRow is no longer open on Sundays, it turns out, and I wasn't all that hungry anyway, so after a bit of circling (drove back by the festival, heard a bit that might have been better from BS4BH) I headed back to La Merde. Intentionally missed System and Station, partly because I've heard them before and didn't like them, partly because it's Nice Girl Guy's band. And I am just not in the mood to be hit on by a short, balding guy with protuberant eyes behind self-consciously hipster glasses, and be called a Nice Girl.

Got back in time for just a few minutes of Blue Cranes, a pretty straightforward but fun jazz combo, like Happy Apple or something. It sounded promising, but not really what I was there for. If the Blue Monk still did jazz, I'd enjoy seeing them there. This was followed by a rather nonsensical bit from The Robot Ate Me...and not the kind of nonsensical I was expecting. I know them from one song on a Yeti compilation and one on a PDX Pop Now, and expected goofy, exuberant experimental indie-noise-pop. Instead, there were three whispery-quiet folky songs by one guy, followed by several minutes of him standing silently and staring at the audience, before walking off the stage. What the hell? Weirdo, or diva?

Laura Gibson up next. She's got this amazing, perfect voice (think Astrud Gilberto doing The Girl from Ipanema, but without the accent), and she and her band (with a saw in one song!) did lovely, subdued songs that were rather catchy. This is what I imagine I'll listen to when I'm old, and still have good taste but less energy. Jarring transition to the Nice Boys, who did pure retro rawk that ranged from sounding like early Replacements, to mid-'80s almost-twangy not-quite-hair-rock, to almost rockabilly. Any of these songs could have been covers, but weren't. Fun on a totally irony-infused level. And they looked the part, too (more almost-hair-band than Replacements).

Dat'r up next. They have really gotten their shit together. They're tight, balanced, and solid-sounding, and still crazy-manic dancetronica that layers live drums (by Paul Alcott, no less) over electro beats, and fills in with awesome synth noises triggered by Atari joysticks. The vocals have gotten good, too, making them pretty much indisputably kick-ass. I almost danced! Finally, the Shaky Hands. In my mind, this was the expected highlight of the weekend. They weren't so stellar as to knock me on my ass, and added a bit more rock and groove to their recorded music's loud-but-catchy Modest-Mouse-lite sound, but a great set.

Oh, and if you find yourself unexpectedly in Portland's Eastside Industrial district around lunchtime, AudioCinema makes a marvelous jerk chicken leg. It's not something to write home to the Caribbean about (the seasoning is mild and probably not very traditional), but it's lovely nonetheless.

Headed over to La Merde again (skipped Evolutionary Jass Band and Yellow Swans), and like last night, it left me inadequately motivated to return for the last set of the night (Blitzen Trapper tonight). But the cute guy who went with me to La Merde wants to call me again, so there's that.

Sunday, August 05, 2007

PDX Pop Now! Part 1 (okay, 2)

Yeah, it's a 3-day festival, and I skipped day 1. But there were too few bands to see on Friday, and none in a row. So I started today.

I wanted to see Dragging an Ox Through Water, but they played several hours before anyone else I wanted to see, so I didn't get over there for it. I did try to see my ex's performance of As You Like It in the park, but when you've got a park sandwiched between every single downtown bus going north, and every single downtown bus going south, it makes it hard to hear enough follow the play (plus the police sirens, and the guys who think the noise their motorcycles make is an adequate replacement for manhood...). Once enjoying the play is off the table, the social implications of being there around all those people who know him, and know me only through him, got to be a bit much. Which is worse, someone studiously avoiding you because all they know is that their friend dumped you and they don't know what to say, or someone making an effort to talk to you despite that all they know is that their friend dumped you, and they still don't know what to say? Rather than dealing with the worst of both of those, I bailed, and caught part of AristeiA. Pretty, ambie-indie without much for vox, some edgier moments.

I went home for a bit before coming back for Point Juncture, WA. Stunning as always, though the reverb under the bridge emphasized some elements (trumpet, vibraphone) and messed up others (vocals were flat and lost, guitars were harsh and trebly). I've seen part of a Per Se set once (PDX Pop Now! '06, actually), and they're much the same. Lovely, ultra-twee 2-girl vox, often without accompaniment beyond hand-claps, though sometimes with two guitars and drums. They're really very good. I can't handle a whole set of something that sweet. So after a while I took off down the street to the bar (called...those of you that speak any french will enjoy this...La Merde). Came back in time to see the last five minutes of Ethan Rose...who finished five minutes early. Eh...experimental, according to the festival press.

Speaking of experimental, two minutes into Starfucker's set (basically Sexton Blake has gotten prolific enough to spill into a second band), I was wondering why I had come back. By 3 minutes, they'd launched into a spectacular, perfect, loud and crashing indie-pop-rock song. By 3 1/2 minutes, "...was that it?" Super-short little gems separated by swirling noise. Two guys with drumsticks, two dancers, the rest electro. Dancers? Really? This is a band that doesn't need the visual distractions, but could benefit from seeing the guys on stage paying attention to the synth sounds. Next was The Maybe Happening. They're tighter and better every time I see them, without losing any of their trademark wildness. Guitar, drums, and lead violins, and it's fun every single time to see Nathan bouncing around, trying to dance to his tiny solo while he plays his violin like a lead guitar. Add to that image the sounds of indie-pop, Isaac Brock vocals and rhythms, rawk-god guitar, and circus music. Got it? No? Just go see 'em. They were followed by Swim Swam Swum. Power-trio setup. Unfortunately, I was poisoned by the description of this band. Sure, once you tell me that, I hear The Promise Ring, the only band ever called emo (back when it was "emocore") that I loved, and for good reason. But they also had a great Modest Mouse quality, melodically screaming vocals over guitars that veered effortlessly from jewel-toned to distortion. They were like the best of indie/college radio circa 1999, but without sounding dated (of course, this stuff still sounds amazing to me in my CD player). And so tight and put-together, I wonder where this band came from that I haven't seen them or heard of them yet.

After that, there wasn't anything that appealed to me for another 3 hours. I headed off to La Merde again, but I just got tired waiting. It's reportedly one of the last Snuggle Ups shows, andd I've missed it. Damn, I'm getting too old. But it's also the downfall of an all-ages venue that's dry, I have to head out to get a beer, and I'm unlikely to come back. I came back once, but twice is too much.

More tomorrow.

Sunday, July 08, 2007

So glad I went.

"I was walking around feeling satisfied. Can you imagine that? Then she cuts me loose. I don't know why. She won't tell me. Who knows the real reason? Maybe it's because of her father, I don't know. She won't talk to me. She won't even look at me."

--Lloyd Dobbler

Okay, I've been an emotional train wreck lately. I'm unemployed, I was broken up with this week, I've been in the blackest funk imaginable. I made myself go to this show for something to do, something to get myself out of the house. Nire, The Online Romance, and Sexton Blake at the Doug Fir.

I get there, and there's a wedding reception going on on the patio of the Jupiter Hotel (the same property that also contains the DF). Not a good sign, in my mind. But I head on in. I'm determined to have some fun.

I walk in just in time to hear Nire say, "Thanks, everyone, The Online Romance is up next!" I think that's the second time that's all I've heard from them. Oh well. Stupid parking...not only is there the show, and the wedding, but get this: Vanilla Ice is playing a creepy club down the block called Outlaws. Seriously. Vanilla Ice. The crowd standing in line for that place was indescribably, skin-crawlingly gross. Where do you get clothes like that, Hicks 'n' Prostitutes 'R' Us? So my intention to catch 15 minutes of the opening band was supplanted by 15 minutes of looking for parking.

The last thing I'm up for tonight is starting out by waiting through a set change. I went to get a beer, largely to convince myself to stay. But it gives me some time to watch the crowd. I begin to play a game with myself, picking out the people who came from the wedding (even if they'd stopped up to their room at the Jupiter and changed) as opposed to people who came because they knew they wanted to see the bands. Large group sitting at one of the few tables introducing each other and talking about their teaching careers: Wedding. Dancing Girl with the Excessively Aquiline Nose: Wedding. Four unfortunately sexily-dressed 50-year-olds in the corner: Wedding. Girls with big purses and skirts, shoulders in, wide-eyed, looking around nervously: Wedding.

So after that uplifting little game of cynicism and schadenfreude (is it schadenfreude if they don't even know how unfortunate they are?), The Online Romance started. It's not a good band name. It makes one think of My Chemical Romance. You immediately expect falsely dark adolescent emo. But no! It was stellar, Barsuk-ready, guilelessly referential perky and charming indie-pop. Earnest, non-ironic, bouncy, the perfect indie band circa 2007. It was a 5-piece band with an odd stage setup. The drummer sat in front, with the four other members behind him. The drummer was the only one who didn't sing. Not just boy-girl harmonies, but boy-girl-boy-girl harmonies. They started with just the keyboardist and a vocalist on stage, she backed him up and he sang about never falling in love with you again...and then falling in love with you again. In my pathetically emotionally vulnerable state, it made me want to vomit...but that beautiful, perfect '70's soft-rock combination of keyboards and falsetto...it was amazing! Fine, I'll stick around until I finish my beer. From then on, they had all five members on stage. Usually I find a band that shares lead vox duties among many members to be disjointed and incohesive, but this band had a remarkably consistent sound despite the changes in voice. And many songs had no particular lead vocalist, but passed them around or engaged in four-part bits that never, ever sounded like a barbershop quartet. Along with the '70's lite crooning, they used '60's pop conventions for their own purposes as skillfully as Elvis Costello. And I noticed during this set that the sticker that indicates that one has backstage privileges was a Tillamook cheese label! Near the end of their set, The Online Romance covered Toto's Hold The Line (...love isn't always on time...). And I smiled. I needed a good smile.

Sexton Blake headlined the night. Every time I've seen them they've been a different band entirely. There's the pop song Emma, on PDX Pop Now! 2004, that is so perfect I put it on a compilation for my mom (yeah, my 57-year-old mom loves her some good, clean indie-pop). There was the time I saw them live, with four or five people onstage, and they were an experimental '80's-themed electronic band in matching vests. There was that other time I saw them, and they were a three-or-four-person super-loud noise band (also, I believe, in some sort of uniform). The preview I read for the show indicated that SB is really the brain child of just one guy, and it's a great loud indie-pop outfit, and he just put out a disc called Sexton Blake...Plays the Hits! In which he covers a shitload of mediocre '80's pop songs, and does so miraculously. I hoped for the latter.

I got the latter. Two skinny guys in t-shirts bent over a pile of keyboards, a drum set, a Rickenbacher guitar (squee!), an acoustic guitar, a Fisher-Price toy keyboard-xylophone toy (used for Emma), and a harmonium. Playing terrific, danceable indie-pop that usually had an electronic beep-bloop vibe, but sometimes was just strummed guitar. Rather than the dressed-to-match polish of previous shows, they ended most songs in what seemed like the middle, like they just kind of ran out of song. They were humble, adorable, and happy. In past shows, the lead guy seemed to be the mop-top guy, but this time the guy who looks like my next-door-neighbor did all the talking, so I don't know which one guy is the "one man band" referenced in the weekly. They played Emma, which I haven't heard live (and that's where the toy key-xylo came in). And they played three songs from ...Plays the Hits! The first was Rod Stewart's Young Turks (Young hearts be free tonight! Time is on your side!). Such a crappy song. Such a transcendent cover. I may be the world's worst sucker for cross-genre covers, but for the first time tonight, perhaps for the first time in days, I smiled. Grinned, really. The Twins managed to score 32 runs in a doubleheader the day before, but that really didn't lift me out of my murk, but a completely unwarranted Rod Stewart cover? Better than drugs. (I have to give some serious credit to the Toto cover, though, for softening me up considerably). Sexton Blake also covered Bruce Springsteen's Hungry Heart and (oh my god...no way) Kim Carnes' Bette Davis Eyes, a song I actually really loved as a kid.

After the show, I asked the guy who seemed to be the lead this time about his hat. "Is that an old-school Pittsburgh Pirates hat?" "I dunno...I just got it at a thrift store. I decided it's P for Portland." I was disappointed, but not crushed. It's hard to be crushed when buoyed by Toto and Bette Davis Eyes.

Friday, March 30, 2007

Sheesh, where've I been?

I swear, I have been out seeing music. It's been a busy...gosh, has it been 9 months? The Boyfriend moved in, and he and I then moved to a new place, I finished and defended the big paper, all sorts of busy-ness. So I haven't had time to write. But I'm back now, and you'll forgive me, right?

The last month or two has been pretty quiet for shows, but it seems spring has sprung, and bands are celebrating by getting out into dark, windowless basements late at night! Last night I saw Nick Jaina at Mississippi Studios. I've been to MS twice now, both times to see Nick. It's a bit too grown-up a venue for me, with chairs set out in rows and earnest folkies strumming guitars onstage.

Openers: Douglas someone? Someone Douglas? Hushed, fingerpicking folk songs with some....zzzzzzzzz. Oh, sorry. Molly Rose: A young barista, big-eyed hipster-waif, who drove down from Seattle to sing strummy folk songs about death and crushes and, uh, I guess I stopped paying attention after a while. I liked one song okay. The Boyfriend asked me why I like some indie folk, like Horsefeathers and Iron and Wine, but not acts like these. So I spent much of my time during these two sets mentally debating what the difference is between good, engaging indie-folk and coffee-shop-in-a-Borders-Books folk. I didn't come up with an answer, but at least it gave me something to do while waiting for Nick to start. (Verdict: Both opening acts were 15% the former, 85% the latter).

Nick J: Seven people crammed onto the tiny stage. A pump organ. These weird things called bell plates. Nathan the violinist was mostly pushed offstage into the audience. It was a comparatively introspective set from Nick, and he pulled out two songs he had written years ago and hasn't played since (including one that was a dead ringer for a lost Dylan song). He also had two new ones! A few rollicking tunes (can't help it when Nathan's singing along, like on Battleground), but overall a bit quieter and more serious than usual. Oh, and a hilarious monologue about having discovered American Idol. Absolutely awesome.