This was MFNW's eighth year, and I think my...fourth? year of attending (I think there must have been a year I missed it). Every year it gets bigger. Sometimes that's a good thing, and other times that means standing in line. I remember those golden, halcyon days when my only concern was not drinking too much beer, so I could drive myself from venue to venue and see whatever I wanted. This year, they sold lots of guaranteed individual-show tix as well as the wristbands, making it a crapshoot whether I'd get in at any given venue. It required a constant backup plan. I got pretty frustrated with it a few times, while missing a show I really wanted to see, but in the midst of several of the performances, for a few brief moments, all was forgiven. (I'm still writing a stern letter, though. Stern, I tell ya.)
The fest started on Wednesday with a few venues. I decided to save up my energy for the rest of the weekend. Thursday night was also smallish, only eight venues, but some great stuff to see. A sampling of shows I missed: M. Ward, The Whigs, Iommi Stubbs, Starfucker, The Cool Kids, and Battles (which I heard several times was stellar). Saw Eskimo & Sons at the Crystal to kick off my show-seeing. Ten people on stage, the girls all in '90s-era dresses appropriate for a junior-high semiformal dance, instruments everywhere...what am I getting myself into? It was bouncy and fun, little bits of so many things. The keys-plus-horns here sounds like John Vanderslice, his voice sounds like Conor Oberst, hers like Victoria Williams. That song sounds like Rilo Kiley, this one has faux-sultry horns like the theme song to an '80s cop show, that other one is a dead ringer for some mid-'80s lite-rock, but in a fun way...a ton of fans of the band there singing along and cheering. Turns out it was their second-to-last show ever. Caught a little of Calvin Johnson, and the second he opened his mouth, I remembered what I actually like about him, other than his finger-in-every-pie prolific-ness (prolificity?). Halobenders! I also remembered that I haven't liked him since, because he needs Doug Martsch to make him rock. The place was nearly empty, so I thought I'd chance it on coming back for M. Ward later, and impulsively headed across town to see Oxford Collapse having no idea who they were. Dork-punk with a solid grounding in actual old-skool punk, pretty damn good. Headed back to the Crystal to find a big-ass line for M. Ward. Strike one. They sold all sorts of tickets, leaving us wristbanders out of luck. Went to Berbati's instead as plan B. Port O'Brien was essentially just an unfortunate and unnecessary melding of suburban-bar-band country-blues and scream-punk. I liked the last song okay. Pseudosix is a band I knew of, but couldn't remember why. They've got two songs on PDX Pop Now comps, it turns out. Cute and lovely, but shading much more country-twang than I expected. The violin actually saved them. It wasn't at all fiddle. Last up, and the reason I was there: Nada Surf. For a guy who writes very pretty songs and really only put together one good (damn good) album, the live shows are consistently amazing. He rocked Killian's Red (not an ode to the beer, but about drinking in a dive bar under a neon sign, wishing for better) and Fruit Fly (seriously, who'da thunk Fruit Fly could rock?). I still don't like the stuff that isn't on Let Go as much (later in the weekend, I talked to someone who gushed, "That disc is somehow...better than it is," which is weird, because it was while I was seeing John Vanderslice, and a friend of mine recently used those exact words to describe a song of his).
Okay, that's more than enough for now. Friday and Saturday to come.
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