Sunday, February 24, 2008

The Guys-Who-Lead-Other-Bands Show

Tonight I went out to a show featuring three guys-with-acoustic-guitars-who-normally-lead-other-bands, and some fourth guy-with-an-acoustic-guitar (-bass hybrid). The show was at Towne Lounge, an interesting little place. It's got this air of a prohibition-era speakeasy, invisible from the street, only marked by a signboard on the sidewalk when they have a show (and by a backlit plastic sign over the door that simply says LOUNGE, which initially convinced me it was another of Portland's many strip clubs when it first opened near my old apartment). This speakeasy vibe is enhanced by the ornate, heavy wooden door with a swing-open little window in it. With the window closed, it looks just like a very elaborate door. With the window open, you expect furtive eyes to look out, and ask you for the password. (Cheese it, it's the cops!) Luckily, since I didn't have a password, I only had to give the guy at the table inside six bucks instead. Inside, it's got some interesting elements, including the funky coved ceiling and the hand-carved-looking piano that reminds me of the piano in the made-for-tv version of The Piano Lesson (that sentence, in retrospect, amuses me greatly). Sadly, though, for the most part, it's a smoky shithole. I don't know what it is that the smoking-allowed music venues in town all seem to be covered in crappy sharpie graffiti (though here it's primarily confined to the dingy bathroom). For christ's sake, it's a tiny acoustic music venue, what's with the graffiti? And in this tiny room, I'm pretty sure I was the sole non-smoker in the whole place. I was all excited, because I'm broke right now, and I remembered that Towne Lounge used to have the stubbie bottles of Session for two bucks...but no longer. Their cheap beer is Miller High Life in a can. Uh, no, thanks. Really.

I got there just as one of the musicians took the stage. I had, most likely, missed the first guy, then. Lucky for me, they didn't play in the order they had been listed. I missed the one guy that isn't associated with another band. I was reading the WillieWeek on and off during the show, and they actually previewed this show, pointing out that the one I missed, Justin Power, played some sort of homemade guitar-bass hybrid. I was disappointed I missed him just because I would have liked an image in my head to go with that phrase. The guy who played when I got there was Nicholas Delffs, who heads The Shaky Hands. His voice is unmistakable. Interestingly, once you take the pop and rock elements out of the equation, and it's just him and an acoustic guitar, he almost sounds less like a hippie than he does with the band. I really enjoyed the set. It was all folk-rock...well, ah, no, that's not quite it...rock-folk...shit. Have you ever tried to describe Neil Young before? Turns out you can't do it without making him sound wimpy and annoying. Apparently words don't do him justice. So I'll describe Delffs by saying he sounded a hell of a lot like Neil Young throughout the set. But like Neil Young's prettier, more wistful sounds, not his angry-young-man (become angry-old-man, but not of the "get off my lawn!" variety) stuff.

The next guy, by process of elimination, must have been Ryan Sollee of The Builders And The Butchers. See review of them below. Of the three guys I saw, he was the only one who didn't sound so distinct that I could immediately associate him with his band. Of course, I've only seen TBATB once, but their "swamp-blues" (WillieWeek's words) stomp-along dark wildness had little in common with this straightforward 70's-ish white-boy blues/blues-rock. It was okay, mostly just kind of cliched. The guy would have an interesting, unique voice, except that it sounds just. exactly. like some other voice in 70's white-boy blues/blues-rock, but I could never quite put my finger on who. Eh. It was okay.

Last up, Justin Ringle of Horsefeathers. I didn't recognize any of the songs, but I only own the very early HF demo, so I don't know if he was playing HF songs or not (Delffs did not seem to play any Shaky Hands songs, and I don't know about Sollee, but he did play a couple of requests for songs he hadn't played in years). But he sounded just exactly like he does in Horsefeathers, with that incredibly unique warm-fuzz voice and perfect pretty-folk, but even more spare without violin, saw, and another voice. Beautiful, and soothing (which was great, since the smoke and the smokers were making me irritable). And what the hell was the WillieWeek talking about, his voice sounding like....oh, damn you, WillieWeek. I might never have heard that if it weren't for you. Tracy Chapman. I didn't hear it until a handful of songs in, and then I could never quite shake it. Thanks a lot, WillieWeek. Crap. I preferred it when all I heard to compare it to was Sam Beam's voice (of Iron and Wine). But still, it was lovely and a nice note to end on. He also noted that they're just finishing up a new HF disc, which is definitely something to look forward to.

With four sets, I expected the show to go quite late, but there was little changeover time (how long could it take to get your acoustic guitar offstage and get the next acoustic guitar set up?) and they were all fairly short sets, so I was pleasantly surprised to be home by about 12:30. And I'm ready to do it again tomorrow, same time, same place, for Nick Jaina!

Sunday, February 03, 2008

Nice Egg Hat.

Rotture. I hate this venue. It has so much damn potential. The second floor of an old industrial/warehouse site, with amazing brick walls and steel I-beams. A lovely deck overlooking the river and downtown. It could be so fucking great. But instead, it's one of the few music venues in town that still allows smoking. I was impressed at first with how many smokers were trained well, and went out to the deck to smoke though they didn't have to, but after a while they all got lazy. It's stuffed full of weird-ass ugly creepy people. And every surface is covered with sharpie graffiti tags. Not graffiti art, not something the venue has invited or commissioned, just the pissing-on-a-fire-hydrant territory-marking shit. The atmosphere just seems so ugly, reeking of cloves and permanent marker, like shitty-ass places I could have hung out when I was seventeen but chose not to, for the most part. The crowd was so utterly strange, all sorts of sundresses, furs, and boots (I get the furs and boots, though if I owned an interesting fur, I wouldn't wear it to a stinky shithole like that...but sundresses? I counted 15 before I lost count, and damn, it's cold for Portland tonight, 30 degrees and the threat of snow), but also snaggle-toothed dingy people in ill-fitting, grimy hoodies drinking Hamm's (did you know Hamm's still existed? I sure didn't.). And if you wear your bluetooth headset to a bar? You're an absolute tool. And then if you make me move from my seat so you can play pinball, then take over my seat when you're done...what's a few steps beyond absolute tool?

And the worst part, "Show at 9" meant doors, not show. Most of the other venues in town have finally gotten a system down, where they'll either say "doors at...show at" or "show at" and that's when the first band takes the stage. Rotture hasn't gotten the memo. So I sat there for a good 45 minutes before the music started, listening to (well, feeling as much as hearing) the incredibly loud vibrating dance music bass coming from downstairs. Luckily, it didn't bleed to the front of the room by the stage. This was at least interesting...while I was sitting and waiting, an already-drunk couple addressed me, she in a sundress and he in a black-and-white checkerboard boot-length fake fur (Prince? Or a '90's club kid? Who knows...) and she told me I was gorgeous, and he said something that sounded like "I like your egg hat!" I wasn't wearing a hat, or eggs of any kind, much less an egg hat. It wasn't 'til an hour later that I realized that he must have said "I like your necklace." I so rarely wear extra jewelry that this just didn't occur to me. (I was wearing a cheap plastic cameo that I bought at Target for $3.94...never ever has $3.94 bought me as many compliments as this little crappy piece of plastic and beads--someone even once pretentiously asked me if it was Wedgewood.)

So it's pretty impressive, in such a dismal venue, that tonight's show made me so crazy happy. Portland incest of the highest degree--Nick Jaina (with Nathan Langston in his band, as well as six other people from eight or ten other bands), followed by Dat'r (the two other people in the Binary Dolls with Nick), then The Maybe Happening (Nathan Langston's band, playing their CD release party for a CD Nick produced, and Nick and three or four other people who were in his band supported them onstage). Was Nathan trying to reunite Nick and the Dat'r boys, get Binary Dolls working together again? Will it work? Please, please, please?

Nick Jaina first. Lately, every time I've seen him, he's had eight people on stage. I've said it before, but...this is his solo project? Nick on vox and guitar, Ali on backup vox/clarinet/accordion, Nathan on violin and shouting (and conducting the audience into shouting along), plus guitar, upright bass, vibes/percussion, trumpet/bass clarinet, and drums. Great show, high energy from beginning to end, but not a single song from the new disc. Marvelously dark and dynamic, though, truly awesome. I say this over and over, but every time, the songs are different. One intro had me thinking they were about to launch into a U2 cover (where the streets have no name, maybe?) before it became something familiar (Red Queen, I think, though it may have been a different one). Just imagine having so many songs in you that you can lead two bands, play songs from one of them, play nothing off your new album, and still have new songs to play.

Dat'r...well, there are about three bands out there that can induce me to do something approximating dancing. They're one of them. You can still see the hipstergeek head-bob-foot-tap underneath, but superficially, it's almost like dancing! There was one guy who really did know how to dance, almost b-boy-like, but he stayed on his feet, no handstands or backspins. So I don't know what to call him. But he was fun to watch. Nick Jaina even waggled his skinny hips for three or four seconds...who knew he had it in him?

And then The Maybe Happening. They're usually three guys, but tonight they had as many as eight people on stage. Nick joined them and played bass (like rawk-god bass, no less), random percussion, and keyboard, and he actually grinned and looked like he was having a shit-ton of fun. He's usually so damn serious, so it was really awesome to watch him grin and laugh, not just once or a little, but like crazy. Nathan, as always, was buoyantly wild and nuts, and played his violin like a rock guitar, like I always got in trouble for in the high-school orchestra (no, I wasn't pogo-ing up and down and screaming darling lyrics, but whenever Ms. Director was talking, and I was going over the hard parts pizzicato with the instrument tucked under my arm, I got yelled at). This band has so ridiculously much going on. The couple in front of me managed to combine pogo-moshing and the twist at one point...and that was the perfect set of moves for this band. I heard math metal, doo-wop, ska (this usually isn't there, but they had a horn section tonight), early Pavement with maybe a little very early Weezer thrown in, early punk-ass Modest Mouse (especially in the screamy vocals over orchestral-instruments-gone-wild), and a billion other things. I even had a little almost-dancing left in me after Dat'r.

And then I snagged a poster and went home. Where the reality of the Johan trade crashed down on me once again, but at least I had pretty-blond-bowler to chat with about the show, and of course, you all, my imagined audience, to talk to.

Gotta rant a moment here.

Johan Santana got traded yesterday. It was made official today. I don't know if we got a handful of magic beans...or a hill of beans. Four prospects. No major-league-ready pitcher. No major-league-ready center-fielder. I don't think much of anything would have made me happy to lose El Presidente, Mr. Cy, the best player in baseball. So I don't know if I'm just grousing or if I'm genuinely upset that we didn't get enough.

Some folks I know started talking about this deal, and discussing how player loyalty has fallen by the wayside. Someone started talking about fan loyalty...do we even deserve Johan's love?

"We sometimes talk about how players should have loyalty to the team but we don't seem to have problems saying things like, "the Twins need an upgrade at this position," or to use an example we all remember, "When are the Twins going to just dump Ponson's sorry ass?" We all invest something looking for something in return."

I read this as saying that we, as fans, demand loyalty, but somehow aren't loyal in return. That wanting "something in return" (for our team to try to be the best it can be) is somehow different than, and less than, loyalty. In return, I want my team to try to do their best. I want the front office to recognize genuine weaknesses and try to remedy them. I want the coaching staff to realize that some things aren't working and try to change them. I want to be able to get excited about successes, and to be able to worry about difficulties and mourn failures. It's easy to be "loyal" to a team that wins every year and has a damn good shot at the playoffs. But what happens if they have a bad year? Real loyalty is still loving a team that isn't perfect, and knowing they aren't perfect, being utterly clear-headed about their weaknesses, but loving them anyway. I love the Twins, but I know they have weaknesses. I admire Kansas City fans, but if they don't sit around every offseason saying, "I have hope that this massive change will happen, and it will fix what we all know is seriously wrong with this team," then it's not loyalty, it's blind belief in the impossible.

In exchange, even when the Twins have a losing year, or a losing decade (okay, almost decade, between 1991 and 2001), I will find every upside and every bright side. I won't pretend I have no idea something's wrong. But I'll find those young Toriis and Jacques and get excited about their potential. I'll read the box scores, listen to the games on the radio, listen online, watch online...wherever technology takes me, I'll be there, cheering. When I sit down at a coffee shop in small-town virginia (sure, it won't likely happen again, but I don't know where I'll be next time the Twins are starting from the very bottom) and someone tries to take my sports section away and I tell him, "hey, I'm reading that!" and he quizzes me...'where's Cuddyer from?' 'Virginia.' 'Where's Hunter from?' 'Pine Bluff, Arkansas.' I'll know the answers. I'll be at that debut game where Torii hit the wall in center field, fell down, got up, threw to home, and got the guy out (I'm pretty sure that was opening day in 1997, at least I have the baseball from that game, and I remember the play, and I put the two together), and I'll be overjoyed, but it won't stop me from saying that the team has no pitching. (ETA: A little research suggests to me that the game I'm thinking of was opening day of 1999, as Torii only played seven games before that, none of them on opening day.) I'll be there, every step of the way, up and down, and I won't pretend it's all up. To me, that's loyalty. Not to pretend the team has no weaknesses, but to know the weaknesses, recognize them, point them out, but to still be there every day anyway. Fan loyalty isn't to pretend Ponson's a hero, but to say, "Dump Ponson. He sucks. But I love the team every day anyway. I'll be a fan every day Ponson's on the team, but please dump him because he will never be any good for the team I love."

Goodbye, Johan. I want to wish you all the best, but it's hard, when I also want baseball to right itself, and come back down to earth. You're amazing, and one of the best things to happen to baseball this decade. But your contract with the Mets may be one of the worst things to happen to baseball. I wish you loved us enough to stay for four years, $21 million a year. I wish Pohlad had offered you close to what you're worth. But I'll still love my team, knowing all the while they'd be better with you on it.