So, after much political manoeuvering and social finagling (okay, I e-mailed the volunteer coordinator), I get to be a listener for the PDX Pop Now! compilation this year. Please do not send bombs to my blog. I will, however accept pastry or savory baked goods. Any combination of baked goods with bacon will get extra consideration.
This is much harder than it seems. First of all, all the tracks have been sanitized of all identifying information except...damn, do I know that voice? Second, it turns out that liking a song takes a few listens, while hating it can be done in...well, most of the time I get all the way through the song, but sometimes I can't quite manage that. And third, though this makes me sound a bit incompetent, I've got a long list of track/vote/track/vote/track/vote. After I've skipped a few votes (see problem the second), it's easy to get confused. There's no notable visual marker to indicate whether the vote goes with the song above it, or below it. Though to my knowledge, I've only screwed that up once.
The current track only took about 20 seconds before it merited a no. The nos are easy. Next!
I've got about 85 tracks to listen to. I've voted no a bunch of times, yes a few times, and skipped a ton of songs for a second listen. And I need to get it all decided by this weekend (when my votes will be compiled with a bunch of other people's...so again, don't bother with the bombs, but I'm happy to accept pastry). Wish me luck.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Eye Contact Shows, with Morrissey
This week I've been to two small, very intimate shows in which the artist could have made eye contact with nearly everyone in the audience. It doesn't get better than that.
Last sunday was Nick Jaina at Towne Lounge (I was at TL the previous night, so I don't need to repeat my rants about the place, but I'll note that this night was significantly less smoky than the previous night) with...oh, crap, this is why I shouldn't wait to write about these things. Oh! I remember! Michael the Blind was first. He does gorgeous, usually quiet pretty-folk with a bit of an edge to it. It was a Willie-Week-interviews-the-artists! deal (oh dear, did I just use the word 'deal' to mean 'thingy'? I skipped turning into my mother and went straight for turning into grandma, I guess), but I didn't get there early enough to see the interview with Mr. The Blind. That was followed by two guys from Shoeshine Blue (acoustic guitar and upright bass). I didn't like Shoeshine Blue the first time I saw them (I believe I described them as Borders-Bookstore folk), but this combo was grittier and bluesier, and it was fine. Nothing like "gotta rush out and see 'em again" but at least I won't cringe next time I see the band's name or anyone from the band appearing between two acts I really want to see.
I felt just a little bit bad for the kind of clueless chick from the WWeek who interviewed Nick. She did okay with the other two guys, but she just seemed unprepared to talk to Nick, and he didn't make it easy on her. Sometimes she just rambled ("Is there a question in there?") and sometimes she asked yes-or-no questions, which Nick answered with yes or no. It was pretty funny, and I have to admit, it's a joy to watch someone take their own mild social awkwardness and use it to make someone else look silly. I've mentioned the pleasure I take in schadenfreude, I'm sure. Nick didn't do his typical "solo" show, he actually played solo. A bunch of it was at the piano. I'm probably the only person who really, truly loves the sound of an off-key bar piano, but there's just something lo-fi and personal about it. (Maybe it's because I had an old, beat-up upright piano when I was a kid (I think it was made of plywood and spray-painted the greyish-pinkish-beige of a three-day-old corpse), and it never got tuned after it was moved from my grandma's house to my house. Three of the keys didn't work, they just made a dull thud.) It was a marvelous show. The highlights: There was a new song, about a woman named Helen Hill in New Orleans after the hurricane (some political significance, people marched on the mayor's office, but I didn't quite follow the story). And Nick somehow managed to merge from The Mercy Of His Arms into The Smiths' (Morrissey's?) Panic On The Streets Of London (hang the DJ hang the DJ hang the DJ), all slow and serious and acoustic. Kick. Fucking. Ass.
Nick gave me a hard time about not showing up for the CD release shows at Mississippi Studios a couple of days before, and I know after getting an advance copy of the CD from him, the least I could do was pay the cover for a show, but I'm utterly and indescribably broke right now, so I went to the free show at the Towne Lounge instead. Guilt aside, I'm glad that's the show I saw. He's heading off on a really impressively extensive kinda-nationwide tour, and I made sure he had some info about Minneapolis/St. Paul and a musician-friend of mine's name/number/e-mail for when he goes through the Twin Cities. I've also insisted that two people go to his shows there, and for several other people it's (technically) optional but highly encouraged. If you know anyone who lives...well, pretty much anywhere except the southeast, check Nick's itinerary. Make people go to his shows, and better yet, help him find a laundromat/coffee shop/bar/place to eat/some radio promotion while he's in their town.
This afternoon, I went to Jackpot Records' new space on Hawthorne for a free, tiny solo show by Colin Meloy. I got there pretty early, and managed to make my way to a front corner of the room. I staked out my spot...and immediately had to pee. Crap, I can't go anywhere now! So I admit, I was a bit impatient and antsy through the show, marvelous though it was. He seemed to be having fun, pulling out random requests and songs he didn't actually remember how to play, bumbling his way through them and joking and laughing throughout, sometimes stopping his rhythm guitar part to try to pick out the solo, sometimes just singing it. He told some stories, when he could fit them in before audience members shouted out requests (Shut up! You can hear the songs at a Decemberists show, but Colin telling stories is something you only get here). He played a Morrissey/Smiths cover that's not on his recorded EP, Ask (Ask me ask me ask me...) which was incredibly fun despite his one chord/one note guitar part (it's actually more fun when he points that out and explains how that happens, then apologizes to Johnny Mars). There was an acoustic version of A Perfect Crime that he described as "the Steely Dan version from before we got all New-Wave on it," different chords and rhythms, that was a brilliant, fascinating and messy take on my favorite track from The Crane Wife. He (barely) managed to get all the way through the three-song cycle from The Crane Wife that starts with Come And See (that might not even be the name of part one of that song), and the lack of grace, style, or even accuracy somehow added to the experience. He'd point out his mistakes and verbally correct himself in mid-song ("I figured it out--it's a D7!" the third time through that particular verse). It was like hanging out in the guy's living room watching him practice.
These are my kind of shows. There are some of you out there who want a polished, practiced, and perfected stage show, and you're frustrated when artists don't seem on top of what they're doing. You folks can shell out for your stadium shows by your major label bands. But those kinds of shows leave me broke...I mean, leave me cold. Two free eye-contact shows in a week, both with banter and mistakes, sounding nothing like the album tracks, is the best thing I can imagine.
Last sunday was Nick Jaina at Towne Lounge (I was at TL the previous night, so I don't need to repeat my rants about the place, but I'll note that this night was significantly less smoky than the previous night) with...oh, crap, this is why I shouldn't wait to write about these things. Oh! I remember! Michael the Blind was first. He does gorgeous, usually quiet pretty-folk with a bit of an edge to it. It was a Willie-Week-interviews-the-artists! deal (oh dear, did I just use the word 'deal' to mean 'thingy'? I skipped turning into my mother and went straight for turning into grandma, I guess), but I didn't get there early enough to see the interview with Mr. The Blind. That was followed by two guys from Shoeshine Blue (acoustic guitar and upright bass). I didn't like Shoeshine Blue the first time I saw them (I believe I described them as Borders-Bookstore folk), but this combo was grittier and bluesier, and it was fine. Nothing like "gotta rush out and see 'em again" but at least I won't cringe next time I see the band's name or anyone from the band appearing between two acts I really want to see.
I felt just a little bit bad for the kind of clueless chick from the WWeek who interviewed Nick. She did okay with the other two guys, but she just seemed unprepared to talk to Nick, and he didn't make it easy on her. Sometimes she just rambled ("Is there a question in there?") and sometimes she asked yes-or-no questions, which Nick answered with yes or no. It was pretty funny, and I have to admit, it's a joy to watch someone take their own mild social awkwardness and use it to make someone else look silly. I've mentioned the pleasure I take in schadenfreude, I'm sure. Nick didn't do his typical "solo" show, he actually played solo. A bunch of it was at the piano. I'm probably the only person who really, truly loves the sound of an off-key bar piano, but there's just something lo-fi and personal about it. (Maybe it's because I had an old, beat-up upright piano when I was a kid (I think it was made of plywood and spray-painted the greyish-pinkish-beige of a three-day-old corpse), and it never got tuned after it was moved from my grandma's house to my house. Three of the keys didn't work, they just made a dull thud.) It was a marvelous show. The highlights: There was a new song, about a woman named Helen Hill in New Orleans after the hurricane (some political significance, people marched on the mayor's office, but I didn't quite follow the story). And Nick somehow managed to merge from The Mercy Of His Arms into The Smiths' (Morrissey's?) Panic On The Streets Of London (hang the DJ hang the DJ hang the DJ), all slow and serious and acoustic. Kick. Fucking. Ass.
Nick gave me a hard time about not showing up for the CD release shows at Mississippi Studios a couple of days before, and I know after getting an advance copy of the CD from him, the least I could do was pay the cover for a show, but I'm utterly and indescribably broke right now, so I went to the free show at the Towne Lounge instead. Guilt aside, I'm glad that's the show I saw. He's heading off on a really impressively extensive kinda-nationwide tour, and I made sure he had some info about Minneapolis/St. Paul and a musician-friend of mine's name/number/e-mail for when he goes through the Twin Cities. I've also insisted that two people go to his shows there, and for several other people it's (technically) optional but highly encouraged. If you know anyone who lives...well, pretty much anywhere except the southeast, check Nick's itinerary. Make people go to his shows, and better yet, help him find a laundromat/coffee shop/bar/place to eat/some radio promotion while he's in their town.
This afternoon, I went to Jackpot Records' new space on Hawthorne for a free, tiny solo show by Colin Meloy. I got there pretty early, and managed to make my way to a front corner of the room. I staked out my spot...and immediately had to pee. Crap, I can't go anywhere now! So I admit, I was a bit impatient and antsy through the show, marvelous though it was. He seemed to be having fun, pulling out random requests and songs he didn't actually remember how to play, bumbling his way through them and joking and laughing throughout, sometimes stopping his rhythm guitar part to try to pick out the solo, sometimes just singing it. He told some stories, when he could fit them in before audience members shouted out requests (Shut up! You can hear the songs at a Decemberists show, but Colin telling stories is something you only get here). He played a Morrissey/Smiths cover that's not on his recorded EP, Ask (Ask me ask me ask me...) which was incredibly fun despite his one chord/one note guitar part (it's actually more fun when he points that out and explains how that happens, then apologizes to Johnny Mars). There was an acoustic version of A Perfect Crime that he described as "the Steely Dan version from before we got all New-Wave on it," different chords and rhythms, that was a brilliant, fascinating and messy take on my favorite track from The Crane Wife. He (barely) managed to get all the way through the three-song cycle from The Crane Wife that starts with Come And See (that might not even be the name of part one of that song), and the lack of grace, style, or even accuracy somehow added to the experience. He'd point out his mistakes and verbally correct himself in mid-song ("I figured it out--it's a D7!" the third time through that particular verse). It was like hanging out in the guy's living room watching him practice.
These are my kind of shows. There are some of you out there who want a polished, practiced, and perfected stage show, and you're frustrated when artists don't seem on top of what they're doing. You folks can shell out for your stadium shows by your major label bands. But those kinds of shows leave me broke...I mean, leave me cold. Two free eye-contact shows in a week, both with banter and mistakes, sounding nothing like the album tracks, is the best thing I can imagine.
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