I had a tough but rewarding week. Or the sun coming out for a day or two really made the drugs kick in. Whatever. Anyhow, I left work on Friday evening full of love and joy and optimism. I was so optimistic, in fact, that based on the headliner, I went out to the White Eagle.
The White Eagle is a beautiful space with an amazing history. It's a well-restored-and-well-modernized/hippie-ized spot that used to have Shanghai Tunnels in the basement and a brothel on the second floor. When I first came to Portland and stayed for a week to look for a place to live, I stayed in a room upstairs at the White Eagle, carefully balancing in my mind the astoundingly cheap and beautifully decorated tiny room (and the charming ghost stories) with the constant music noise bleeding up from the bar until 2 am. I will always love the place. But I haven't been there since. Of all the McMs' hippie ventures, it may be the one most devoted to hippie-country-folk-rock stuff that makes me want to shove sharp things in my ears. But tonight, it was headlined by Jared Mees and the (whatever follows Jared Mees this time), all indie-awesome-reputation folk-rock-indie-awesomeness-whatever. For five bucks. Sign me up.
I got there, and with the 30-minute set-break-tuning-sound-check, I figured I must be there for the first band. It was like 9:45, and if the first band was just getting their sound-check shit started right now, I wasn't happy about it. But no, I missed Old Money. Given the quality of the rest of the set, I'm not sure whether I should be disappointed that I didn't get a 4th band in this stellar lineup or happy that nothing brought it down.
First band I saw was called Saw Holly Fam'ly. There are almost zero bands I've ever enjoyed called anything family, and none before now called fill-in-the-blank Fam'ly. They were two bands getting together for the first or second time, Saw something and something Fam'ly (didn't catch which had the Holly bit). Messy, tentative, and mismatched. But wow. It started with an a capella duet between the two girls (who seemed to comprise the something-fam'ly band) whose voices were totally mismatched, but both interesting. The alto was much more suited to a low mike and a small venue, and was also better dressed. She was in a little black dress that I might also own (it looks like one I snagged at Ross for 14 bucks before an event that unquestionably required a little black dress, and I love it), and looked all laid-back-cool in the haircut I should have and the Mona-Lisa half-smile. The mezzo combined a horrible dyed-red bangs-and-layered-waves country-1997 look with a black-and-white polka-dot dress and bright-fuchsia footless lace-edged tights and high heels in a this-isn't-a-flute-it's-a-baton-in-a-small-town-marching-band disaster look. And an odd mouth that was turning down at the corners just waiting for her to lose some teeth. But the thing is, her voice, too, was awesome in a dark-twang sorta don't-know-my-place way. Her higher-pitched, stronger-toned voice was miked too hot, and she knew it, so she kind of stepped back and kind of whispered. The alto was warm and soft, and mostly fit well, either balancing her or melding nicely with the male vocal from Saw-whatever. His voice was like a kazoo through a mute, like singing trumpet in a whisper, unique and marvelous. But too quiet next to the strong, piercing mezzo. Just a mixing/practicing/voice effects issue.
This first band had not only the nasal kazoo/mute voice and the overdressed girls and the a capella duet, but also flute, cello, a tiny leather-briefcase glockenspiel, and a tiny ukelele/guitar/12-string-mandolin-thingy called a turango. Messy, in need of some direction and some sound management and some practice and...probably lots of other things, but no complaints at all. Dark country-funk-indie-folk-whatever joy.
(Where does the music come from on a flute? She had her mouth next to the mic, but that didn't seem right at all...is it the holes controlled by the fingers? The very end?)
The second band, Church, I initially judged when they were warming up. And there was the one uber-skinny guy in a purply-maroon velvet jacket with the drug-addled hair...seriously? And then the three guys and two moogs were warmed up, and the jacket was discarded. He was really funny using all the X and S sibilant words he could think of to sound check (Michael J. Fox, Sexual safari, Flux capacitor!). And then the music. Messy, ambient, all Radiohead meets Thom-Yorke-With-A-Lobotomy (by which I mean Coldplay) meets early goth-like Joy Division and The Jam meets beep-boop-space-alien-electronica. Plus occasional harmonium and lap-steel guitar. Again, they seemed uncomfortable with their mikes. I bought a 3-dollar CD-R (they have a third "CD" coming out! They've been together six months!) which is jaw-dropping given the source.
Finally, Jared Mees and the Grown Children (the moniker they've been using recently), who had been renamed Jared Mees and...shit, I got drunk and I lost my notes. But they were as joyful as the other two bands, loud I-was-here-for-grunge guitar (and clothes) with a folk-blues beat and playful vocals. And I went home even happier than I started. Damn, it was a good start to the weekend, and I went home bubbling over with all sorts of love and marvelousness and joy in everything. And I promise more about Jared Mees if I can find my notes (and read my drunken writing...).
