Which is kinda like knowing the band, which is kinda like being with the band, which is kinda like being in the band, which is kinda like being famous. Isn't it?
Got in FREEEEEE tonight to the PDX Pop Now! 2008 compilation CD release party! As a volunteer this year with PDX Pop Now, I got to be on the guest list. Entry to the show came with a free CD (actually, it's a two-disc set...it only retails for seven bucks, so go buy one, they're consistently awesome). Long-ass line, because Holocene is trying out the new mixed-all-ages OLCC rules. It took a while at the door for folks to show ID, get stamped and wristbanded, pay ten bucks (or talk to Seth if you were on the guest list...did I mention I was on the guest list? 'Cause, you know, I was. I saw the guest list. It was short. I was on it.), get a ticket for a compilation, then get directed to the right through the curtain if they didn't get a wristband, or up the ramp to the bar if they did. This is the first show under the new rules that I've been to (not all the venues are jumping on the bandwagon, and those that are are trying it out a little bit at a time, and I don't expect it to lead to any full-time all-ages venues). Holocene's got some pluses--it's divided into three areas already, and it's not necessary to go by the bar to get to the stage--and some minuses--the bar area is tiny, and has no attached bathrooms. There's also no way to divide the space so that it's possible to take a beer into the room with the stage. But I gotta applaud them for making it work, even if it isn't perfect.
I got to hang out with one of the PPN movers-and-shakers for a bunch of the evening, which was fun. I love walking in, being on the guest list, and just having my name checked off without having to tell them who I am (or spell my name...'Obscure' is easy enough, but the last name, 'Pfmusic-Snob', for some reason gives people all sorts of trouble). I also love hearing about how cool it's going to be to be a volunteer when the whole PPN festival rolls around!
So, yeah, besides the feeling-all-insidery stuff, there were bands, too. I got there for about 26 seconds of Fist Fite. I heard some from the sidewalk, too, as I was waiting for my turn through the rigamarole (doesn't it sound like a ride? It wasn't much like one). I can't actually describe them based on that (which doesn't sound like me, does it?). But worth hearing more. Some interesting sounds.
They were followed by Southern Belle. A bunch of kids who couldn't even get wristbands, but were tight, confident, and fun as all hell. A screamy keyboard player whose voice, at its best, sounded like early-Modest-Mouse Isaac Brock. A guitar player with a Rickenbacher I can only describe as cherry-vanilla sunburst, and a voice that, at its best (and its most uninterrupted by the screamy keyboardist) sounded like Lou Reed. Drummer hidden behind the two of them, and a female bass player in a ridiculous, fun strapless tiered periwinkle chiffon minidress. With all the energy onstage, she looked as if she were in slow motion, Still Life With Foofy Bass Player. But she was competent, so I'll forgive her for spending most of the time looking at her fingers.
After kind of a long wait, White Fang followed. With a name like that, I was afraid it'd be screech-metal, but no. Screamo punk with the occasional melodic interjection, with everyone running all over the stage smashing into each other. Actually not terrible, though their 20-minute set probably was just about enough for me.
I had a hellishly long day, preceded by a hellishly long yesterday. By 11:30, when White Fang ended, I just felt cooked and ready to go home. But I figured I'd at least check out the merch table, and got sucked in again by Seth from PPN. After chatting for a bit, I was going to go, but "Oh, come on, YACHT starts in ten minutes! Just stay for a few songs!" But YACHT is so damn fun! Toneless '80s-wannabe (and '80s-mocking) electro-dance-goofiness that I couldn't resist. I headbopped like mad. I finally tore myself away after six or seven songs. And sure, I haven't gone to bed yet, but I've gotten a lot closer. It's only 20 feet to my bed now, instead of three miles, and I'm in my pajamas.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Shhhhh! Or the Band That Almost Was.
First of all, this wasn't even my first-choice show. I intended to go out to Holocene for their 5th Anniversary show, free, with a ton of awesomeness including The Shaky Hands, Starfucker (the real reason I wanted to go, having seen them only-sorta once), Horsefeathers, and two DJs. Show at 9, I got there at 9:20, even the DJs hadn't started yet, and it was over capacity. The bouncers told us to give up hope and go elsewhere. Damnit.
I headed six blocks north to the "I totally would have planned to go to this show, but it conflicted with the other one" Matt Sheehy show. Pwrful Power opened, and I got there near the end of his set. A squeaky Japanese-by-way-of-Seattle deliberately-broken-english hilarious folk crooner with lyrics like "You're not really all that attractive, but I have a feeling we're meant to be together". The crowd was laughing awkwardly, like they knew they weren't supposed to be laughing out loud at an indie-folk-rock show at the Doug Fir, but they couldn't help themselves. Good stuff. Perfect opening band, fun and interesting but not something you would spend money to ensconce in your itunes lineup.
They were followed by The Brothers Young (or maybe The Young Brothers). Seven guys onstage without anyone leading the charge. The lyrics were pointless cliches. The hats made me think they'd been taking their fashion advice from Justin Timberlake. But the music had its moments, especially those moments it sounded like The Jam from early-'80's London. The throwback-to-proto-shoegazer bits were pretty stellar. But overall, they just didn't have a creative driving force. This band just needs to trade three or four mediocre middle infielders for a toolsy power hitter. (ETA: Turns out they're all related to someone-else Young, who heads Loch Lomond, and has played with them in the past. I guess they lost their toolsy guy to free agency.)
Matt Sheehy was pretty great. He had the dark-folk creepy-leaning vibe of John Vanderslice, but he sounded live like Vanderslice sounds recorded, so I imagine that Sheehy recorded is more polished and folky than what we heard. He had his rhythm-section-laden bits, but he did a set of three or four songs where the whole band sat on the stage floor in a circle with the lights off, too. During the midst of this set, I finally got off my perch and asked the bachelorette party behind me if, since they paid the cover to show up at a folk musician's show, they could respectfully keep it down. I was at my absolute most tactful and convincing, and for fuck's sake, convincing people of stuff is what I do for a living. The answer was that they each paid their seven bucks cover, and they could do what they wanted, fuck you. One of them walked by me a few minutes later and stopped to make grabbing motions with her fingers in my face while bitching (seriously, you need to come confront me after I've long since dropped the issue?), until finally I grabbed her wrist. ("Oh, oh, don't touch me!" Then keep your fingers out of the couple of inches in front of my eyes.) For crying out fucking loud, take your bachelorette party back to the nasty suburb you came from. I got a sympathetic look from the sound guy, but sadly, that's all the backup I got (I had three other patrons of the club on my side, but not any authority other than the "sorry it sucks" look when I mouthed "can you do anything about these people" to the sound guy).
How much does it suck that this is what I remember as much as or more than the music? I mean, holy hell, I'm 33 years old, and I have never in my life been in a bar fight. I really don't think this is my fault, and I want my seven dollars back.
I headed six blocks north to the "I totally would have planned to go to this show, but it conflicted with the other one" Matt Sheehy show. Pwrful Power opened, and I got there near the end of his set. A squeaky Japanese-by-way-of-Seattle deliberately-broken-english hilarious folk crooner with lyrics like "You're not really all that attractive, but I have a feeling we're meant to be together". The crowd was laughing awkwardly, like they knew they weren't supposed to be laughing out loud at an indie-folk-rock show at the Doug Fir, but they couldn't help themselves. Good stuff. Perfect opening band, fun and interesting but not something you would spend money to ensconce in your itunes lineup.
They were followed by The Brothers Young (or maybe The Young Brothers). Seven guys onstage without anyone leading the charge. The lyrics were pointless cliches. The hats made me think they'd been taking their fashion advice from Justin Timberlake. But the music had its moments, especially those moments it sounded like The Jam from early-'80's London. The throwback-to-proto-shoegazer bits were pretty stellar. But overall, they just didn't have a creative driving force. This band just needs to trade three or four mediocre middle infielders for a toolsy power hitter. (ETA: Turns out they're all related to someone-else Young, who heads Loch Lomond, and has played with them in the past. I guess they lost their toolsy guy to free agency.)
Matt Sheehy was pretty great. He had the dark-folk creepy-leaning vibe of John Vanderslice, but he sounded live like Vanderslice sounds recorded, so I imagine that Sheehy recorded is more polished and folky than what we heard. He had his rhythm-section-laden bits, but he did a set of three or four songs where the whole band sat on the stage floor in a circle with the lights off, too. During the midst of this set, I finally got off my perch and asked the bachelorette party behind me if, since they paid the cover to show up at a folk musician's show, they could respectfully keep it down. I was at my absolute most tactful and convincing, and for fuck's sake, convincing people of stuff is what I do for a living. The answer was that they each paid their seven bucks cover, and they could do what they wanted, fuck you. One of them walked by me a few minutes later and stopped to make grabbing motions with her fingers in my face while bitching (seriously, you need to come confront me after I've long since dropped the issue?), until finally I grabbed her wrist. ("Oh, oh, don't touch me!" Then keep your fingers out of the couple of inches in front of my eyes.) For crying out fucking loud, take your bachelorette party back to the nasty suburb you came from. I got a sympathetic look from the sound guy, but sadly, that's all the backup I got (I had three other patrons of the club on my side, but not any authority other than the "sorry it sucks" look when I mouthed "can you do anything about these people" to the sound guy).
How much does it suck that this is what I remember as much as or more than the music? I mean, holy hell, I'm 33 years old, and I have never in my life been in a bar fight. I really don't think this is my fault, and I want my seven dollars back.
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