Let me tell y'all about the lord's messenger, David Terry...he healed my migraine, y'all! Clap your hands! (And the darling guitarist didn't hurt either.)
Extra stressed and/or busy for a couple of weeks. Seems to have tanked the immune system. I'd had a scratchy throat all day, and by the time I got home, I had a rollicking headache as well. And a brewing stomachache. But holy hell, Aqueduct at the tiny, bitty Towne Lounge? I sure as hell wasn't missing that. As long as I hadn't horked up an organ...check that, a vital organ (appendix, you're on notice), I was going.
Graves opened up. I was sure I was way late, but they got started about a quarter after ten. How have I never seen this band? I'm pretty sure I've never seen this band. They open for everybody. Oh...yeah. They're the Opening Band. I never see the Opening Band. Pretty, dark stuff, that initially struck me as late-night desert highway music (with trumpet). Over time, it developed a '70s synth-pop ballad vibe, too (there was one I was absolutely certain would turn into Fleetwood Mac's Dreams (thunder only happens when it's raining...players only love you when they're playing...) but didn't). Lovely and soothing. I wanna see 'em again. But sitting cross-legged on the floor, my headache only got worse.
Boat up after that. Another "statistically inexplicable that I've never seen 'em" band. Remember when I complained about calling bands Pavement-esque? Well, shit. This band was Pavement-esque. Shouty dork-punk vocals. But with a quarter-cup of Barsuk and a generous dash of Elephant Six. I bounced around and had a great time. I wanted to buy a t-shirt even before they played, because they've gone on this baseball-card-themed kick. The t-shirt showed a drawing of a hand about to throw a two-seamed fastball. They had vinyl 7-inches that had the two-seam, the four-seam, and...oh, damn, I should know this one. I think it's a changeup. (ETA: After some research, I'm pretty sure it's a knuckle curve.) They even had baseball cards of themselves. And the sign for their merch was made out of a school-supplies-type folder with Kirby Puckett on it! Aw, Kirby...
Then Aqueduct. Their recorded music is Barsuk-label twee-rawk. Their live shows are just rawk. They just attack everything with a sledgehammer...and synth keys. For what might be the third time in a few weeks, I did something that could actually be called dancing. The cover of Warren G.'s Regulate (which samples Michael McDonald, so it's meta-bizarre...and meta-awesome!), which they've done before, was unbelievable. I was standing right next to the stage, which is six inches tall, so I was, like, nose to nose with these guys. So many favorite songs, rocked so hard...by the time I went home, the migraine was gone.
That was a few days ago. Tonight, totally on someone else's whim, I went to see Eliot Rose at Mississippi Pizza. He had a track on this year's PDX Pop Now compilation. His set was unbelievably adorable! A guy in a shirt and brown vintage-y tie, plus nerd glasses, reading passages that were like instructions to him from a 50s-era educational filmstrip about how he should interact with his audience. So funny! And then he did these incredibly charming songs that were often just him and an electric kalimba. You know, thumb piano. Except electric. He also had these looped synth bits, and three other guys that backed him up on some of the songs. The set was like pure, distilled joy fed through off-key vocals. Elephant Six, please give this man a call! It was his CD release show, and I had to have the CD.
But after a few days feeling fine, figuring I really had just tanked the immune system and a good night's sleep had solved the problem, I was genuinely feeling tonight like I was on my way to a full-blown cold. So I didn't stick around for the second band (made up mostly of the guys backing up Eliot Rose) and their CD release show. Gotta rest up for kickball, going to court (work, not pleasure), and a trip to Seattle for some Twins-Mariners fun. Sadly, Francisco Liriano won't be pitching Livan Hernandez's scheduled start on Monday, because I'd really love to see Franchise pitch. We'll see if I manage to sandwich in Run On Sentence at Towne Lounge on Sunday night.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Day Two! Day Three!
Huh...for once, it looks like, I'm going to finish something I started. As a volunteer for the festival this year, I promised myself I'd try to be a bit less...cutting...than usual in my commentary. So I will do my best not to make fun of the crowd. Except underwear guy. You just can't not make fun of a guy who leaves the last set on Saturday night stripped down to nothing but his navy-blue fruit-of-the-looms.
Saturday, day two, I started very early (I only missed two bands), because I really wanted to see Swim Swam Swum. I just saw them last month, and again, they were a metric shit-ton of fun, all bouncy, shouty dork-punk. I think my two favorite subgenres are dork-punk and goofball electronica. As I always give credit where credit is due, I'll admit that someone else coined the awesome description of them as Gordon Gano of the Violent Femmes fronting an early, pre-label seven-inch by The Police. Y La Bamba was beautiful, a little off-kilter, and had an accordion.
Missed The Tenses, and Andy Combs And The Moth, because I was being a band guide. Turns out I didn't get a beanie. But I helped people load and unload their stuff, and made sure they had towels and water, and got a couple of chuckles out of my line, "...and if you have any questions, I probably can't answer them, but I'll try to figure out who can." I continued to band guide through the next set, but also got to see the music. Sweater! is a two-man collaboration between Paul Alcott of Dat'r (and formerly of the Binary Dolls, a total spastic muppet) and...oh, I've forgottten her name, of Per Se. She's got a lovely, cute, shiny voice. Together, they provided more electro-goofy awesomeness, plus some adorable, too. They were followed by Bodhi, whom I remember liking but can't remember the set well enough to describe them (the peril of a 3-day, 48-band arrangement, I guess). When a friend who had gone home for a nap asked about the next band, A Ghost's Face Two Inches From Your Own Face (worst. name. ever.), I basically just grimaced and said, "Loud." And then I was done band-guiding (oh, I did help load in for the next set, because they were a bit short-handed, and because it involved being inside where AGF2IFYOF was not).
At this point, I went home and changed. I was incredibly sweaty. I was provided some lovely pesto pasta and green beans by the friend to whom I tersely described AGF2IFYOF, and after missing four bands (including, sadly, Reporter, formerly known as Wet Confetti), got my ass back in gear, damnit. Blind Pilot was...oh, damn, pretty good, but forgotten in the midst of all this other music. Living Proof was totally fun Beasties-like (but without the crazy samples) white-boy hip-hop. Turns out the two MCs scrounged up a DJ less than an hour before the show, and he was stellar (and bizarrely stone-faced). Portland Cello Project should have been fascinating, but they were far too quiet, and the folks that joined them onstage (they did a few with Loch Lomond) were therefore too loud. Memo to everyone everywhere (just in case): Never mike a cello with a mike on a mike stand. Get the clip-on one. Having seen, and attempted to describe, Loch Lomond several times now (they played the next set), I think I've got it down. It's a combination of Low-style slow-core with Irish girlfriend-died-in-a-tragic-fishing-accident dirge-ballads. I prefer the former to the latter. Ritchie Young of LL has a fascinating voice that ranges from bird-like to baritone. Atole was next...I can go ahead and describe it as Mexican/Native electro-dance, but it won't help. He was having so damn much fun onstage, and it was utterly infectious. Opening for Starfucker has to be the best slot ever. Think this guy's ever played to 600 people? Dear fire marshal: There were exactly 600 people. Not one more. I helped at the door for a while (probably mostly just distracted the people who were counting), and I can promise that it was an exact science, and that at any given time, the festival organizers were fully aware of exactly how many people were in the venue. It was amazing. (I am...uh...exaggerating isn't the word I'm looking for. Making shit up? Yeah, that's probably the right phrase.) And then, Starfucker. Holy fucking hell. Joy, and rock, and fun, and wildness, and charm, and I danced. Really, I did! Any band that can make me dance...they're something pretty special. This was the pinnacle of the fest.
Today, I started early again, because I was band-guiding for the second set. Missed the first two bands, and caught Meth Teeth, who are infinitely better than their awful name. They only did 15 minutes or so (bands were allotted 30, plus 10 between for changeover...it was amazing that anything was ever on schedule). I band-guided for Podington Bear, Grouper, and Mattress. Three one-man (or woman) experimental bands. Nobody needed a damn thing from me, for the most part. Can I help you carry your laptop? I'll take one end... Podington Bear has been doing wildly popular instrumental down-tempo electronica on the internet, and just got outed as Chad Crouch, who runs Hush Records. He put together a bunch of electro stuff as the backup music for local-Hush-records-illuminati kareoke. Various combinations of Nick Jaina, Adam Shearer, Rachel Blumberg, Ritchie Young, someone else from Loch Lomond, some other chick, Crouch himself (wearing a hood with bear ears)...oh, a few other people, too. REM (Everybody Hurts), Billy Idol (Eyes Without a Face), Elton John (Rocket Man), The Cure (Love Cats), Soft Cell (Tainted Love, of course). And, to cap it off, after much goading, Ross (a festival organizer) got up and did New Order (True Faith). Messy, horrifying, and fun as all hell. Grouper was a girl crosslegged on the floor of the stage, curled over her guitar with a two-foot-tall mike and an array of pedals in front of her. Echoey fuzz-noise stuff that was kind of nice. Mattress was this crazy-ass dude posturing and dancing and gyrating spastically as he melded electronica and classic rock-blues and fey british '80s whine-rock. I loved it.
Caught Cower, unintentionally. I meant to leave. Thrash metal with, apparently, Black Sabbath influences. I described it at the time as "There were probably a few months when I was 15 that I would have appreciated this, but then Nirvana came along, and I realized, 'This is what i was really looking for!'" Missed a band or two on a lunch/dinner run (there is no mid-afternoon equivalent to brunch, and there should be), and came back for some of Bark Hide and Horn. Portlandy indie-rock stuff, I liked them but need to see them in a different context to fully appreciate them, I think. At this point, my head was just full, and the only things getting my attention were over-the-top weirdnesses like Mattress. Oh, yeah, and that one conversation while waiting for lunch/dinner (linner? luncher?)...but that's probably a whole other post. Or a whole other blog. Or...yeah. Moving on. A Weather was slow, whispery, and mesmerizing. Fuzz-atmospheric folk? Finally saw Dragging An Ox Through Water, and he (it's one guy, a bandle) was...well, guy + acoustic guitar, all strummy, = folk, right? But, oh, all those electronic sounds, most homemade by altering other things...and the little keyboard rigged to hold long notes using quarters to hold the keys (I'd need to draw a diagram to explain how it worked, it was fascinating)...experimental noise weirdness. An indescribable, really cool pastiche of things that really shouldn't go together. Like that lime-cucumber-jalapeno popsicle I had at the farmer's market.
Skipped a few bands again. Went home to water my garden, and came back to catch a few minutes of Pure Country Gold (some kind of classic-rock-type rock, I think) before heading off down the road for a beer. Came back in time for The Warfield Experience. Had no idea what it was. Crazy-energy funk-R&B that inspired a mosh pit. I don't like funk or R&B, but it was impossible to resist. I danced like mad. I threw myself in the mosh pit. Caught a bit of Sandpeople, but it's hard to appreciate hip-hop when you can't hear the words. Norfolk and Western has gone nuts, and in a good way. Adam Selzer's become a guitar-rock god, and Rachel Blumberg's playing Janet Weiss, taking their alt-country circus to a new place entirely. A good place. Anyone remember when the Jayhawks released Sound of Lies, and they went from alt-country to some serious, loud, amazing classic-rawk sounds? This didn't sound like Sound of Lies, but the same descriptors apply to the whole process, but add "portlandy" and "2008".
And then I went home. Sorry, New Bloods, but I was wiped, and I have to work in the morning. And I didn't make the afterparty. I still only aspire to be the sort of person who rocks the afterparty.
Saturday, day two, I started very early (I only missed two bands), because I really wanted to see Swim Swam Swum. I just saw them last month, and again, they were a metric shit-ton of fun, all bouncy, shouty dork-punk. I think my two favorite subgenres are dork-punk and goofball electronica. As I always give credit where credit is due, I'll admit that someone else coined the awesome description of them as Gordon Gano of the Violent Femmes fronting an early, pre-label seven-inch by The Police. Y La Bamba was beautiful, a little off-kilter, and had an accordion.
Missed The Tenses, and Andy Combs And The Moth, because I was being a band guide. Turns out I didn't get a beanie. But I helped people load and unload their stuff, and made sure they had towels and water, and got a couple of chuckles out of my line, "...and if you have any questions, I probably can't answer them, but I'll try to figure out who can." I continued to band guide through the next set, but also got to see the music. Sweater! is a two-man collaboration between Paul Alcott of Dat'r (and formerly of the Binary Dolls, a total spastic muppet) and...oh, I've forgottten her name, of Per Se. She's got a lovely, cute, shiny voice. Together, they provided more electro-goofy awesomeness, plus some adorable, too. They were followed by Bodhi, whom I remember liking but can't remember the set well enough to describe them (the peril of a 3-day, 48-band arrangement, I guess). When a friend who had gone home for a nap asked about the next band, A Ghost's Face Two Inches From Your Own Face (worst. name. ever.), I basically just grimaced and said, "Loud." And then I was done band-guiding (oh, I did help load in for the next set, because they were a bit short-handed, and because it involved being inside where AGF2IFYOF was not).
At this point, I went home and changed. I was incredibly sweaty. I was provided some lovely pesto pasta and green beans by the friend to whom I tersely described AGF2IFYOF, and after missing four bands (including, sadly, Reporter, formerly known as Wet Confetti), got my ass back in gear, damnit. Blind Pilot was...oh, damn, pretty good, but forgotten in the midst of all this other music. Living Proof was totally fun Beasties-like (but without the crazy samples) white-boy hip-hop. Turns out the two MCs scrounged up a DJ less than an hour before the show, and he was stellar (and bizarrely stone-faced). Portland Cello Project should have been fascinating, but they were far too quiet, and the folks that joined them onstage (they did a few with Loch Lomond) were therefore too loud. Memo to everyone everywhere (just in case): Never mike a cello with a mike on a mike stand. Get the clip-on one. Having seen, and attempted to describe, Loch Lomond several times now (they played the next set), I think I've got it down. It's a combination of Low-style slow-core with Irish girlfriend-died-in-a-tragic-fishing-accident dirge-ballads. I prefer the former to the latter. Ritchie Young of LL has a fascinating voice that ranges from bird-like to baritone. Atole was next...I can go ahead and describe it as Mexican/Native electro-dance, but it won't help. He was having so damn much fun onstage, and it was utterly infectious. Opening for Starfucker has to be the best slot ever. Think this guy's ever played to 600 people? Dear fire marshal: There were exactly 600 people. Not one more. I helped at the door for a while (probably mostly just distracted the people who were counting), and I can promise that it was an exact science, and that at any given time, the festival organizers were fully aware of exactly how many people were in the venue. It was amazing. (I am...uh...exaggerating isn't the word I'm looking for. Making shit up? Yeah, that's probably the right phrase.) And then, Starfucker. Holy fucking hell. Joy, and rock, and fun, and wildness, and charm, and I danced. Really, I did! Any band that can make me dance...they're something pretty special. This was the pinnacle of the fest.
Today, I started early again, because I was band-guiding for the second set. Missed the first two bands, and caught Meth Teeth, who are infinitely better than their awful name. They only did 15 minutes or so (bands were allotted 30, plus 10 between for changeover...it was amazing that anything was ever on schedule). I band-guided for Podington Bear, Grouper, and Mattress. Three one-man (or woman) experimental bands. Nobody needed a damn thing from me, for the most part. Can I help you carry your laptop? I'll take one end... Podington Bear has been doing wildly popular instrumental down-tempo electronica on the internet, and just got outed as Chad Crouch, who runs Hush Records. He put together a bunch of electro stuff as the backup music for local-Hush-records-illuminati kareoke. Various combinations of Nick Jaina, Adam Shearer, Rachel Blumberg, Ritchie Young, someone else from Loch Lomond, some other chick, Crouch himself (wearing a hood with bear ears)...oh, a few other people, too. REM (Everybody Hurts), Billy Idol (Eyes Without a Face), Elton John (Rocket Man), The Cure (Love Cats), Soft Cell (Tainted Love, of course). And, to cap it off, after much goading, Ross (a festival organizer) got up and did New Order (True Faith). Messy, horrifying, and fun as all hell. Grouper was a girl crosslegged on the floor of the stage, curled over her guitar with a two-foot-tall mike and an array of pedals in front of her. Echoey fuzz-noise stuff that was kind of nice. Mattress was this crazy-ass dude posturing and dancing and gyrating spastically as he melded electronica and classic rock-blues and fey british '80s whine-rock. I loved it.
Caught Cower, unintentionally. I meant to leave. Thrash metal with, apparently, Black Sabbath influences. I described it at the time as "There were probably a few months when I was 15 that I would have appreciated this, but then Nirvana came along, and I realized, 'This is what i was really looking for!'" Missed a band or two on a lunch/dinner run (there is no mid-afternoon equivalent to brunch, and there should be), and came back for some of Bark Hide and Horn. Portlandy indie-rock stuff, I liked them but need to see them in a different context to fully appreciate them, I think. At this point, my head was just full, and the only things getting my attention were over-the-top weirdnesses like Mattress. Oh, yeah, and that one conversation while waiting for lunch/dinner (linner? luncher?)...but that's probably a whole other post. Or a whole other blog. Or...yeah. Moving on. A Weather was slow, whispery, and mesmerizing. Fuzz-atmospheric folk? Finally saw Dragging An Ox Through Water, and he (it's one guy, a bandle) was...well, guy + acoustic guitar, all strummy, = folk, right? But, oh, all those electronic sounds, most homemade by altering other things...and the little keyboard rigged to hold long notes using quarters to hold the keys (I'd need to draw a diagram to explain how it worked, it was fascinating)...experimental noise weirdness. An indescribable, really cool pastiche of things that really shouldn't go together. Like that lime-cucumber-jalapeno popsicle I had at the farmer's market.
Skipped a few bands again. Went home to water my garden, and came back to catch a few minutes of Pure Country Gold (some kind of classic-rock-type rock, I think) before heading off down the road for a beer. Came back in time for The Warfield Experience. Had no idea what it was. Crazy-energy funk-R&B that inspired a mosh pit. I don't like funk or R&B, but it was impossible to resist. I danced like mad. I threw myself in the mosh pit. Caught a bit of Sandpeople, but it's hard to appreciate hip-hop when you can't hear the words. Norfolk and Western has gone nuts, and in a good way. Adam Selzer's become a guitar-rock god, and Rachel Blumberg's playing Janet Weiss, taking their alt-country circus to a new place entirely. A good place. Anyone remember when the Jayhawks released Sound of Lies, and they went from alt-country to some serious, loud, amazing classic-rawk sounds? This didn't sound like Sound of Lies, but the same descriptors apply to the whole process, but add "portlandy" and "2008".
And then I went home. Sorry, New Bloods, but I was wiped, and I have to work in the morning. And I didn't make the afterparty. I still only aspire to be the sort of person who rocks the afterparty.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Today, I would add the exclamation point even if it didn't belong there.
PDX Pop Now!
!
Day 1: I got up very early, in Eugene, OR (no, it wasn't on purpose, it was for a training). Four hours of sitting and listening to something I don't really buy into (after another three days of the same). Two-plus-hour drive, and I should have gone straight home, I really should have. But no...stupid bleeding heart...I went to a meeting. At child welfare. It was endless. It accomplished nothing.
I went home, scraped together some dinner, watched the Twins lose a fifth game in a row (ugh), then off to Rotture! Tu Fawning, Guidance Counselor, Dykeritz, Panther, Nick Jaina, Devin Phillips (funk-jazz, kind of new direction for this fest), and The Builders And The Butchers. Weird fun, crazy-ass goofy loud awesome, meh--weird, electro-wow!, great and energetic, really good but maybe a bit too '70s for my taste, and hyper-intense energy (in that order). Everything ended up running really late, so the show finally ended at 2:15, and TBATB had a stupid-drunk half-mosh-pit-half-jam-dance mess going on that detracted from the show. But overall, a great time was had by all. Or at least by me, and everyone else looked to be having fun, too. Before the evening's festivities, my brain hurt. After the show, my feet hurt. I'll make that trade any day.
To come: Two really full more-than-twelve-hour days of this! 38 more bands! And I'm volunteering tomorrow and Sunday for the festival. I get to be a band guide! I don't really know exactly what that entails, so I'm picturing myself as a Girl Guide (the european version of a Girl Scout), but with a rhythm section. Awesome.
!
Day 1: I got up very early, in Eugene, OR (no, it wasn't on purpose, it was for a training). Four hours of sitting and listening to something I don't really buy into (after another three days of the same). Two-plus-hour drive, and I should have gone straight home, I really should have. But no...stupid bleeding heart...I went to a meeting. At child welfare. It was endless. It accomplished nothing.
I went home, scraped together some dinner, watched the Twins lose a fifth game in a row (ugh), then off to Rotture! Tu Fawning, Guidance Counselor, Dykeritz, Panther, Nick Jaina, Devin Phillips (funk-jazz, kind of new direction for this fest), and The Builders And The Butchers. Weird fun, crazy-ass goofy loud awesome, meh--weird, electro-wow!, great and energetic, really good but maybe a bit too '70s for my taste, and hyper-intense energy (in that order). Everything ended up running really late, so the show finally ended at 2:15, and TBATB had a stupid-drunk half-mosh-pit-half-jam-dance mess going on that detracted from the show. But overall, a great time was had by all. Or at least by me, and everyone else looked to be having fun, too. Before the evening's festivities, my brain hurt. After the show, my feet hurt. I'll make that trade any day.
To come: Two really full more-than-twelve-hour days of this! 38 more bands! And I'm volunteering tomorrow and Sunday for the festival. I get to be a band guide! I don't really know exactly what that entails, so I'm picturing myself as a Girl Guide (the european version of a Girl Scout), but with a rhythm section. Awesome.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Three Little Words
Turns out that there are three little words that indicate to me that it's going to be a truly ass-kicking show. Low side project.
But I'll start at the beginning. I...you know. Missed the opening band. As always. The Valiant Arms. I'm pretty sure I've missed seeing every band ever that has 'Arms' in the name. There's like a dozen of them.
The Obits followed. I had read the little blurb about the show that gets e-mailed out by the Doug Fir. Something about Pavement-esque garage rock. This show, if nothing else, demonstrated just how lazy it is to call anything with a garage rock element 'Pavement-esque'. Because they were nothing like Pavement. Pavement, god love 'em, rocked the wide-eyed indie-dork punk. The Obits, while probably technically garage rock, were totally late-'70s New York London-influenced (but also, though in that era I'm sure they'd rather die than admit it, also influenced by the Stones and Zeppelin) garage-proto-punk with some west-coast elements. I didn't so much listen to them as just end up infused by them. The rhythm-section barrage was as good as a massage. I wouldn't rush out to buy a CD, but the show itself was killer.
Then Retribution Gospel Choir. A side project of Alan Sparhawk from Low. Where the fuck does this guy get the energy and intensity? I almost felt sorry for Mimi, having to live with that, until he pulled off an astounding guitar solo played with his mouth. Then I was a bit jealous of her. It was...shit, I dunno. It was indescribable. Perhaps the best show I've seen all year. Perhaps the best show I've seen ever. Without question the best show I've seen without knowing a single song when I showed up. Incredibly intense and rocking, ranging from The Cars to some elements of Low (of course) to two songs that seemed totally like Kid Dakota (he's played with Low before) to a U2 guitar bit to...shit. I can't even...there are no words. Seriously, OMS is left without words to describe it. Raise your hand if you've seen me speechless before. Anyone?
But the best lyrics ever: "Everyone loves power, and everyone loves cake..."
I've seen a bunch of other shows I haven't had a chance to review yet, too. I feel like I'm missing several shows before this, but I simply can't remember. So I'll start with The Reverend Horton Heat at Wonder Ballroom. Went mostly because someone said, "hey, wanna go?" And if I don't answer at least 42% of questions with "why the hell not?" I feel like I'm missing a vital nutrient in my diet. Missed Supersuckers opening. A name I've heard, they've been around for years, but I don't know their stuff. Still don't. Followed by Nashville Pussy. Just...ick. Southern-rock/metal with nary a whiff of irony. Damnit, where's my irony? Ugly, loud, and vulgar. The Reverend Horton Heat was a ton of fun, surf-punk-rocka-punkabilly in varying degrees plus a totally unwarranted (and awesome as all hell) Nirvana cover. But...ugh, the crowd. Ugly. Physically ugly, behaviorally ugly...just ugly. And it was a 100-degree day with weak air conditioning.
The Maybe Happening, Candle, and Swim Swam Swum at the Doug Fir. Swim Swam Swum is one of those bands where I know the name, and know the music, and always fail to put the two together. Shining bouncy screamy cute punk-pop. I love it. Except that...oh dear, that's Nice Girl Guy on drums, isn't it? A sparsely attended show in a tiny room with nowhere to hide...I was resigned to being called a nice girl...and he never meets nice girls. But no! Either he's realized I'm not a nice girl (and was never nice to him, for certain), has realized that 'nice girls' aren't all that interesting, or has been shot down enough times he's finally decided not to try again. Did I see Candle? I don't remember. Maybe they were the opening-band-I-never-see. Maybe I just don't remember them (it was about a month ago...). And then The Maybe Happening. I've described them before, but they just keep getting better. And every damn time I see them, I develop a little bit of a crush on Nathan. It's not that he's attractive. I just can't help but look at him and think, "damn, imagine what he could do with all that energy..."
On the 4th of July, at the Doug Fir, I saw...well, there was an Opening Band (so you know how that went), then Fernando. Described as up-and-coming, someone who's garnered some important attention...seriously? They sounded like (and mostly looked like) a crappy suburban bar-band playing the far-flung "jazz-blues" club filled with baby boomers, who are really a cover band. Does someone like them because the lead singer sings in Spanish, which is exotic? I don't get it. At least they didn't cover Mustang Sally. And then Nick Jaina. He started with a bunch of newer stuff that isn't on released discs, and it was mostly low-key. It felt like Fernando had robbed them of their energy, or perhaps their relevance. But then things began to pick up. Nathan got down into the small crowd and talked individual people into singing along. They played Burning House. They played Fruit On The Vine. They got playful, fun, and a bit wild. It ended well. But Nick claimed they had to get up the next day to record live, so no encore. Sad.
I'm sure there are several shows I've forgotten to mention, and I can only hope that in forgetting, my joy (or my cynicism, or whatever) has left me, only to become a part of the ether, the collective unconscious. So if I no longer remember, you can tell me about it later.
But I'll start at the beginning. I...you know. Missed the opening band. As always. The Valiant Arms. I'm pretty sure I've missed seeing every band ever that has 'Arms' in the name. There's like a dozen of them.
The Obits followed. I had read the little blurb about the show that gets e-mailed out by the Doug Fir. Something about Pavement-esque garage rock. This show, if nothing else, demonstrated just how lazy it is to call anything with a garage rock element 'Pavement-esque'. Because they were nothing like Pavement. Pavement, god love 'em, rocked the wide-eyed indie-dork punk. The Obits, while probably technically garage rock, were totally late-'70s New York London-influenced (but also, though in that era I'm sure they'd rather die than admit it, also influenced by the Stones and Zeppelin) garage-proto-punk with some west-coast elements. I didn't so much listen to them as just end up infused by them. The rhythm-section barrage was as good as a massage. I wouldn't rush out to buy a CD, but the show itself was killer.
Then Retribution Gospel Choir. A side project of Alan Sparhawk from Low. Where the fuck does this guy get the energy and intensity? I almost felt sorry for Mimi, having to live with that, until he pulled off an astounding guitar solo played with his mouth. Then I was a bit jealous of her. It was...shit, I dunno. It was indescribable. Perhaps the best show I've seen all year. Perhaps the best show I've seen ever. Without question the best show I've seen without knowing a single song when I showed up. Incredibly intense and rocking, ranging from The Cars to some elements of Low (of course) to two songs that seemed totally like Kid Dakota (he's played with Low before) to a U2 guitar bit to...shit. I can't even...there are no words. Seriously, OMS is left without words to describe it. Raise your hand if you've seen me speechless before. Anyone?
But the best lyrics ever: "Everyone loves power, and everyone loves cake..."
I've seen a bunch of other shows I haven't had a chance to review yet, too. I feel like I'm missing several shows before this, but I simply can't remember. So I'll start with The Reverend Horton Heat at Wonder Ballroom. Went mostly because someone said, "hey, wanna go?" And if I don't answer at least 42% of questions with "why the hell not?" I feel like I'm missing a vital nutrient in my diet. Missed Supersuckers opening. A name I've heard, they've been around for years, but I don't know their stuff. Still don't. Followed by Nashville Pussy. Just...ick. Southern-rock/metal with nary a whiff of irony. Damnit, where's my irony? Ugly, loud, and vulgar. The Reverend Horton Heat was a ton of fun, surf-punk-rocka-punkabilly in varying degrees plus a totally unwarranted (and awesome as all hell) Nirvana cover. But...ugh, the crowd. Ugly. Physically ugly, behaviorally ugly...just ugly. And it was a 100-degree day with weak air conditioning.
The Maybe Happening, Candle, and Swim Swam Swum at the Doug Fir. Swim Swam Swum is one of those bands where I know the name, and know the music, and always fail to put the two together. Shining bouncy screamy cute punk-pop. I love it. Except that...oh dear, that's Nice Girl Guy on drums, isn't it? A sparsely attended show in a tiny room with nowhere to hide...I was resigned to being called a nice girl...and he never meets nice girls. But no! Either he's realized I'm not a nice girl (and was never nice to him, for certain), has realized that 'nice girls' aren't all that interesting, or has been shot down enough times he's finally decided not to try again. Did I see Candle? I don't remember. Maybe they were the opening-band-I-never-see. Maybe I just don't remember them (it was about a month ago...). And then The Maybe Happening. I've described them before, but they just keep getting better. And every damn time I see them, I develop a little bit of a crush on Nathan. It's not that he's attractive. I just can't help but look at him and think, "damn, imagine what he could do with all that energy..."
On the 4th of July, at the Doug Fir, I saw...well, there was an Opening Band (so you know how that went), then Fernando. Described as up-and-coming, someone who's garnered some important attention...seriously? They sounded like (and mostly looked like) a crappy suburban bar-band playing the far-flung "jazz-blues" club filled with baby boomers, who are really a cover band. Does someone like them because the lead singer sings in Spanish, which is exotic? I don't get it. At least they didn't cover Mustang Sally. And then Nick Jaina. He started with a bunch of newer stuff that isn't on released discs, and it was mostly low-key. It felt like Fernando had robbed them of their energy, or perhaps their relevance. But then things began to pick up. Nathan got down into the small crowd and talked individual people into singing along. They played Burning House. They played Fruit On The Vine. They got playful, fun, and a bit wild. It ended well. But Nick claimed they had to get up the next day to record live, so no encore. Sad.
I'm sure there are several shows I've forgotten to mention, and I can only hope that in forgetting, my joy (or my cynicism, or whatever) has left me, only to become a part of the ether, the collective unconscious. So if I no longer remember, you can tell me about it later.
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