Still playing catch-up. Some time late last month, I went to see a three-band show at the DF. First up, Juan Prophet Organization. I was there with someone who likes to be at shows right on time, damnit! So we were there for this opening band, and regretted it. Damn, I hate bands in costumes. One guy dressed like Orville Redenbacher, another in a tux, a Tim-Burton-claymation-esque wench (who probably calls herself a wench...*shudder*) except not wraithlike and thin, and a genuine unitard-and-mask fucking superhero costume. Seriously? The music was like a vampire-metal stage musical as staged by a...ugh...troupe of Renaissance Festival minstrels in their off-season. After the set was over, all I could say was, "Let us never speak of this again." Oops...here I go speaking of it. Well, this will be the last time, I swear. Next, and the reason we were there (a favorite of the showgoing companion): Chris Robley and the Fear of Heights. I really want to like this guy, I swear I do. I'm thisclose. The vaguely orchestral bits are lovely. The traditional/americana nods are perfectly done. Interesting chords and rhythms. And then Robley's voice slips into a White Lion-esque hard-rock-ballad warble, and I'm jarred out of my enjoyment. Briefly, sure, but repeatedly. The word 'gone' does NOT have a 'w' in the middle! One syllable! ONE, damnit! Sigh. Thisclose. Finally, Heroes and Villains. I saw them once a few years ago, and hoped they had changed. Not much, sadly. It's kind of fun, but ultimately gimmicky. A cool collection of instruments put together mostly just to be a cool collection of instruments--celeste, a tiny organ-grinder's-monkey bass, tiny glockenspiel (of course), mandolin (I've come to hate the mandolin), and a bowler hat. They seemed to be playing dress-up, which just always seems amateurish to me. At some point, as a musician, don't you stop carefully selecting your costume-y outfit for every show? I still love Ali Ippolito and her accordion. The other chick's voice, though, was just grating and Lillith-Faire-y. We left early.
Next up...Spoooooon! (...said The Tick.) Some band called Everest opened. They were more-or-less adequate, not interesting, not awful. Spoon did their typical '60s garage-rock attack, but then threw in all this unexpected stuff, too. Is this a cover of some lost Pat Benetar B-side? Is there some Elvis Costello ballad I don't know about that they're channeling here? Though both times they tried to ballad (there really aren't Spoon ballads), they gave it up halfway through and decided to all-out rock. That's what they're good at, and damn, are they good at it! Some early-'80s Genesis, a helicopter noise, an underwater nature special...and every moment overwhelming and kick-fucking-ass. This was a one-off show rather than part of a tour and it showed, in a good way (though when they toured for Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, they totally tore shit up, too). I think Britt Daniel had gotten a new echo pedal, and called up the rest of the band in Austin, and said, "Come on up to Portland! The new pedal's coming FedEx!" It was like the new toy he couldn't put down.
Last up, a Show Someone Else Wanted To See (SSEWtS). I'd never been to Satyricon before (either the old Satyricon, which was defunct by just months after I'd moved here, or the new Satyricon, where this show was). It seemed pretty friendly for a punk club. The graffiti in the bathroom was, on the whole, kinda upbeat, and the band stickers were actually lined up, so they must be there on purpose. Dingy, as it ought to be, but some kind of interesting elements, like the distressed composite-stone bar, some sparkly vinyl booths, cute repro starburst formica tables, and galvanized-steel details. Maldroid was up first. Dressed in thrift-store suit jackets with band logos appliqued like country-club crests, an ascot, and a pair of white plastic sunglasses, they were goofy robot-electro-punk. The Devo cover fit in seamlessly, which should pretty much explain everything you need to know. They were pretty fun, and had their shit together. The Punk Group followed, and they were also uber-electro and Devo-influenced, with the occasional bizarro Mojo Nixon bit (once, I wanted to shout, "Elvis is everywhere!", but then the Devo kicked back in). Two guys and a lot of synth-looped and recorded sounds. And dancing. I would have liked this a lot more had misogyny not substituted for cleverness. This one's about a fat chick...this one's about an ugly chick...hey, another one about a fat chick. What could have been fun ended up vaguely irritating. They seem to have gone sunglasses shopping with Maldroid. And then, the SSEWtS we were there for, The Phenomenauts. Sci-fi rocka-punkabilly-surfpunk without exception. One punkabilly song = fun. A whole show of punkabilly songs = repetitive. And then there were the costumes...both onstage and in the audience (gag...wretch...ew). Rehearsed stage banter (to which the audience had its rehearsed responses...I'm not sure whether I disdain that sort of thing more when I don't know what the response is supposed to be, or when I do...) that was about their outer-space origins. So here's what I figured out: Surfpunk is punkabilly at half tempo. There was a cover...The Ramones? Good stuff, whatever it was. The band was fun, and danceable, but in the end, the spectacle and theatrics overshadowed the music, which was just too narrow-genre to really grab me. I remember the fog machine and the balloon and the toilet paper gun and the lasers, not the songs. I feel bad saying this about a band, because I really didn't dislike them, but...I would have loved this band when I was nineteen. I've just become a total snot about spectacle (oh, yeah, and the whole tightly-convention-bound genre of punkabilly) as I grow older. All in all, it was best described as a decent way to spend an evening, with the occasional pointy nudge of discomfort that comes from being forced to face my background as a total nerd. I'm not going to become a fan, but I'm not going to complain that I'll never get those hours back, either.
Sheesh, now that I'm caught up, it's time to go out and see some damn shows!
Sunday, March 22, 2009
A long, long time ago in a place far, far away
I should have made a new year's resolution or something. Post things right away, instead of waiting until you've forgottten all the details. Except that the only new year's resolution I've ever kept was the time I resolved not to make any more new year's resolutions, because not only do I not keep them, but it's a stupid tradition anyway. Why engage in failed self-reflection and self-improvement once a year, when you can do it all the time? Wait, that didn't come out right...
I had this lovely idea that I'd tell you about my vacation. Sure, it's not music, but it was fun. But now, it's so long ago and seems so far away. Of course, I just went to the coast. It's not that far away. I stayed in this little attached-cottage thing with a fireplace and an oblique view of the ocean, with huge rocks sending up great sprays of salt water as the tide came in on the sorta-private beach. Technically, there are no private beaches in Oregon, but there are plenty of beaches that are impossible to reach because they're surrounded by cliffs. This hotel, The Surfrider, just north of Depoe Bay, built stairs down the cliff to the otherwise impossible beach, so you can only reach it from the hotel. Or by kayak, or helicopter or something. The cottage was charmingly dated, probably built in the 1950s and last redecorated in the 1970s, and I loved it (the rest of the place seems condo-ish and...well, nice, if you like that sort of thing). I ate a massive amount of local and/or regional seafood (if I couldn't drive there the next day on a whim, I wouldn't eat fish that came from there). Some was astounding, like the fish and chips at Luna Sea fishery/fishmonger/tiny lunch spot in Yachats. I picked up a can of smoked tuna there that made a beautiful sauce for pasta. Some was only so-so, like the Huge-Ass Mound Of Seafood platter (or something like that) at Gracie's Sea Hag. Anyone who tells you it's one of the better places to eat on the coast hasn't been there in 20 years. I had good clam chowder (Rogue Public House in Newport, where I went primarily for the beer), and dull clam chowder (a little diner in Depoe Bay). As you can tell, vacation for me is all about the food.
And drink. I visited several wineries, including a very fun if somewhat ill-advised (by the time I had a beer at bowling that night, I was flat-out drunk) tour through the wine country of Dundee on my way home. On the coast: Flying Dutchman, calling themselves the only winery on the Oregon coast, had a couple of interesting wines. The Wine Cave or whatever it's called in Depoe Bay had mostly fruit wines from Nehalem Bay winery--fun, silly, and lacking complexity. The real grape wines (I don't remember who they were from, but probably just as well) were dull and watery tasting, and also lacking in complexity. They had a marechal foch, but even that wasn't any good. In the valley: Archery Summit, all pinot noirs, was pretty fascinating stuff, but crazy expensive. I had a long talk with a former Multnomah County commissioner who was also there tasting, about mental health funding. De Ponte Cellars also had some worthwhile stuff, and an incredible view! And by the time I got to Argyle, I was beginning to get a bit loopy. But I do remember that many of their wines are better and more interesting than the few of theirs you can get in the grocery store, and perhaps more worth the money. I also visited Rogue Public House in Newport (the home base of the Rogue empire). I got a sampler at the public house. Juniper Ale: Eh. A mild, sweet-ish pale ale that was not strongly junipery nor hoppy. Santa's Private Reserve: Hoppy and malty, maybe a bit too malty-sweet-sour for me. But the hop aroma was lovely and perfumey, just like I like it. Sesquicentennial Ale is made with lots of local ingredients for the state's 150th birthday. It's supposed to feature local hops, but what I noticed first was the spice flavors--almost rootbeery (but in a good way, I swear!). It was a dark honey color, and eventually settled down into a nice IPA style, though again, maltier than I like. Mocha Porter: Very toasty and roasty! Definitely accurately named, with clear bittersweet chocolate and coffee flavors. The texture was a bit flat, like a nitro but not. This was my favorite of the bunch. I brought home a Smoke Beer, which is a traditional German rauchbier. This one knocked me on my ass with its unbelievable awesomeness. It was like a deep honey-colored pale ale, and smoking the malt totally killed the sweetness and sour notes. Very smoke-flavored, and it was perfect to drink in front of the Petroleum-Based Wood Replacement Product fire, because the smoke aroma made up for the lack of wood fire smell! Lighter in color and malt flavor than other rauches I've had. Amazing. I also brought home a Yellow Snow IPA, which was damn good, and didn't suffer from the imbalance in malty sweetness that the other IPA-like beers did.
Aside from the eating, and drinking, and eating, and drinking some more, I did actually spend quite a bit of time both taking pictures of the ocean, and then putting the camera away and staring meditatively at it as it crashed and sprayed and lit up from behind. This is why I go to the coast in the winter. The vastness of the ocean, and the unhuman scale of its power, makes me feel very small, and it's the closest I get to a spiritual experience.
While driving up and down the coast between tiny towns, I was listening to lots of new stuff I've just acquired, but the one that spent the most time in heavy rotation was the new Point Juncture, WA disc, Heart To Elk. The week before, I'd seen their CD release in-store at Music Millenium. That show had a comparatively stripped-down, rock-esque sound with more guitar (and more guitar that sounded like guitar, rather than sounds from beyond the grave or a frightened animal, or a frightened animal from beyond the grave...) and no vibraphone. No vibraphone? It's like someone slipped a little Portland into their drinks while they weren't looking...but just a little. The disc is still refreshingly un-Portlandy. Un-punk, un-geek, un-americana. The class beauty (the quiet one who might also have been valedictorian), not the class clown. Amanda Spring's voice is like a muted bell, and the recording enhances that; Victor Paul Nash's voice is recorded to match. Orchestral and layered, with vibraphone (whew!), rich and lush yet also simple, built around unadorned vocals. The best way for me to describe this band is if a band of aliens encountered rock effects pedals and had no idea how they were used, so they made up their own uses for things like squealing guitar distortion, using it more like a violin than like a wailing assault of noise.
And all this was more than a month ago, so more to come! I'd offer previews, but it's probably just more efficient to start the next damn post. 'Til soon, imaginary readers!
I had this lovely idea that I'd tell you about my vacation. Sure, it's not music, but it was fun. But now, it's so long ago and seems so far away. Of course, I just went to the coast. It's not that far away. I stayed in this little attached-cottage thing with a fireplace and an oblique view of the ocean, with huge rocks sending up great sprays of salt water as the tide came in on the sorta-private beach. Technically, there are no private beaches in Oregon, but there are plenty of beaches that are impossible to reach because they're surrounded by cliffs. This hotel, The Surfrider, just north of Depoe Bay, built stairs down the cliff to the otherwise impossible beach, so you can only reach it from the hotel. Or by kayak, or helicopter or something. The cottage was charmingly dated, probably built in the 1950s and last redecorated in the 1970s, and I loved it (the rest of the place seems condo-ish and...well, nice, if you like that sort of thing). I ate a massive amount of local and/or regional seafood (if I couldn't drive there the next day on a whim, I wouldn't eat fish that came from there). Some was astounding, like the fish and chips at Luna Sea fishery/fishmonger/tiny lunch spot in Yachats. I picked up a can of smoked tuna there that made a beautiful sauce for pasta. Some was only so-so, like the Huge-Ass Mound Of Seafood platter (or something like that) at Gracie's Sea Hag. Anyone who tells you it's one of the better places to eat on the coast hasn't been there in 20 years. I had good clam chowder (Rogue Public House in Newport, where I went primarily for the beer), and dull clam chowder (a little diner in Depoe Bay). As you can tell, vacation for me is all about the food.
And drink. I visited several wineries, including a very fun if somewhat ill-advised (by the time I had a beer at bowling that night, I was flat-out drunk) tour through the wine country of Dundee on my way home. On the coast: Flying Dutchman, calling themselves the only winery on the Oregon coast, had a couple of interesting wines. The Wine Cave or whatever it's called in Depoe Bay had mostly fruit wines from Nehalem Bay winery--fun, silly, and lacking complexity. The real grape wines (I don't remember who they were from, but probably just as well) were dull and watery tasting, and also lacking in complexity. They had a marechal foch, but even that wasn't any good. In the valley: Archery Summit, all pinot noirs, was pretty fascinating stuff, but crazy expensive. I had a long talk with a former Multnomah County commissioner who was also there tasting, about mental health funding. De Ponte Cellars also had some worthwhile stuff, and an incredible view! And by the time I got to Argyle, I was beginning to get a bit loopy. But I do remember that many of their wines are better and more interesting than the few of theirs you can get in the grocery store, and perhaps more worth the money. I also visited Rogue Public House in Newport (the home base of the Rogue empire). I got a sampler at the public house. Juniper Ale: Eh. A mild, sweet-ish pale ale that was not strongly junipery nor hoppy. Santa's Private Reserve: Hoppy and malty, maybe a bit too malty-sweet-sour for me. But the hop aroma was lovely and perfumey, just like I like it. Sesquicentennial Ale is made with lots of local ingredients for the state's 150th birthday. It's supposed to feature local hops, but what I noticed first was the spice flavors--almost rootbeery (but in a good way, I swear!). It was a dark honey color, and eventually settled down into a nice IPA style, though again, maltier than I like. Mocha Porter: Very toasty and roasty! Definitely accurately named, with clear bittersweet chocolate and coffee flavors. The texture was a bit flat, like a nitro but not. This was my favorite of the bunch. I brought home a Smoke Beer, which is a traditional German rauchbier. This one knocked me on my ass with its unbelievable awesomeness. It was like a deep honey-colored pale ale, and smoking the malt totally killed the sweetness and sour notes. Very smoke-flavored, and it was perfect to drink in front of the Petroleum-Based Wood Replacement Product fire, because the smoke aroma made up for the lack of wood fire smell! Lighter in color and malt flavor than other rauches I've had. Amazing. I also brought home a Yellow Snow IPA, which was damn good, and didn't suffer from the imbalance in malty sweetness that the other IPA-like beers did.
Aside from the eating, and drinking, and eating, and drinking some more, I did actually spend quite a bit of time both taking pictures of the ocean, and then putting the camera away and staring meditatively at it as it crashed and sprayed and lit up from behind. This is why I go to the coast in the winter. The vastness of the ocean, and the unhuman scale of its power, makes me feel very small, and it's the closest I get to a spiritual experience.
While driving up and down the coast between tiny towns, I was listening to lots of new stuff I've just acquired, but the one that spent the most time in heavy rotation was the new Point Juncture, WA disc, Heart To Elk. The week before, I'd seen their CD release in-store at Music Millenium. That show had a comparatively stripped-down, rock-esque sound with more guitar (and more guitar that sounded like guitar, rather than sounds from beyond the grave or a frightened animal, or a frightened animal from beyond the grave...) and no vibraphone. No vibraphone? It's like someone slipped a little Portland into their drinks while they weren't looking...but just a little. The disc is still refreshingly un-Portlandy. Un-punk, un-geek, un-americana. The class beauty (the quiet one who might also have been valedictorian), not the class clown. Amanda Spring's voice is like a muted bell, and the recording enhances that; Victor Paul Nash's voice is recorded to match. Orchestral and layered, with vibraphone (whew!), rich and lush yet also simple, built around unadorned vocals. The best way for me to describe this band is if a band of aliens encountered rock effects pedals and had no idea how they were used, so they made up their own uses for things like squealing guitar distortion, using it more like a violin than like a wailing assault of noise.
And all this was more than a month ago, so more to come! I'd offer previews, but it's probably just more efficient to start the next damn post. 'Til soon, imaginary readers!
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