To all things not hairy and reclusive

Getting one step closer to being caught up? Shit, it's a long road. It's a good thing I take notes! This post covers all things not Sasquatch (the music festival). The first show on the list was John Vanderslice at Mississippi Studios. I walked into the middle of the Mimicking Birds set. It was whispery folk/non-folk/post-folk minor-key sometimes-arhythmic stuff. I kinda liked it. I could imagine listening to it late at night with a crowd of friends, if I were the sort of person who sat around in a darkened living room late at night with a crowd of friends. It had a bit of the Nick-Drake-Volkswagen-commercial vibe--not that it sounded like that, it just had that feel. Once, as the band got started slowly into a song, someone in the back of the club started clapping far, far off the rhythm, and the lead singer looked out into the audience with an air of fear. There was an oddly Paul Simon bit in there somewhere, and some stuff that sounded like My Morning Jacket but without Jim James. JV was up next. He did some new stuff, including one that was startling in its intensity. I mean, even compared to most of his stuff. And many of his songs have this disturbing, almost dangerous quality to them. One of the things I love about Vanderslice. though, is how quickly his songs become familiar, even though they're odd and complex. I left humming Too Much Time, and bought the new album on my way out. Vanderslice loves his fans, and loves Portland. The stage banter is almost the best part. It's kind of fascinating watching him convince the audience to give him things. This time it was a flashlight, to light the dark part of the stage where his keyboardist was sitting. He tossed it up to someone in the balcony who carefully trained it on the dark corner. He talked, like he does every time he's here, about how much he wants to move to Portland. "I moved to San Francisco to be with a girlfriend. I should have just kept going up I-5." (someone in the audience:) "You can find a Portland girlfriend!" (JV:) "Yeah, I'm sure my wife would love that!" Later on: "Do we have a set list?" (someone in the audience:) "I took it." (JV:) "Oh, okay, can you read me what's next?" Several times, he started a song, then stopped. "I fucked that up...can we start over?" It's like hanging out with the guy. But it's kind of uncomfortable when the audience treats it as such, shouting out between songs faux-personal connections about that one time I talked to you at that show in that one city, do you remember? I don't really want to be associated with those folks, the ones called home by his stories of mental illness and desperation. I just want to revel in the complicated storytelling and the intensity of the guitar, broken up by goofball self-effacement and playful interaction between songs.

Sasquatch came next, sequentially. Three days of three music stages (sometimes four) out in the baking sun of the Eastern Washington high desert. That gets a post all to itself--maybe two.

I've actually lost track of the sequence of all the other non-Sasquatch shows! I will randomly pull notes out of the pile next to me on the couch. And the winner is....Bazillionaire! At Langano Lounge, which is the basement of an Ethiopian restaurant. This is the new-er-ish band of Jesse, who used to be in Point Juncture, WA. Jesse may be one of the nicest people I've ever met. I once gave him someone else's Oreos, because he's just so nice you can't help but do things like that. I was so relieved that the band was really likeable. I'd hate to dislike the music of someone so damn nice. As they launched into their set, I thought, "It's kinda like Nada Surf, but loud, messy, live-sounding, and awesome." Jesse: "That's the one that sounds like Nada Surf." I heard a bunch of other good '90s stuff in Bazillionaire: The Promise Ring, various Apartment Music bands. Great '90s indie echoes seem to be the theme for Langano Lounge (...she pronounces definitively after being there twice). They had a viola player that apparently drove up from Southern Oregon somewhere and rehearsed with them for a night. The bassist is reportedly the new bassist for Swim Swam Swum, which is odd beyond belief. SSS is music for pogo-ing wildly to, bouncy punk-pop joy. The bassist stood statue-like and still, her back to the audience, watching her fingers. In SSS, she will look like she's in slow motion. Maybe she'll run in terror from the stage.

Next drawn out of the hat is the PDX Pop Now! 2009 CD release party! This year, I was prepared for (and resigned to) the uncomfortable setup that is Holocene as an all-ages venue. Nice gesture, poor design. The avid drinkers among us (show of hands? my hand's up...) are kind of ghettoized to what ends up feeling like a little catwalk next to the bar. But the emcee for the night was adorably gorgeous in a tuxedo (hi Seth!). Anyhow, The Taxpayers started out. They had kind of a Jared Mees vibe, with bits of Irish punk, a moment of klezmer, and a good dose of garage rock. And some accordion. Is there such a thing as accordion punk? They apparently told long, rambling stories and jokes, but I couldn't hear any of that. Next up, What's Up? This was all instrumental. I have little patience for all-instrumental stuff. But they managed to hold my interest admirably. Three guys playing their set in the middle of the crowd, with keyboards, bass, and either drums or guitar. It was math-rock-y but fun, not I'm-smarter-than-you mean-spirited. I tried (and mostly failed) to take some cool pictures of the set. Jared Mees and the Grown Children were up next. I found it a bit unfortunate that they were on a bill with The Taxpayers, who sorta stole their shtick. Bouncy twang-craziness that you can't help but love. The boyfriend asked him about the song The Tallest Building In Hell. Is it about a relationship gone painfully and irrevocably sour, or is it about stressful and difficult times ultimately resolved? I was on the side of the lyric, "patience pays off...eventually." I seem to have won that one. Copy was up last. I took a few pictures of the keytar, then crashed, losing all ability to make sense of what was going on. I'm pretty sure I helped with clean up, then...was there Potato Champion? I have a vague memory of The Carts that may or may not have been from that night.

Finally, I went to this show at A Roadside Attraction for one reason and one reason only. I came across info on this band called What Hearts, and there was apparently a band member with the same name as a pretty good friend of mine from high school with whom I had lost contact years ago. What's the chance it could be the same person? Someone highly Nordic from suburban Minneapolis? What Hearts was what could, either uber-charmingly or cliche-dly be called 'old-timey music.' It was whispery, twangy, and ultimately beautifully lacking in novelty. I was entranced. It did end up being that high school friend of mine, and it was both mundane and profound to make such an old connection and have it feel both familiar and unexpected/distant/nostalgic. They were followed by an act led by a female musician with a stellar if a bit decorative and romantic-pop voice, who played some piano and then a bit of...accordion? Wait just a minute. With hair like that, and that nose...it's Ali Ippolito! She continues to be a remarkable musician whose musical tastes I just don't always jibe with. Angry accordion solo (yes!) into sexy-piano-pop-blues like Fiona Apple (no! Go back!).

But wait, there's more! Just not right this second. Sasquatch still to come. Lots and lots of Sasquatch.

Next!

Still getting caught up. I just realized I saw a show I did not list in the attempt at a list in the last post. A benefit for PDX Pop Now! called Make It Pop!. Ryan Sollee of The Builders And The Butchers started, but I got there just for half of the last song. I had a cupcake and a beer from Captured By Porches brewing. I'd like to drink more of their beers. Loch Lomond played next, and they were the only full band of the night. Richie Young's vocal range never fails to astound me. He ranged from birdlike to baritone, with the band occasionally calling up Fleet Foxes and pointing the occasional finger at an Irish folk dirge. Then there was cake. Marty Marquis of Blitzen Trapper followed. I guess he's not the main songwriter for BT, but certainly worthwhile in his own right. He looks like a math genius heading toward his first psychotic break, with this wild, curly red hair and beard that looks all ready to matt up at any provocation. And the glasses to match. Like BT, he calls largely upon the '70s, but instead of BT's prog rock, he goes more of a Neil Young slant, with some fingerpicking and a nod to Gordon Lightfoot. And some good stage banter about Yakima and ghosts. Brandon Summers of The Helio Sequence was next on the bill. He also called upon Neil Young, lots of strummed guitar and harmonica. There were also moments that recalled Paul Simon. I suddenly felt like everyone in Portland is exactly my age. My musical childhood seems to be reflected everywhere around me. James Mercer of The Shins headlined. A tiny venue holding maybe 100 people (okay, the Ace Hotel site says The Cleaners holds 160, but I bet it's less once you set up a space for the band to play), mostly seated cross-legged on the floor, enthralled. He played some familiar stuff, some unrecorded stuff, and a couple of brand new songs. He twanged things up a little to match with the '70s-folk vibe of much of the rest of the show. He said Weird Divide is his mom's favorite song. My mom really likes The Shins, but everything she likes is mid-tempo and major-key, so Weird Divide is out. It was utterly kick-ass.

Next up was The Shins and The Delta Spirit at the Crystal Ballroom. The Delta Spirit was all references, no referrer. All hat, nothing to hang it on. This one sounds kind of like Joe Cocker, then that one sounds all Dylan-wannabe, with some Springsteen bits...oh, a few moments of Tom Waits before a whole bunch more Joe Cocker. "We're playing rock!" Eh. The Shins always put on a great show. They make these pretty songs that are a bit weird, and then live, they make these weird, pretty songs rock. Garage rock from the late '60s. But pretty. And weird. It was interesting to see the full band at the Crystal just a week or less after seeing James Mercer solo from 11 feet away. Again, a few new songs, which bodes well on the new album front. They did what Spoon did when I saw them at the Crystal a couple of months ago: Take their familiar songs and filter them through a kaleidoscope of a zillion fractured and shifting influences and references and tongue-in-cheek stealing from classic bands. The Shins doing Spoon covering Billy Joel borrowing from early '70s garage punk. The Shins doing Devo doing a calypso arena-rock number. The Shins pretending they're the Doobie Brothers but with Andy Summers playing guitar. Sadly, New Slang was just kind of the perfunctory "we have to play this, but let's just get through it" cover of themselves that the most pop single always seems to get from innovative bands like this. I'd love it if interesting bands reconstructed their singles in live shows the way they do other songs. Then, on top of all the references and playing at being other bands, The Shins actually covered a Beach Boys song. It was pretty great. To come full circle for my week, they started the encore with a cover of Neil Young's Helpless. See? Everyone in Portland is my age, and grew up sitting on the speaker in their footie pajamas while their dads played their favorite records over and over again. It was a marvelous show, and I left happy.

Side note: My parents are moving and semi-retiring, and getting rid of most of their stuff. My dad's set aside a bunch of records for me. At first, when he told me there were 22 of them, I was sure I'd veto most of them, but no, it was just a few. I'm getting Simon and Garfunkel, The Doobie Brothers, and (blush...I shouldn't admit this) James Taylor. Earth, Wind & Fire. Neil Young. Crosby, Stills & Nash's first record. Carly Simon, and Joni Mitchell (Court & Spark!). Sergio Mendez & Brazil '66. Though I was crushed to find out that the stellar, high-end Technics record player from the early 1980s, this perfect-condition piece of machinery that would be the envy of any DJ, got sold in the estate sale. You win some, you lose some. At least I get the cookie jar.

Has it really been two months?

Okay, so I've been busy. But that's no excuse for ignoring you, the blogoverse, is it? NO, it is not. Bad OMS. I'm not sure I can even count how many bands I've seen in that time. A quick review gives me 56, but I figure I must be forgetting some. There was some good (and great), some bad, and definitely some ugly.

The Heartless Bastards, with Gaslight Anthem and A Death In The Family. Andrew Oliver Kora Band and Krebsic Orkestar (real Balkan gypsies, not jam-band hippies). The Shins and Delta Spirit. Bazillionaire. What Hearts and...oh, some band that was led by Ali Ippolito (it may be called When The Broken Bow). The 2009 PDX Pop Now! CD release show with Copy, Jared Mees and the Grown Children, What's Up (ETA: I have been corrected. They are, it turns out, What's Up?.), and The Taxpayers. John Vanderslice and Mimicking Birds. And Sasquatch, which has bloated to three full days, where I saw: Blind Pilot, Death Vessel, Doves, Passion Pit, M. Ward, Devotchka, Mt. St. Helens Vietnam Band, Arthur & Yu, Animal Collective, Sun Kil Moon, Ra Ra Riot, The Decemberists, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Bon Iver, Viva Voce, Point Juncture WA, Hockey, The Walkmen, John Vanderslice (again), Calexico, Fences, St. Vincent, The Builders and the Butchers, The Submarines, Murder City Devils, TV On The Radio, M83, The Heartless Bastards (again), Deerhoof, The Pica Beats, Horsefeathers, Bishop Allen, School of Seven Bells, Gogol Bordello, Blitzen Trapper, The Duchess and the Duke, Monotonix, Silversun Pickups, Beach House, Girl Talk, Erykah Badu (not by choice, I swear), and Explosions In The Sky.

Am I forgetting anything?

I'll start at the very beginning. A very good place to....erm...sorry. I thought i had exorcised Mary Poppins. Anyhow, moving on. I hadn't been to Berbati's in a long time, but one of The Boyfriend's favorite bands was playing, so there we were. Thanks to confusion about how Berbati's labels tickets (I've also shown up an hour before the music starts over this, leading to total awkwardness), we missed Cage The Elephant, which is too bad, because the New Music Hour song is pretty good. We walked in early in the Death In The Family Set. Teenage-boy-working-at-a-gas-station-with-the-little-undergrown-mustache-hoping-he's-more-emotional-and-deep-than-his-high-school-dropout-peers aggro-lite. Music for guys with an IQ of 90. The Boyfriend: "At least they're not from Portland." OMS: "Nah, they'd be from Gresham." Then, the reason we were there, The Heartless Bastards. A particular favorite of The Boyfriend. I'd call them the best possible version of caucasian bar-blues-rock. Because caucasian girl-fronted twang-leaning blues-rock is such a narrow genre, it overlapped with things I hate, like Tina & The B-Sides and early KD Lang, but the absolute lack of self-conscious schtick saved it every time it wandered into those territories. The drums were absolutely ass-kicking. The venue has seen better crowds. Once, a bouncer suddenly perked up, ears forward. A second or less later, he leapt into action, diving into the crowd to grab a guy by the throat and shove him backward out the door. He apparently deserved it, though once The Boyfriend pulls me deep into the front-of-the-stage crowd, I can't see anything except the headstock of the bass and the weird hair of that one guy ten inches in front of me, who isn't really even very tall, but moves two inches every time I do, without fail. The crowd did get difficult a couple of times, once at this loud, chatty couple who, once they decided (under duress) to leave, got shoved in the back so I ended up with her beer all over me. Thanks, I hadn't noticed a problem before that. Last up, Gaslight Anthem. Really lite aggro-lite. Almost emo-core. One guy (bass?) looked a bit like Henry Rollins' wussy momma's boy little brother. The guy who was at the show in his Black Flag safety-pinned jacket should hang his head in shame. Bad, bad stuff. We left early.

Next was the Andrew Oliver Kora Band and Krebsic Orkestar at Mississippi Studios. The Boyfriend snagged free tix by being on the Mississippi Studios mailing list (I sometimes do the same with the Doug Fir list), so I had no idea what we were getting into. The who what-now? And an Orkestar? Shit, don't make me go see an Orkestar! It's gonna be a jam band, isn't it, but with mandolin and flute or something. I just know it. But I'll try anything once. At least I'll get to complain about it in my blog. How wrong I was! The Andrew Oliver Kora Band was traditional jazz (keys, trumpet played by an old man in Converse, drums, bass, occasional guitar) wrapped up with some West African kora music. The world-beat elements were so subtle I didn't gag as it went down. Turns out a kora sounds a lot like the bastard child from an illicit harp-banjo tryst. I ended up really enjoying some of it, when the west-African sounds were more '30s Paris jazz club exotic and less world beat boring. Krebsic Orkestar turned out not to be a jam band! That revelation was like finding out you don't have to have that root canal after all. It was big band x eastern European gypsy stuff, which could have gone either of two ways, but was marvelously dark and smoky rather than silly cheese. Had they covered Caravan, it would have fit perfectly. They had three trombones, a souzaphone, three trumpets, a...what's the sideways bent-up trumpet? Oh! Flugelhorn! I adore the flugelhorn. Where was I? Oh...yeah, a saxophone, and three percussionists. Their utterly unplanned, unrehearsed encore occurred in the middle of the floor in a circle. The people doing the probably traditional-folk line-dancing in the audience seemed like snooty nerds, but I didn't let them ruin my enjoyment of the show except when I had to move out of their way or get stepped on. Some people...give me one good reason I should go out of my way to accommodate you? Why should I move so you can enjoy yourself, rather than you staying the hell out of my way so I can enjoy myself? But anyhow, much fun, and a pleasant surprise.

Much, much more to come. Much.