Tuesday, August 17, 2010

But Wait! There's More!

Look at me, blogging before I forget what I've seen and heard! [edit: clearly I started this post quite a while ago, and I'll cover most of August.] I'm the queen of the blogosphere! (Yep, I'm picturing me standing on the prow of the internet, all Titanic-style, bits and bytes and letters spraying in my face in the wind...). I've had plenty in the past couple of weeks to describe in weird and wonderful and nonsensical post-literary flourishes. Was that a bit grandiose? Or maybe a bit dismissive and self-ridiculing? Whatever; as long as it's some of both I'm good with it.

A couple of weeks ago, I saw the all-B show. This show was at Mississippi Studios, and it appears that the cool goes where Alicia Rose books. There's almost nothing I want to see anymore at Doug Fir since she left, and I go to MS all the damn time. Breakfast Mountain opened, and I got there partway through their set. It was excruciatingly loud power-synth-and-drums electro-something. The Beauty, whom I've described before, haven't changed a bit except that there were three of them instead of two. This time, it was a big ol' bear, a tattooed skinny punk, and a gangly, kind of dorky guy doing Prince-influenced ipod-driven dancepop. Then Brainstorm, whose PPN Festival description still fits just as accurately. It was awesome watching people try to dance, including this one guy who I wished I could put on Youtube for his dorky, over-the-top hippie-meets-fourth-grade-dance-class (jazz hands!) weirdness.

Last week was four shows in six days. Tuesday, I saw Blue Giant at Mississippi Studios for a free, supposedly secret show for them to tune up and pull shit together before they go out on tour. Delorean (there are two Deloreans, spelled differently, one's from Spain and one's from Portland...my spelling may be wrong but I know I have the right city) opened with some fairly bland mid-tempo folk-pop. Seemed like a good opportunity to hang out in the new BarBar space next door, MS's new resto-bar (oh, shit...I hate that non-word, sorry about that) that's there to subsidize the music. Then Blue Giant rocked the house, explained away the flags (something about how Portland is the best place on earth, so they needed to figure out what they had in common with their fellow Americans before they went out on tour into the midst of them, and what they came up with is that they're all Americans, so they're bringing some flags), amazed and awed. When My Love Is Gone, It's Gone For Good. But I still adore BG.

Thursday: Dragging An Ox Through A Waterfountain...uh...or Dragging an Ox Through Water at the Lovejoy Fountain. No Opener or anything, tiny shoebox-sized amps, big steel pot-lids as windchime-like hanging percussion. Fascinating stuff.

Saturday, I saw The Angry Orts at Doug Fir for their CD Release show. Nucular Aminals opened up, and I thought I liked them, and I might be wrong. I didn't like this set much, nerdy and weird on purpose (and I like nerdy...but I have issues with weird-on-purpose). The Ascetic Junkies followed. Why one of them said hi to me, by name, good-to-see-you-again, baffled me...gotta be work-related. These guys are far too cute, a nearly square-dance-ready froth of gingham and ukelele and sorta-bluegrass. Then the Orts just blew me away. I've seen them a bunch of times and loved them, but this was just the next level. Sara was kind of trashed, but just put on an even better show, all Blondie and Sleater-Kinney...then covering Joan Jett. In a corset. Great band, astounding songs, and then Sara's just such a dynamic and fun performer.

Then Sunday there was just an unbelievable show at Rontoms. I got there for part of Monarques, who do such throwback 1950s and early 1960s stuff...it strikes me as simplistic and boring (and oh how glad I am I didn't have to live through that era of music, for such straight and straightforward stuff to be considered revolutionary and rock-and-roll). But then The Dirty Mittens did their thing. Power-yelping, playful, charming, high-energy, hooky, and so undeniably talented. Ramona Falls up last...Brent of Menomena looking like the most understated but also the one with the true, subtle emotional depth. And then he launches into "I Say Fever," and...wow. Not so understated. You want smoke machines and strobe lights. And yet still emotional depth. There are times when he's my favorite voice in Menomena, and Ramona Falls totally highlights what I love about Brent. (Of course, the other side projects make them all my favorites in turn...)

Huh...I can't even remember when this show was that I'm reading my notes from. Oh! This was a couple of weeks before the festival, at Mississippi Studios. Gregory Miles Harris up first. He's supposed to have been in town for years, playing very rare, unappreciated shows for the privileged few. He did this more-Half-Japanese-than-Half-Japanese high-pitched squeaky weirdness that had some hints of brilliance to it and a lot of silliness. Sometimes charming and sometimes tiresome. Alan Singley and Pants Machine next. I'd seen them a couple of times recently at parties, so the "world premiere" songs weren't really world premieres to me. Good set, moderately together, and always fun. IOA (or ioa) finished up. Damn, Amanda's got an astounding voice and I'll go see anything she does. Warm, chanteuse-y, songwriter-y stories. Papi Fimbres adding some complexity. But it doesn't have the otherworldly, anti-pop qualities I love so much about Point Juncture, WA. I bought an IOA (or ioa?) CD, and I can't get the Boxcar Children song out of my head, but some part of me is just sitting there, crosslegged, defiant, pouting, waiting for the next PJWA disc.

Okay, that will have to cover it for now. I saw a few lovely, short, acoustic sets in someone's backyard and still have the blisters to show for it (it's a long story...and then I got companion blisters the next weekend commercial-amateur-rafting on the Deschutes), and probably some other stuff, but no more looking back! Onward to September!

Thursday, August 05, 2010

PDX Pop Then!

Here's where I put the requisite apologetic groveling for not writing more often. Yes, I've seen lots of shows. No, I haven't blogged about them. No, I don't remember the details or my snarky observations. This is like my scrapbook, so it kills me when I don't have the time to document where I've been and what I've seen...how am I supposed to remember what to tell my grandchildren?

Last weekend was PDX Pop Now! This was my fifth year attending the festival, I think, and my fourth year having something to say on the interwebs about it. My third year as a volunteer. It's kinda become my thing. I know how things work, I know what to eat and what to avoid in the green room (don't eat more than one Voodoo Doughnut per day...it's not good for you; get in on the dried fruit on day one, because it will be gone by Saturday morning), I know the people and some of the bands.

Friday started with Blue Horns. They are a reliable, failsafe power trio that is always on...and never impresses me as something terribly interesting. They started things off with a bang, absolutely, but my rush to get there to see Band One was probably unnecessary. Ylang Ylang was next...a new-ish portlandy hot...well, in any other town they'd be called a supergroup, but around here it's just a really good side project. Power trio plus viola, with Charlie Salas-Humara of Panther on guitar/vox and Jake Morris of The Joggers on drums. They've gotten all sorts of tighter since I last saw them, their debut show at Jackpot Records, though they're still a bit goofy. Some goth-pop references from the early 80s plus plenty of rawk to go around. I'm loving them. Kusikia was next, a lot of noise but some melody too. Bits of prog-math, some dark stuff, and great at what they did without really grabbing me. Ages and Ages next...first of all, I loved their conceit of selling one single t-shirt for $50 instead of lots of t-shirts at eight or twelve bucks apiece, and I wish someone had bought it (it was written in Sharpie). The music, though, was amazing, a big sing-along onstage but with perfect songs and harmonies, a bouncy campfire-y group of many. So very fun, and their track on this year's PDX Pop Now! compilation is one of my favorites. Rollerball followed, and this is a band I find nearly impossible to describe. But, of course, I'll try. Some trio of prog-gothy, occasionally metal-tinged, occasionally charmingly melodic complexity and, at times, conceit. Impressive, if not always successful. AndAndAnd was crazy-shouty and wild with some Americana undertones, a great time if perhaps a bit overrated. Not that I'm knocking them, I just heard a few people say that was the set they were most looking forward to all weekend, and I gotta say, there's no way they trump The Joggers. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Witch Mountain was...well, I hate metal, so it was a beer set. I wandered down the street to La Merde, my typical Festival hangout (Produce Row gets too crowded), and came back in time for the last bit of Jackie O-Motherfucker. They've been in town for ever and ever, and I can't believe I've never seen them. Well, now I can say I've seen them. Based on what I'd listened to before the fest, I expected to be totally bored, and I wasn't, but that's really the best I can say. Tu Fawning does beautiful stuff, and this late at night after working all day, I was itching for more rock. The headliner for the night was AU, playing with some outfit out of Idaho or Colorado or something they had picked up called Dovekins. I think it kinda ruined them. This brilliant, complicated high-energy experimental duo ended up devolving into aimless hippie-ish jams. There was facepaint. And one of Dovekins seemed rather rude to me in the green room before the set.

Saturday, I was there nice and early. Things started out low-key with Shoeshine Blue doing lovely, folky Americana stuff, nothing overwhelming, but a nice way to ease into the day as I had my first cup of coffee. And that peaceful start was shattered by Tiny Knives, an all-female punk-metal trio of the big-snarly-hair sort. It was...um...a lot. Soup Purse was described to me, repeatedly, as Harsh Noise. And when I described them as Noise, I was repeatedly corrected. Harsh Noise. My attempt to check them out in advance led me to think, if this is harsh noise, how can it be so boring? Lots of clicks and taps with little in the way of notes. It was more interesting live, with some stories and some weird stuff, and yes, some notes. I've gotta at least appreciate a noise band (Harsh noise!) with a horn section. The purses full of soup were a bit much. And more than a bit messy. And got left behind, smelling like split pea. Guantanamo Baywatch was next, and was (appropriately) outside. Tongue-firmly-in-cheek surfpunk, but really well-done. More fun than the song names (Cum Fart Food) would suggest. A total party, but not one where someone barfs on your shoes before the night is over. The Tumblers were up next. They were the closest to a country band the fest had, though in a throwback traditional-country-western sort of way, not a modern pop-stars-with-twang-and-jingoism way. Cute without inviting condescension. O Bruxo, a late addition to the lineup, was another "yawn, we are so used to supergroups in this town we barely bat an eye," supergroup-with-pseudonyms conflagration. Amazing stuff mostly in Spanish, as if world-beat-dance stuff didn't suck and instead overwhelmed with awesome. Led by "Papi Chulo" (David Fimbres, to appear later during the fest playing flute). Grey Anne is always lovely, and since I've seen her a bunch of times, I have to admit, I wandered off to find a snack and sit down for a bit. Fear No Music is a modern/experimental classical collective, made up during this set of a violinist, a keyboardist, a laptop synth player, and a multi-percussionist playing vibraphones and homemade instruments. Dynamic and fascinating, and they seemed to love playing for a baffled rock audience on their feet instead of a baffled classical audience crossing and uncrossing their legs in uncomfortable symphony hall seats. Operative had some of the elements of music, including rhythm and notes. I'm not so sure it was music. It had a driving beat at times, but it got old quick.

Time for an arbitrary new paragraph, I think. Brainstorm was next. I love this band. They're like the train wreck that would result from a DC mathcore band playing folk songs with a tuba. Yes, there's a tuba. Not to get ahead of myself again, but this may be the first two-tuba PPN fest! Moby Dick references, barbershop quartet sounds, vocals like slave-spirituals, 80s electro-casio bleep-pop, and crunching metal guitar all overlap in a way that sounds like it should be awful, but much like a peanut-butter-and-soy-sauce sauce for noodles, ends up kinda transcendent instead. Asss...uh...okay, I have to admit, I couldn't pay attention all the time. I don't totally remember Asss. They played a very, very short set, on the sidewalk instead of the stage, and it was kinda drone-y and I think it was supposed to be experimental. Da'Rel Junior was stellar, brainy, self-conscious (as opposed to conscious?) hip-hop, funny and earnest. He's staff at a local social service agency, working with "troubled" youth, and he told a few stories about his job. He also covered The Fresh Prince of Bel-Aire, which was kick-ass. Wampire up next...a total party in which not every single member of the band took their pants off, but they got close. And the music was pretty fun, too. Bouncy, joyful, utterly lacking in pretension, and probably well-stocked with cassette tapes.

Defect Defect and Eternal Tapestry was the Saturday-evening beer set for me. Uncomplicated thrash-punk (DD) doesn't do much for me. And...well, I saw ET once, and when I described how much I abhorred them, I think I was blunt enough that I made some people uncomfortable. Let's just leave it at that. Okay, fine...I said, "Sitting through that set, I thought I'd rather relive my mother's funeral." I saw them at Mississippi Studios opening for The Joggers last April, and they riffed for 26 minutes straight on one chord. The sax player played the same note in the same rhythm for six solid minutes without alteration. I really began to ponder the possibility of literally dying of boredom. It was physically painful. I was told repeatedly that, while the performance I saw was not necessarily out of character for them, it was not typical, but I just didn't think I could chance it. So I skipped 'em and headed back down to La Merde for some delicious beer. But I rushed back to ensure that I didn't miss Blue Cranes. And they didn't disappoint. They have never failed to exceed my expectations, and my expectations for them these days are pretty sky-high. They not only blew me away, but impressed the 19-year-old boys surrounding me, eagerly awaiting Hockey. The memorable quotes from these kids: "That was so good I almost cried." (And about the boy who said that: "He's a musician, he knows this stuff.") Followed by, "Wow...I've never seen live jazz before!" They set up this amazing, yet frustrating deal at the merch table whereby one could only buy their brand-new, not-yet-released disc if under 21, with ID (they are huge supporters of all-ages music and venues, and their upcoming CD release party, I believe, is at a 21-and-up venue). Diabolically brilliant. Hosannas (formerly Church, whom I believe I've discussed at least once in the past, and maybe more than that) was down to two members from four, with very little notice (they announced their breakup shortly before the festival, actually), and weren't as compelling or dynamic as they've been in the past. i sure hope they get their shit together and re-form as a new band with either some new members or some material built for two. But despite Hosannas not quite being up to par, this closing Saturday set was my favorite of the festival. Joggers were up next...and they knocked that shit right out of the park. They've traded in some of their laid-back 70s influences for more plain-ol' crushing rock. And then, incongruously, there was a digeridoo. And a bear suit (sans head) and a one-piece coverall. Somehow their power-rock and these rhythms you can't really dance to still end up catchy and fun as all hell. Hockey finished up. Suburbanites and little kids with their dads and...oh, hell, I danced too. They took forever to set up, and they were reportedly total divas about the whole thing, and they pulled icky, creepy greshamites up on stage to dance...but they still rocked the house.

Saturday night faded out with this rollicking solo drum set that was sorta a guerrilla set. There were a few guerrilla sets, but I ignored most of them, because even I need ten or fifteen minutes of rest here or there. But this one sounded like it would be unimaginably cool. The drummer from the next day's first band, Why I Must Be Careful, played all. fucking. night. And then played WIMBC the next day, which looks exhausting even if he's gotten a good eight hours of sleep. Of all the things I missed or didn't totally pay attention to, this one kills me the most...I arrived for the day just a few minutes after WIMBC ended. Did I describe them earlier this year? So amazing. Overwhelming, confusing, inexplicable. Probably the two smartest musical minds in this city playing jazz-based freak-outs that sometimes sound like just pounding (on drums and keys), but is really more like the musical equivalent of bio-chemo-neuro-nano-rocket science that is so far beyond your comprehension that all you hear sometimes is noise, with little glimpses here and there of what amazement you'd be privy to if you were 60 IQ points smarter, spent 15 years studying music theory, had an advanced degree in calculus, spent a couple of decades on small Pacific islands with Margaret Mead, then spent years learning extreme kung fu at one of those impossibly isolated mountain Buddhist monasteries devoted to ass-kicking that only exist in kung fu movies. But, having arrived late, I can only imagine such mathematical biochemical primordial jazz ass-kicking as it was at the festival. I did arrive for Michael The Blind, whose folky, floaty yet sturdy, flute- and oboe-like voice mesmerizes me. The only other time I've seen him was at the PDX Pop Now! CD release show in...2006? It was at Berbati's, and it must have been '06 because I remember the poster was the one with the bicycle. Joey Casio, up next, was pure, unadulterated electronic dance thump. Thump, thump, thump...I'll be back later. I missed Cloudy October, Atriarch, and Lewi Longmire due to my responsibilities as a volunteer this year. Cloudy October is supposed to be awesome hip-hop, and I'm sorry I missed him. Atriarch is crunching, earsplitting metal that I don't mind having missed. Lewi Longmire is folk-country-rootsy twang that I probably wouldn't have hated despite my frequent anti-twang bias, and is supposed to be one of the nicest guys around. Krebsic Orkestar was an amazing, awe-inspiring 14(?)-piece gypsy brass band doing this fascinating yet accessible eastern-european stuff that got people bobbing heads and even shaking hips. And they brought the other tuba of the weekend. Autistic Youth was...loud. Punk. Loud. Billygoat (damn, this was an incongruous set) showed 45 minutes of the most amazing stop-motion animation, mostly paper-cut stuff of excruciating and dazzling detail, accompanied by buzzing, swelling, and swirling electronica meant to highlight and showcase the animation. It was the beautiful, awe-inspiring, charming, constantly-changing animation that kept amazing me and making me smile. Please Step Out Of The Vehicle played their supposed last show ever, as Travis Wiggins is moving to Hawaii to accompany his girlfriend who is starting graduate school or something. A bunch of familiar songs, "Papi" Fimbres making his flute hoot and holler in ever-more weird and wonderful ways, I am indescribably glad to have been there for this. I sang along. I sat down behind the stage for I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In The House, but still heard clearly the actually pretty engaging and enjoyable roadhouse-blues-countrypunkrawk. Like Jackie O-Motherfucker, they've played in town for a decade or something, and I'm glad I've gotten to see them. Unlike JOM, I actually had some fun seeing/hearing them. Ben Darwish was next. I couldn't decide whether he played crowd-pleasing stuff less complex than he's capable of, or whether he defied the crowd by remaining somewhat low-key. Or both. His drummer was amazing, though. I dubbed Get Hustle (prog-funk-metal-psych-party-rawk-experimental-huh?-core) my beer set for the night, and I was off to La Merde again. Is it awful that I can't remember if I came back for part of AAN, whom I remember liking after having heard them online? I do remember I heard Reporter, whose dance-electronica (with fog machine and light bracelets tossed into the audience) was kinda...meh. Whatever. Luck-One hip-hop led off the Sunday headlining outdoor set, but I couldn't hear him well enough to distinguish the lyrics, so I got some Koi Fusion and just tried to hang out and listen. Parenthetical Girls...well, I believe I've described them in the past as Colin Meloy's literary theatricality filtered through Morrissey's personality disorder (I love both Meloy and Morrissey, though I do see the downsides of each), but I forgot to mention that Zac Pennington can't actually sing, which makes things even worse. Typhoon blew a few fuses and led to a long delay, then once they got going seemed to be rollicking...and by then I was tired and wanted to get things taken care of and go home, so I helped with picking up inside and whatever else. Skeletron, at the end, should have been terribly exciting, but I have to admit, I wasn't feeling much of anything at all, even their ("they" being Starfucker as a two-piece, really) super-party-indie-dance-electro-dance-party-indie-andsoforth. It was fun, but it wasn't like Menomena last year or anything.

I think I saw more of the bands this year than ever before. I think I got to the end a bit emotionally exhausted, but my feet were still pretty intact even during the closing set on Sunday. I think I don't know what I'd do without a free three-day festival devoted to the current in local music.