The Birds, the Bees & a busy, busy Me

OK, so I know I’ve been a bad blogger of late. Two months (yesterday) since my last post. But, there is a reason (OK, an excuse) why I have been so delinquent in updating for the interested parties. You see, two months ago my world drastically changed, and quite suddenly. I became all too employed and the long awaited spring finally hit Portland. The first meant that my free time was exponentially divided down to a very small slice, and that my energy level (due to the nature of my current employment) was also drastically reduced during said free time. The second meant that, in addition to all the bloom, pollination and making of honey (or perhaps because of) Portland exploded into a wild storm releasing much of its pent up energy and there were so many events, that I literally can’t currently recall them all. In truth, a great deal of the shows and what not I attended were put on by bands and at venues that I have previously detailed. I did, however, make some new discoveries, and I will cover them in a bit, but first I want to talk about this weekend.

For those who are not aware, the Gorge Amphitheatre (754 Silica Road NW George, WA 98824) is arguably the greatest outdoor venue in the states, particularly considering the scale of events which occur there. Every year, during Memorial Day weekend, the Gorge hosts Sasquatch (www.myspace.com/sasquatchmusicfestival), three days of music in the scenic Columbia River gorge. I’ve wanted to go previous years, but the 4 & ½ hour commute and spendy prices (this year it was $65/day or $150 for all three) have prevented me from making it there. This year, however, the Cure (do I really need to link to them? I think we are all well aware who they are.) were the headliners on Sunday night. As it happens, despite my rigorous work schedule, I was a good $40 short of the ticket price, but that meant I had just enough money to pay my share of the gas round trip to the far off venue. What good is traveling several hundred miles if you can’t afford to get in, you might ask. Well as it happens, the first fourteen years of the Cure’s existence marked some of my favorite (and most repeatedly purchased) recordings. About the time that period ended, I was just getting old enough to develop a taste for the old school British alt-rockers. Sixteen years later, I still had not seen them in concert and they were coming what is by far my favorite venue large enough to book them. Thus, when my, also broke, partner in mischief (this time, criminal) suggested that we go for broke and try to sneak in, I said “Fuck it. Why not?” What ensued was one of the best experiences I have had in a while. First off, one should know that the drive from PDX to the Gorge in late May is incredibly gorgeous. I am not going into detail as to how we got in, for I would like that it remain an option for those daring enough to attempt it and smart enough to plan it right; but let’s just say, if you’re willing to risk life, limb and personal freedom to achieve entrance, no facility of that size and remote location can actually be completely impenetrable. I will say that I felt as if my friend and I were Sam & Frodo making our way to Mount Doom. It ruled! They were even playing the song To Wish Impossible Things when we made our way onto the grounds. By the end of the third and final encore, as a light rain began to fall on our desert location, I was standing just feet away from Robert Smith. It was amazing. They went on at about ¼ after 10 PM I believe (I’m not really sure, we were still dealing with a vast and dramatic, darkened landscape in our attempt to gain entry at that point), and the house lights came on at about ¼ to 1 AM. In the two and half hours on stage, Robert and the boys covered the whole gambit of their career. Does that mean they played every song I wanted to hear? Not at all (that would be ~7-8 hour set). But they did play a lot of their old, great material for all of us whose fandom spans to the earlier portions of the 30 year career, and the live versions of newer stuff came off some much better and more inspiring than it would have off the records. It had been a long time since I had engaged in activity so brilliantly inspired/insanely stupid, and besides fulfilling decade and half long goal of seeing one of my all-time favorite bands live, it revived a long dormant part of my spirit, one that I have been missing for a great long while. I honestly feel like a new man. Then, of course, as with all Gorge shows, was party in the parking lot. The catch with seeing massive shows at venue hundreds of miles from most of its patrons’ homes, is that many of those patrons spend the night (or in the case of many Sasquatchers, three nights) on the adjacent grounds. After my long, exhausting/exhilarating experience, I got wasted and talked till almost dawn with interesting strangers from various places in multiple countries. Yeah, it was a long weekend well spent.

Now, I realize that the Cure hardly qualify as Northwest music, but Sasquatch definitely does have a distinctively PNW status, and it was high time I, as patron of local music happenings, checked it out. But I do want to spend what little time I have left this evening (indeed, the outside world calls again) speaking about a few occurrences of note over the last two months.

Out of the uncountable shows and events I have seen in the last two months, there were two PNW acts I had not previously heard that I definitely want to mention. The first was Romanteek (www.myspace.com/romanteek), the new and enlarged offshoot of longtime, controversially named, Olympia standard act Romantic Retard Nation. The former understated, sultry, soulful, bluesy duo has been reborn as a vibrant, swinging, funky, dance pop quintet, with some of OlyWa’s most respected musicians added to their roster. I had just read a MySpace bulletin posted by musician I had great deal of artistic respect for that he was playing at Rotture (315 SE 3^rd Avenue). I noticed no mention of the specific act he would be performing as/with. In fact, I was not even aware that he had joined the band. Needless to say, when asking the doorperson who had played, in order to find out if I’d missed my friend’s set, I was most surprised to discover that Romanteek was the Olympia band on the bill. The show was by no means packed, even for a Tuesday (I think it was a Tuesday), but Ruby Valentine’s exuberant crooning and the tight ensemble of musicians kept the audience shaking it quite thoroughly. The show was the kickoff of the band’s tour of the Northern half (or so) of the West coast. They ended it around a week later with a show at Slabtown (1033 NW 16th Avenue), but I did not make it too that one. Before I left Rotture that night, however, I did find out about another show taking place in Portland with other heavy-hitters of Olympia talent. Problems (www.myspace.com/problems247) another Portland/Olympia spanning band was playing a show at Valentines (232 SW Ankeny Street). As it happened, that was a very busy night for me, and despite my regular urging, my friends/ride kept delaying our arrival at the show. Unfortunately, Problems had already performed. We caught a bit of one bands set, interesting to be sure, but I don’t recall the act’s name. After it, however, our plans to call it a night were derailed by the incredible performance from a duo by the name of Why I Must be Careful (www.myspace.com/whyimustbecareful). It was a completely enthralling experience, led by a distorted Rhode’s 88 key (which was making noises I did not know electric pianos could make), jazz-esque drums and strange, arty, poetic vocal ejaculations. It was rather awe inspiring really. I have wanted to catch their sets since, but unfortunately my other obligations in life have kept me from making it to view a second performance by the powerful pair.

It would seem that the moment has come where the outside world calls me presently away from my computer, so I must again away, though I promise to try not to let it be so long until I return. But before I do depart, I want to say that one of my favorite local acts, Kickball (previously mentioned, see Gotta Love PDX), is playing the first show after their long hiatus. It is scheduled of the 30^th of this month (May) at Olympia legacy the ABC House. It is the only show they currently have scheduled, and unfortunately, I will not be able to attend. But to those who can, do. They will be playing with Francois Virot (www.myspace.com/francoisvirot) of Lyon, France who they have shared several tours spanning Europe and the US with. Francois will also be playing here in Portland the following night at the Funky Church (2456 SE Tamarack) with longtime contributor to the Olympia music scene Jenny Jenkins. Again, I won’t be able to make it, but I’m sure it will be a great representation of the global DIY community and its place here in the great Northwest. Check it if you can.

What a Weird Weekend!

Holy Shit! Ok, so it has been a crazy weekend. Yesterday, I woke to my phone ringing at 9 in the morning. No one calls me at nine in the morning but debt collectors and other businesses I’d rather not speak with; or so I thought. As it happens, it was a former lover, in tears from the weight of her anxieties. Her (ex-con) husband, it seems, had just recently been kicked out of methadone treatment for an altercation he had with some woman in the parking lot of the clinic, and the treatment center would not take him in because of the incredibly high dosage the clinic had him on due to his two decade stint as an addict. At the time of the call, he was on route to Tacoma. It’s possible a resident of Thurston County would be going to Tacoma at nine in the morning on a Saturday if they wanted to get first dibs on the weekend’s knick-knack, antique and record shopping. None of those are amongst his hobbies. Too boot, she was having to cope with life as the parent of a first grader in a society where such little emphasis is put on developmental education that any reasonably intelligent person has to question whether the school system is going to help or hurt their child more. She was finishing her internship phase for a steady state job which would enable her (the definite breadwinner in her family) to bring her family’s socio-economic status up above the poverty level, and the crippling emotional/psychological issues she has dealt with for much longer than I have known her were bringing the burden of stress to a crushing point. She needed a release. So of course she called me. We hadn’t spoken in I don’t know how long, and I don’t think we’d seen each other in person since I moved to Portland several years ago. We talked for three quarters of an hour, and then, once we were both laughing and jovial, she let me go and try to get a tiny bit more sleep before I had to begin running the hustle of interviews and job hunting which I am hoping will enable me to avoid a return to the state of destitute homelessness in a city which has lost the magical glamour of newness for me. Whenever I think of this former lover, my first real one in the developed romantic sense of two persons emotionally mature enough to have a real adult relationship, part of me thinks of pain. The anguish of the dark times in the cold, grey, strip-mall covered hell that is Lacey, Washington. Lacey is really a place more fit to be a prison for politicians, meter maids and other reprehensible folk than it is to be a working/middle class suburb of the little bubble of arts, politics and utopic, progressive culture that is Olympia. The most pain I have ever endured I felt in that dark and torturous place, but for some reason the fates kept leading me back for more (and I kept following). A lot of people would be upset to hear from a person who plays so heavily in such memories in a time of their own need and emotional crisis. As it happens, I smile in a way my face could never really express, and feel warmth deep in my heart. For there are other memories which this woman conjures in me as well. Those of one of the strongest, most noble people I have ever had the honor of knowing, whose strength of both spirit and conviction, depth of loyalty and love, warmth and purity of heart can’t help but enchant and inspire those few individuals who posses both the opportunity to experience and wisdom to perceive them. The poetic beauty of the fact that she lives a life of all-American obscurity with the little ragtag family she has built for herself in a grubby little apartment right next to I-5 transcends the expressive capability of any artist I have ever known the work of. The fact that I can do her any good deed is one of the things that prove to me that I will always have a vital role in this world. As I hang up the phone and lie down to attempt (unsuccessfully) grab another three quarters of an hour of sleep before I have to rush out, I am not dwelling on the impending bummer of being back on the streets without access to the resources I have come to rely on in my relative comfort. No, I am smiling deep inside, and thanking the cosmos for my favorite facet of the Pacific Northwest, its women. The quantity of transcendent beauty, not just of body, but also of mind soul, is the number one reason I find myself still here, struggling to find the higher ground in the flooded valley of wonders. Be they artsy or all-American, indigenous or imported, so many women possessed of such wondrous magic are to be found here. So this little block of sentimentality is, I guess, a shout out to all those marvelous creatures who reside here and remind me that there truly are great things in this world, which make it all worth doing, and inspire me to be the best I can so as to do such wonder what justice I might.

On that note, it has come to my attention very recently, that there is actually a notable readership of this blog in Portland. I swear that the timing of my reception of this information and the urge to expound upon the notion of the preceding paragraph are (at least mostly) coincidental. But I mention the former because, well, frankly I had imagine any readers that I might have to be suburban highschoolers, college kids and young adults in various mid-Atlantic states either wanting to learn about the artistic trends in far off progressive places or dreaming of picking up and moving in search of utopic idealism and an environment full of creative energy. The thought that this might not be the case raises in me an instinct to become extremely self conscious about the content of my writing on here. A bunch of folks reading this in far off lands don’t have much personal stake in what I have to say, nor a close physical proximity to myself. If those reading this are actually in Portland and knowledgeable about/attached to any particular parts, it could be that someone could actually desire to hold me accountable for what I say. Not that it is likely but my (some would say, inflated) sense of self importance makes me paranoid like that; like what I say and do actually affects people. Should anybody actually take offense to my loose language, it’s not like there is any direct link to who I am upon this blog site, but any resourceful, net-culturally savvy person, or maybe just someone who does the footwork of tracking my interests could probably discover my identity rather easily. There is also of course the risk that circulation of the information I disclose could increase local interest in particular pockets of local arts scene faster than the general culture can progress, bringing undesirable energy into what I find to be sacred space. Does that make me an elitist asshole in this regard? Probably. But let’s face it: live music is an experience of and for everyone involved, the performers and the audience have an important part to play, and the energy of the crowd can have as much effect as the mood of the performers on the quality of the experience. I shudder to think that I could be responsible for the desiccation of the only oasis’s I currently know how to find in the desolation of the desert that is the world I must reside in. But oh well. I have agreed to do my part to report on my experiences in this precious little meadow of magic in the big, scary forest of life. Besides, if I can possibly benefit the artists I write about by increasing their fan base and potentially the earnings their art brings them, well then I am doing my part to support the culture, since I have done very little of a tangible nature in recent years.

But enough of my indulgent mental masturbation in the mire of sentiment, prediction and fear. It is high time this longwinded rant come around to the reason anyone reads it: MUSIC! So it’s been a while since I have gone out to any event that I felt needed to be covered in here, more because I’m broke than because there weren’t any worthy occurrences. But Friday I had some bills to pay and knew of some shows that I felt should definitely receive my attention. So I pawned my prized guitar (the less prized ones of any financial value were already in hock) and with the little money left over after catching up a bit with my debtors, I bought myself a burrito and admission to two shows. It’s really the little things that make life livable. Friday night was Glass Candy (www.myspace.com/glasscandy), Chromatics (www.myspace.com/chromaticsmusics), Loose Control (www.myspace.com/itsalrightjusttripout), and DJ Beyonda (www.myspace.com/djbeyondadoubt) at Rotture (315 SE 3^rd Avenue). It was a night of 21^st century fashionistas and new wave. I can’t recall the last time I saw so many meticulously manicured bangs in one room. I wasn’t present for the first act, Loose Control, and thus cannot comment on their set, but I can say that hip and pretty Portland sure does give it up for Glass Candy and Chromatics. Chromatics are a dance-pop quartet reminiscent of Blondie in sound and presence. A mixture of punk and disco, glam and grit, they weave four on the floor beats with cool, ethereal vocals. Not the most original thing anyone has ever seen or heard, but they put on a good show and keep the crowd moving with their solid sound and performance. Glass Candy is definitely a closely related act. Both bands are on the Italians Do It Better (www.myspace.com/italiansdoitbetterrecords) label, and both seem to have a fairly large following locally, nationally and abroad, I’ve even been told Chromatics have had some success on the club charts. Glass Candy is a duo of producer Johnny Jewel (bassist for Chromatics) and singer Idano. Their set is a bit more energized, with slightly more complex sequenced and recorded beats (or so I presume) and livelier, dancier vocal stylings. Idano bounces and sways about the stage like a high-fashion elven priestess, and Johnny holds it down in an iconic posture of urban-hip. The result is a roomful of oh-so pretty people working up a sweat together. As far as I can tell, the frequency of shows these local bands play here in PDX is neither regular nor rare. Whatever the case, I find them worth checking out, and Rotture is perhaps the perfect venue for them. They certainly fill the place out, both in terms of people and energy, in a way I’ve never seen any other acts accomplish. I’ll be sure to check out their next sets here in Portland (they appear to be about to embark on a world tour), provided I have the cash in my pocket to get in the door.

Saturday was a much stranger day. It was the day whose beginning was detailed at the top of this entry, and though I shan’t go into all the details, it really just got weirder. The important part for my readers was definitely Starfucker at the Someday Lounge (125 NW 5^th Avenue). I have previously done a bit of detailing on the awesomeness that is Starfucker (see my entry: Gotta love PDX) and I mentioned that I had checked out the Someday Lounge (Wow!) and was curious to see it in full effect. Well I imagine that now I can say that I have. Starfucker’s well deserved local popularity was enough to pack the house with people on Saturday at the Someday. As always, their act was hot, but something is always lost when you take a band you are used to seeing in super intimate settings and put them up on a big-ass stage in a larger venue. The crowd was not so much the crowd I typically see at a Starfucker show, but then again I guess I have mostly seen them at all ages events. It is impressive when a fairly new band can pull in full crowds from completely separate demographics. After their set, a DJ came on, I didn’t catch their name, but they kept the people dancing at least until I left. My friend was curious about what he referred to as a “Burner” event (meaning geared towards the Burning Man crowd) at a joint that as far as I can tell was called Hippodrome. A search of the phonebook for a specific address has failed to yield results, but I can tell you that the back door is located under the door to Rotture, meaning that the front must be somewhere near Branx (320 SE 2^nd Avenue). However, the high cover and tapped status of our finances conspired with a few other factors I shan’t go into to lead us to the decision that it was not in our best interest to gain entrance. Thus that affair, the name of which I do not even know, garners only the briefest mention in this entry.

So that has been my weekend thus far. Nudity (www.myspace.com/nuditytheband), a psychedelic rock band from Olympia, with some of the town’s oldest and most established remaining talent, is playing tonight at Rotture. Unfortunately, I have no money for the door, and I’m too old to keep haggling my way into shows. Besides, this is Portland, not Olympia; bands need to make a dollar here. So I guess that pretty much ends this longwinded rant of a blog post. But before I go, I should address the fact that I now have knowledge of a local readership, and plug some shit. The next show that I know that I will do what I can to make it to is Explodeintocolors (www.myspace.com/explodeintocolors) the new project of Claudia Meza of Hornet Leg (www.myspace.com/hornetleg) fame (most recently), Lisa Schonberg of Kickball and Strangers fame and a bassist, Heather Treadway, who’s name I’m familiar with, if not specifically her work. They are playing on the 22^nd of March at Dekum Manor, a good old fashioned house show in NE Portland, the address of which I lack. I haven’t heard them yet, but knowing the musicians in the band, and recalling the now defunct Thunder! Thunder! Thunder! which comprised Claudia, Lisa and few other then stars of Oly talent (all have since moved to Portland), it is sure to be a damned hot set. Also, if any of you readers are or have peeps between PDX and Santa Rosa, CA, Starfucker embarks on a tour of that region on the 19^th of March, spread the word, see the show or whatever is applicable. They don’t, in my experience, disappoint. All right my incredibly patient patrons of words, herein lies the end of another post of Scenes From the Black Lodge (try to imagine it spoken aloud with lots of really spacious reverb, it sounds so much more dramatic that way). Hope you’ve found it informative, enlightening, entertaining, etc. Later…