A Delay; An Inspiration

In the words of a great little band called Spoon, "Everything hits at once." So true. Your free wireless that you've been pirating for over a year suddenly disappears, your personal life gets... complicated, school starts back up and your summer comes to an end far before you're ready. But those are all just excuses.

On Saturday I saw something that inspired me. I can't really remember the last time that this happened, and it's all I've been looking for in the last few months. I wanted to experience something overwhelming, something almost unpleasant in the amount of power it had over me... I wanted to feel helpless and in awe.

I saw My Morning Jacket perform at Edgefield. And before you roll your eyes and expect just another concert story, let me preface it with this: it's my job to go to concerts. And just like anything else that you make a job out of, it can become mundane and exhausting and something you start to resent. This summer alone I've seen somewhere around 50 shows - that's fifty-something concerts of standing in line to pay $10 for a beer, getting shoved by drunk assholes trying to get their girlfriends closer to the stage, having to fight with will-call when they lose your photo pass... It can wear on you, to say the least. But Saturday, for the first time in I-can't-remember-how-long, none of that mattered.

I'll refrain from delving into lengthy, flowery descriptions of what it felt like to be drawn to the stage lights, literally pulled closer to the sound, putting my arms over my head not to dance along but simply to feel more of the music, and simply say this: I remember now what I am supposed to do with my life, how hard it is going to be to do it, and why I will try anyway each and every day that I'm alive and breathing.

Reviews to come:
Raconteurs, (Roseland, 9.16.8)
My Morning Jacket, (Edgefield, 9.27.8)
Silver Jews with Monotnix(!!!!), (Wonder Ballroom, 9.30.8)

Let's fall in love, Portland

The best part about having someone come to visit you is playing tour guide, and getting to remember all of the little things that made you fall in love with your new hometown. My good friend Lori is visiting from San Francisco and we're doing a sleek combination of requisite Portland stand-by's (Powell's, Stumptown), seasonal expeditions, (Sauvie Island, local hot springs) and cultural events, (the T:BA festival, the Raconteurs in concert.) It's hard to update as we go but I think we'll have amassed quite the love letter to our city by the time she leaves Thursday. Details to come...

Message to Ducks, post-game:

Phew!

Message to Ducks, 2nd quarter, 1:52

YOU ARE FUCKING THIS UP!!!

Dear Ducks:

Please do not fuck up on your nationally televised game against Purdue, who is not even ranked and, in theory, should pose no threat to you.

Thank you,

-R. Sims
U of O dropout; still bleeds green.

MFNW, Day 4: All Good Things Must Come To A (Blurry) End.

Saturday I decided to see a new (to me) band based solely on the basis of their name. Bitchin ‘ Summer was the clear winner, opening for the Bouncing Souls and Hot Water Music at the Roseland. I arrived to find a pop-punk band with a female bassist shredding harder than an accountant during tax season, and a drummer that I can only describe as... percussively flawless.

I had a very intense conversation with my good friend Maggie the other day about how the best drummers serve as bandleaders for the entire group, giving cues and maintaining tempo. Jones, as I later found out his name was, is exactly this for Bitchin’ Summer. This guy had the most wicked chops I’ve seen/heard live since I saw The Police last summer in Seattle, (and for those of you who don’t know, I would pretty much give my left ovary to meet Stewart Copeland.) The two male lead singers were also super solid – vocally expressive without compromising tonality, and lyrics that I wanted to sing along to instantly.

The crowd assembled was completely crazy for these guys, singing along to every song and snapping pictures like mad. I later found out from a very sweet girl named Kristin that this was the band’s first major ticket, and many of their friends had flown in from all over just to see them play this show.Awww... These are the moments of rock n’ roll that I truly love, when people come together because they believe in a sound and proceed to successfully convert others. Bitchin’ Summer is lucky to have such friends, and it’s safe to say they have a new fan in me as well. The group just got signed to Fail Safe Records so I’m looking forward to what they’re going to do in the next few months, and hoping for some solid shows this winter.

Given the energy at the Roseland I was tempted to stay for the Bouncing Souls, but the lure of Menomena at the Crystal was too great. First a pit-stop a Berbati’s, though, to see if I could catch some Black Elk before heading up Burnside. But alas, they were running a full set late. I did, however, get to see my friend Dan in full effect drunken awesomeness, which was worth the trip in and of itself. (Dan just got hired with Mike Thrasher Promotions, big up!!!) Next it was off to see some personal favorites, Blind Pilot at the Fez Ballroom.

For those of you not aware, The Fez is a glorious little secret amongst us audiophiles: the sound there is spectacular. It’s a combination of a well-placed system, great acoustics and (usually) an educated sound guy. Unfortunately they were having some technical difficulties Saturday night, which is a damn shame… Blind Pilot got caught in a sound check from hell for about 15 minutes, but to be fair they also had NINE PEOPLE on stage. Jesus! Last time I saw them it was only 5 or 6, but this time it looked like a Mormon compound pre-raid up there. I will, however, gladly and vehemently support massive expansions in band members whenever it includes the induction of a steel guitar player – SUCH a good idea for BP's sound. After some initial monitor feedback, Blind Pilot descended into yet another ethereal set… these guys have such a knack for reading where their audience is at that exact moment and meeting them there instead of forcing a song or a sound on them that doesn’t fit the mood.

I wasn’t able to stay too long because of the impending Menomena/Helio show, but I was fortunate enough to have the pleasure of (briefly) meeting Max, one of the filmmakers that’s documenting Blind Pilot’s “tour by bike” that they’re currently engaged in.

They have a blog set up to document the tour as it happens, I highly recommend checking it out.

Then it was off to the Crystal Ballroom, but not before meeting up with the lovely aforementioned Maggie, who was kind enough to buy my umpteenth drink of the night in exchange for borrowing my extra press pass so she could bypass the line. But truly that last drink was the kiss of death: up until that point, all of the bar lines all night had been so long that I had been… uh, “multi-tasking” and purchasing two drinks at once. I was able to catch the first few songs of Menomena, which were FANTASTIC. Very rarely can a band convey art-rock sensibilities on such a mass-appeal level, but to watch Menomena you’d have no idea.

The night from this point on, sad to say, is a blur that includes a rocking Helio Sequence encore that included Menomena returning to stage to play with them for two songs, a SUPER lame after party with terrible DJ’s and stale macaroni from Montage, and finally passing out with my cowboy boots still on. I showed up for a work meeting the following morning in the same clothes I’d been wearing when I stopped by the night before, (whoops), Gatorade AM clutched in hand and sunglasses strapped to my head for dear life. Oh yeah, and I got hit by a car, but that’s another story. All in all, it was a SPECTACULAR Musicfest and I’m so pleased with the balance of local talent and national acts that the Willamette Week was able to so artfully maintain. Well done! (Now hire me.)

Upcoming shows that I'm ridiculously stoked for:

The Raconteurs at the Roseland, TWO NIGHTS OF SHOWS! Tues. the 16^th & Wed. the 17^th, Roseland Theatre

An Evening with My Morning Jacket at Edgefield, Saturday, Sept. 27^th. (no opening band, 3 hour set… someone pinch me.)

Silver Jews with Monotonix(!!!) at the Wonder Ballroom, Tuesday Sept. 30^th.

MFNW, Day 3: “Does it feel good? Good… that’s how we want it to feel.”

Ah, Friday night of Musicfest NW: the gift and the curse. True, every night of MFNW offers need-to-see shows at conflicting times, but the closing evenings are when all the stops come out, where the shows start as late as 1AM, and after-hour shows that turn into breakfast dates. Thank god for Rockstar and Gatorade AM, (which I HIGHLY recommend after having it save my life this weekend.)

Tempted to see if I could get in to the sold-out Vampire Weekend show at the Crystal Ballroom, I decided instead to voyage to the east side and catch Sandpeople with Jedi Mind Tricks at the Hawthourne Theatre. And it was a good choice; the entire set was a homage to Stumptown, thanking the crowd amassed with a bouncing take of “St. John’s.” So strong was the local support that the demand for an encore went right into Jedi Mind Tricks actually taking the stage, but fortunately the love was transferable and the crowd ate up every moment of the Philly crew’s lyrical assault.

But I couldn’t stay long, because TV on The Radio was taking the stage back on the west side at the Roseland Theatre. After a near-death experience from throwing myself in front of a speeding cab, (whoops), I made it there and ran up the stairs just as the audience began to roar along with a fearless launch into “Wolf Like Me” that had Tunde jumping around the stage like a minister caught with the spirit.

The effect was simultaneously mesmerizing and adrenaline-spiking: I stared open-mouth at the stage for a good 60 seconds before giving in and rocking out for the next hour and a half. “Does it feel good?” Adebimpe asked the audience at the end of the song. “Good,” he replied in response to our approving roar. “That’s how we want it to feel.”

After two solid encores it was off to Berbati’s to catch the other hometown heroes of the night, The Builders and the Butchers. By the time I arrived they were well into a set that had the place well over capacity (thank you, lax doormen!) and the crowd engaging in an impromptu square dancing session.

By the time they reached the encore, the band was completely out of strings so they instead led a sing-along while passing a large bass drum around the audience for drunks like me to strike and “feel involved.”

I wish these guys did that at every show… oh wait, they totally do. And how can you hate a neo-Appalachian-hipster jug band that shares its instruments with you?

Tomorrow’s Shows:

Bitchin’ Summer @ The Roseland, 8pm

Blind Pilot @ The Fez, 10pm

Menomena with Helio Sequence @ The Crystal Ballroom, 11pm

Willamette Week After Party @ some sketchy hotel in lower NW, Midnight – 5AM(!)

MFNW, Day 2: Nada Surf Saved My Life Tonight

Last night was the requisite off-night in the midst of a festival. It's fairly common, really - everyone goes too hard the opening night, and are still reeling a little by the time they get to the first show the following eve. To be fair, if that's the "shitty" night, it wasn't so bad considering I saw one of the best live performances so far this summer, which I'll get to later.

After being delayed by a return trip to my house to grab my wallet and ID, (this is what happens when you get home at 3 in the morning and both are tucked into your reeking-of-smoke sweatshirt as opposed to your purse where they should be,) I headed over to the Wonder Ballroom for the Willamette Week VIP/Press party and to catch Battles with openers No Age. The party started at 6; I got there at a quarter to 7 to find the VIP section nearly empty, and the line to get into the venue stretching around the block - press included! One of the perks of a press pass is that it grants immediate access, except for in cases such as this where something crazy happens and No Age manages to bring in a capacity-reaching crowd all on their own - way to go, guys! This also meant that the waiting at the bar was greatly reduced; truly, No Age is a great, great band. Also got to meet Connie, one of the directors for MFNW who did a fantastic job of playing hostess, managing press, drinking and regulating the event last night. We talked shop for a bit, including the My Morning Jacket show at Edgefield that I'll be covering later this month. Super stoked!

Realizing there was no way to get in, (and that the open beer was out of Heineken, yikes), the crew and I headed over to the Roseland in hopes of catching the last of the Cool Kids show before our "big ticket" of the evening, Del the Funky Homosapien. But alas - the Cool Kids had left the stage early, and replaced themselves with this douchetron:

Nothing against Bukue One's personal talent or skills, but there's nothing more annoying than a) an MC who's sent out to delay the headliner and b), a relatively unknown MC who won't shut up about how awesome he is. It should be noted that Bukue One did have a skateboard on stage, with which he procured many a trick while holding the mic. I've never really seen this before at a hip-hop show, and perchance in another setting would have been able to appreciate the novelty, but by that point all I wanted was to see was Del. Finally, nearly 30 minutes late (not a big deal usually, but remember that the majority of MFNW time slots are only an hour, sometimes less) Del came on stage with supporting MC A-Plus.

The show was alright, but Del was obviously very tired... or very, very high. He trudged his way through lyrics, even favorites like "At The Helm." There was a little of the banter that Del usually has with his audience (he did the "Cletus" character for a bit), but you could tell he just wasn't feeling it, and neither was the majority of the crowd. One bright spot was "Mr. Dobalina" - that finally got the place a little hyped and shook off the remnants of stagnation, but between the late start and the so-so energy, we just couldn't stick around.

Then it was off to the closing set of the night, Nada Surf at Berbati's Pan. Mixed feelings were experienced going in... everything else that night had been such a let-down, plus it was one of the few times that I (or anyone else for that matter), was going to see a non-traditional Nada line-up, featuring stand-in bassist Jose Galvez of Ozma temporarily replacing an injured Daniel Lorca. Nada hasn't canceled a date in YEARS let alone had a stand-in... I was curious to see how a structure as organic as a 3-piece, 15+ year old band would function with a newbie. And the answer is such: FUCKING RAD.

Completely wonderful. It seems as if Jose's presence caused Matthew Caws (vocalist, lead guitar) and Ira Eliot (drums) to re-examine their own songs... or play them in a way more conducive to Jose's power-pop background. Caws especially exhibited the effects of this new found energy... I've never seen him play "Hi-Speed Soul" with such an affinity for feedback, or tear through "Happy Kid" like it's the last day of school before summer. "Inside of Love" was transformed from the mopey-Starbucks-compilation-lovesong into a swaying 2-step with choreography led by the band. Caws said he wanted the audience to do something that looked "like Queen's video for 'Radio Ga-Ga,'" at which point I pretty much pissed myself from sheer pleasure from not only being in the same room as Matthew Caws, but also being in the same room as Matthew Caws while he's TALKING ABOUT QUEEN. If Christian Bale would have then walked into the room while someone simultaneously handed me a puppy, I'm pretty sure my head would have exploded - it was that awesome. Check out the video of the magic:

The guys were even generous enough to let Galvez showboat a little bit, letting him take the lead on "Do It Again" and turn it into a bass-driven sexyfest. For the record, Galvez looked like a kid on Christmas morning the whole time - he just kept looking around the venue and the stage with this huge, shit-eating grin on his face, and you could almost hear the internal monologue wafting from his brain: "I'm totally playing with Nada Surf right now! I am ON STAGE with Nada Surf! Holy shit!" It was an infectious feeling, to say the least.

After a few moments of screaming demands, Nada returned to the stage to encore with "Blond on Blond"(!), "Always Love," (which they dedicated to a drunk guy who had been demanding it in the front row for the majority of the concert), and "Blankest Year." And if you don't know by now, "Blankest Year" is the absolute best, most perfect way to end a show ever: with the audience screaming along to the refrain, "Fuck it / I'm gonna have a party!" Yeah, I want to have a party, Nada Surf... IN YOUR PANTS! The posse and I left the show incredibly grateful that our night was saved by this amazing performance, and affirmed in my personal belief that Nada surf is, hands down, one of the best live performing bands today.

Tonight's shows (dependant on scheduling):
Portugal the Man @ Berbati's, 10pm
TV on the Radio @ The Roseland, 11:30pm
The Builders and the Butchers @ Berbati's, 1am
Builders & Butchers after-party, TBA?

Musicfest NW, Day 1: Give In To the Musicfest.

The deceptive beauty of Musicfest NW is that, at first glance, it looks perfectly attainable. Sure, there's 180 bands and they're playing at 18 different venues, but it's spread out over 4 days and you even get this handy little pamphlet that serves as both a map and a time chart displaying the where and when of all the shows you want to see. And so you sit down with your pen and agonize over timing and routes, wondering if you'll really have enough time between Les Savy Fav and Blind Pilot to catch Fleet Foxes at the Crystal Ballroom, or if you should just stay on the East Side and see The Shaky Hands and The Get Down Stay Down at Halocene. Eventually you reach a point of either mild contentment or sheer surrender to your intended Musicfest schedule, only to find later that night as you're pounding your fifth free beer courtesy of Heineken that, really, it's all pointless. You do not control what happens to you at Musicfest; Musicfest NW controls you.

The night started for me at SPECTRE Entertainment's Kick-Off party, where I schmoozed with my fellow music journalists as well as a few friends that were crafty enough to sneak in and enjoy the free booze. Many a hipster stood by and compared personal schedules for the next few days, agreeing that the Cool Kids / Del the Funky Homosapien bill was the necessary hip-hop show of the festival, and that Vampire Weekend, though desirable, would be a complete clusterfuck to try and get in to, (the non-armband tickets sold out within a few short hours.) After imbibing sufficient social lubrication for the evening, it was off to the first show: Fuck Buttons supporting Mogwai at The Roseland Theatre.

I walked in to see what looked like co-founder/performer/DJ Andrew Hung doing an interpretive dance while making animal mating sounds on stage - and I dug it! The entire audience was held captive by the raw exertion of energy courtesy of the Fuck Buttons as they mutated and mangled sounds coming from keyboards and laptops until the end result was simply a gleeful pulse. Hung's screaming on "Ribs Out" didn't sound contrived or unnecessary, though - the vocal torment was the perfect bridge over the top of fellow Button Benjamin John Power's looped snare drum solo, creating a downright-tribal vibe. Eventually Hung relaxed on the physical aspect of his performance but the intensity only increased. Hung and Power took on an almost-dueling stance opposite of one another and escalated their sound to a near transcendental level. "Ok Let's Talk About Magic" had the crowd gaping, and rightfully so; if the end of the world sounds anything as cataclysmic as this, it's going to be pretty bitchin'.

After a necessary 20 minute pause to let the audience regain their composure, Mogwai took the dark stage with the simple grace and familiarity that comes only after a decade of forging your own genre of music. And what exactly is Mogwai? Math Rock? Post-Art Rock, Progressive Punk? Does it matter? Because last night they were simply amazing. Masterfully striding through favorites like "Tracy" and "New Paths to Helicon Pt. 1," the band managed to encompass both the highlights of their 13+ year career as well as showcase the songs that are only truly appreciated when performed live. The only worth-mentioning bummer was that more songs from the upcoming release The Hawk is Howling, (out September 23rd), but if the crowd's response was any indication, the absence wasn't noticed.

The first early-leaving took place for me towards the end of the Mogwai set, a necessary evil in situations such as MFNW. But my contact at Berbati's told me that the SPIN opening party was reaching capacity soon, and newcomers Norfolk & Western had just exited the stage. After a necessary re-fueling on Patron shots and half a slice of pizza, I bee-lined to my next destination just in time to see Langhorne Slim take the stage. And what a stage-taking it was! The last time I saw Langhorne perform I was a little less than impressed, (a strange pairing as the opener for the Violent Femmes) but last night's set had the entirety of the audience bouncing just as hard as the upright bass was being plucked. I felt like I had snuck in to a secret, backwoods jugband party, and no one noticed because they were all too busy doing body-shots or doe-see-doeing with the requisite hipster next to them. (Well, there probably aren't hipsters at backwoods jugband parties, but you know what I mean.)

So infectious and precise was Slim's execution of "Rebel Side of Heaven" and "In the Midnight" that they, dare I say it, slightly upstaged the SPIN headliner for the evening, The Old 97's. By the time the 97's took the stage, the crowd was ready for a continuation of the impromptu dance party Langhorne had created, and unfortunately that wasn't what they got. The mid-tempo shuffle of songs like "Barrier Reef" just weren't enough to keep the audience going, and many a rocker called it a night in attempts to save energy for the next three. I myself hung around as long as I could bob my head without cramping, but finally gave in when I couldn't fight off the yawns - and the free beer was gone. Rats.

Tomorrow's goal:
Up and coming: No Age and Battles at the Wonder Ballroom
Requisite Hip-Hop Show: The Cool Kids and Del the Funky Homosapien at the Roseland
Personal Favorite: Nada Surf (featuring Jose Galvez of OZMA sitting in for injured bassist Daniel Lorca)
Wind-Down: Steel Pole Bath Tub @ The Doug Fir