Insect Factory - Terrastock 7 CDr

i've been wanting to talk about the music of Jeff Barsky, and of my experience at the seventh Terrastock, since the fucker occurred. Procastination and over-speculating on the relevance, prevented me from speaking, until now. But the fact of the matter is that these 3 days in Kentucky were one of the highlights of my young adult life, and Insect Factory's music is a mighty simulacrum of all that is right and holy with the Terrastock; with Psych music; and with what we're trying to do, here at J's Heaven.

I had just gotten the most badass shout-out from Wooden Shjips for being the only person dancing during the whole weekend (Boris, Paik, and Motorpsycho will do that to you), and i got to talking to Barsky at his merch table. He found out i had taken a Greyhound bus from Denver to Louisville, and gave me a copy of this CD, in appreciation. This was back when i was just starting to dream of being a journalist, but still very reluctant to approach musician's. This gesture always meant a lot to me, and endeared me to his cause.

Insect Factory make good drone music; kind of a hard thing to qualify, other than the fact that it is warmly recorded and dreamy in cast. It puts you into a pleasant, kaleidoscopic revelry while listening. When i saw him live, he was performing with the classic noise guitar, pillowy delayed dream guitar set-up, and he was joined by a hammer dulcimer that added a nice world element to the elements. At that time, drone was still a pretty subterranean phenomenon, and i had not had a chance to see it live, much. His performance made a mark, in my mind, and lit a fire to make this kind of music, myself.

Recently, recalling the Terrastock, i thought to peak in on Insect Factory, see if he was still around and playing, and it turns out he was hard at work, touring and releasing a new record, Melodies From A Dead Radio, which he was nice enough to send me a copy of that to review (which i still need to get around to doing). This is the kind of thing that makes the underground tick: i've had skads of musicians send me packages with tapes, records, t shirts, swag galore. These people are dedicated to their art, often times paying out of their own pocket. When i got in touch with him, Jeff remembered who i was and was friendly and approachable, in text. This is the kind of thing that will win you fans. We build connections, one at a time, and here at J's Heaven, i'm at trying to spin vortices and interstices out into the unknown, into the ether.

This CD was made especially for the Terrastock. Its 4 tracks of mesmerizing guitar formations, filligreed with loops and layers of harmonium and bells. This is proper trance music; it lulls you into a theta state, it makes yr head sway like a cobra's. After four years, and about 10000 records later, i STILL say Insect Factory make good drone music. There seems to be a human core here, an emotional element. The visions it conjures seem much more colorful and surreal than a lot of the xeroxed, post-industrial blastitude of much of the genre. It is dreamy, without being narcotic. More LSD than heroin hit. It sounds like the sun, gradually sinking behind a line of Cumulus clouds - all rose and indigo. There's only four tracks, but its over an hour long. This CDr is like a magic carpet ride, and it takes me back to some of my favorite memories.

I am putting this up today because if you happen to live in the greater Portland metropolitan area, Insect Factory is playing a free show at the Kenton Club tonight. He comes from D.C. so he doesn't make it to this side of the sandbox all that often. He's also playing somewhere in the Bay Area, tomorrow night. Don't sleep on this one, here's a talented artist who is still unknown enough to know. A genuine, delightful human being, that is making genuinely delightful music. Take a trip, and tell yr friends.

Terrastock CDr

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At The Head Of The Woods - Beyond Time And Space

[ L I S T E N A N D B R E A T H E ]


At The Head Of The Woods are beyond time and space. This record, released on the Summer Solstice of 2008, sounds like lying on yr back, beneath a mossy oak tree, staring at starlight. There may or may not be fire. You must drift off for a moment, you feel yrself drift to the sky on a carpet of red cedar smoke. As you rise, you gain perspective; you notice the grandeur of grand forests, but you also see/hear/feel the devastation. The whine of homeless owls. The flies of pestilence. Cascadia seems to foster a vague form of nature worship. The enormous trees, millions of species of flora and fauna. It is impossible not to empathize, not to be driven to one's knees in respect and humility. There comes a point when the bark of a chainsaw biting into wood feels as if it is entering yr own flesh. You have become a black metal warrior, at that point, and it don't matter what yr music sounds like. There is an unbroken thread from Panopticon to Mt. Eerie to James Woodheads' At The Head Of The Woods Project. You would be forgiven for assuming some kind of atmospheric post-rock/metal, something like Windmills By The Ocean or Year Of No Light, but ATHOTW is walking his own path. On 'Beyond Time & Space' you get a 70-minute excursion of free-floating Floyd guitar, synth drones, and field recordings. There are lyrics, pertaining to the sky the earth the soil, but its all so luscious and drawn out, its hard to pick out what he's talking about. The comparison i was most keen on was a resemblance to Black Tape For A Blue Girl, there's a hint of Sam Rosenthal's ethereal masculine vocals, which is a style that has been moldering and unused for at least a decade. Beyond Time And Space sounds like a darkwave band making a space-rock record, record live in a cluster of Willow trees. I saw James Woodhead at the local Psychopomp event, last week at The Lovecraft. For that occasion, he played a droney synth set that sounded like Bach on ketamine. Through him, i found out about a regional collective called Glassthroat Recordings, which seems to focus around Seattle and Portland. They feature my favorite brand of nature worship, magickal and mysterious and unfettered by genre. They've got metal acts, dreamy droney soundscapes, dark romantic folk. I just found out about this shit last Wed. and i am a man obsessed. I look forward to going through their entire catalog, and exploring the dark woods of my mind. If yr from here, check 'em out, go see 'em live, buy a t shirt. If yr not, listen and wonder just what the fuck we've got in the water, up here in the corner. Highly, highly recommended. Distinctive artist with a singular style and something to say. Emotional yet still visionary. New favorite. You can read a sweet interview that James did with the equally sweet Heathen Harvest magazine here. You can stream the whole record here: http://attheheadofthewoods.bandcamp.com/

Grouper - He Knows, He Knows, He Knows

Here's a tiny sliver... Grouper seems to exist on her own plane. Calling through the mist, reaching out through the windows. Seeking connection, yet defying it. Liz Harris' ambient drones have heart, a heart that is broken. It is black eyed and sullen and bewitching. This miniature album (it was released on a 3" CDr and vinyl 7". It came out between Way Their Crept and Wide. On it, she explores the limits of her voice, which ripples like a pond in the woods over the course of these three tracks. She sounds entirely sweet, seductive. A siren that calls you to sharp rocks. Edges you further on into the night-time. Like the work of Leyland Kirby, aka The Caretaker, she uses reverb and delay to give a sensation of recollection, and the loop-y subject matter of the material makes it seem like a memory played over and over. Someone you can't forget? What compels Liz Harris to construct these worlds? Is she just that anti-social? My friend said once that Grouper's music was like someone in a bedroom, nodded out on junk, slowly rocking and absently strumming a guitar. Only this time, even the guitar is missing. There is nothing to hold her down - she is otherworldly. I heard another reviewer mention the works of Arvo Pärt, these three songs also seem like spectral choruses. I finally saw Grouper play live, as part of the Improvisation Summit Of Portland (you can read about that here if you like. She played in a nearly black room, with a dancer swinging a lantern like the hermit. Her music put owls in my mind, cast shadows of branches. People like Grouper are part of what lured me out towards the NorthWest, i just felt this compulsion to be NEAR them. People like Grouper, Earth, Daniel Menche, Pete Swanson (not sure if he's still here or not). Finally being in the same room with Liz Harris, breathing the same air; it was something i'd been ANTICIPATING. It seemed fated. To see her live, was to re-appreciate her music. I've been listening to this year's Mirroring project with Jesy Fortino of Tiny Vipers, as well as the epic A I A : Alien Observer. She's inspiring; its like she'll lead you down a dark tunnel with a lantern of stars. She'll show you drawings on the wall. She's one of the masters of the modern drone and loop. Raw heart. Direct appreciation. A shadow on the walls of yr mind. This is witchcraft... Grouper's music possesses you. It made me feel like i want to listen to this person every day. I want to fall in love, and have my heart broken. I want her to tell me stories. I've decided to hear every note of music that she's made, let her wraith-like sadness and distance transport me. To a shadowy place, full of soft white light. Speaking softly. Slowly. Sometimes not at all. The sound of evening falling, the streetlights arising. Memories of Autumn. It is black-clad and it is smoking.
 Lose yrself...

He Knows, He Knows, He Knows

Chasma - Declaration of the Grand Artificer

Don't call them cascadian black metal.

Even if they kind of sound like it.

Chasma are a 3-piece from Portland. They play a style of psychedelic black metal that will definitely thrill fans of Wolves in the Throne Room or Panopticon, but they blend in elements of shoegaze and post-rock to create an impressionistic blur. The overall effect is like having a flying dream over a gray stony landscape, and the landscape is weeping.

The black metal that has been coming out of the Pacific Northwest lately takes the classic black metal formula, machine gun rhythms and shrieking vomitous vocals, but then adds touches of psychedelic metal, a la Isis. A truly fucking epic sound. It sounds like a person berating God at the foot of a mountain, alone in the wilderness. Its much more emotional, where the original Scandinavians were more psychotic and demonic. Declaration of the Grand Artificer may have a heart, but it also seems elemental. As the Moribund Records website put it, 'Mystical yet emotional, of the earth and yet aiming for the cosmos'.

Declaration was originally released as a 12", and was a scant 33 minutes. This version, however, comes with a bonus track that tacks on an extra 10 minutes, "Dimensions In Lament". Its a good thing, too; this record, and this band in general, work best when you get into their world for a while, let its snowy whiteness wash over you. Get lost in it. Each of the tracks starts off in traditional post-rock fashion, quiet and pretty, but with far-off sounds of suffering. Cacophony quickly takes over, the singer really pukes out the words and the drummer delivers a wall of annihilating percussion. The kick drums could be a little higher and tighter, if they want to achieve the ultimate mind-melt next time around. The guitars stay distant, floating on wings of delay; pretty much clean for the duration. Sounds a lot like Mogwai or Explosions in the Sky, which makes for an interesting hybrid.

Saw these dudes live the other day, as part of the Northwestern Black Circle Fest, (you can read my accounts of those unholy gatherings here, here, and here. They were definitely the youngest and least theatrical of all the metal bands i saw that weekend. Just three skinny, angsty white-boys thrashing away. I was impressed by how barebones and lean it was, and also how taut their performance, slipping effortlessly between climactic post-rock builds, psychotic black metal, and brutal sludge, all with an effortless flip of knee length blond hair. At times, they could be a little close to metalcore for comfort, but this is a common threat amongst a certain age group. Kids that grew up with pop punk and the Dillinger Escape Plan. I was also impressed with how they were attempting to move black metal in different directions, to open it up, and emphasize some of its really psychedelic, visionary qualities. They were also the only representatives i saw of the recent Cascadian scene, which i really like. It sounds like a dark forest at night. Chasma seem colder than that, though, more like a vast tundra. They're trying things out, and they can really fucking play. If you live in Portland, definitely check them out if you get a chance. I've been to so many good shows in the past few weeks its sickening. Thinking a lot about music and writing, so i hope to get busy over here in the upcoming days.

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I AM THE LAKE OF FIRE (demos)

there is something about this music...

let no one deceive you, there is another world

it is within you

every boy and girl

there is a kingdom

there is a king

the cosmos is his dominion

everything ever was will ever be

everything

o lonely soul

how beautiful you are to behold

you are not alone

its high time you come home

These are lines from the opening song 'I Am The Welcoming Angel'. It sounds like a love song to the milky way, like something by william blake sound to dry sparse nylon-string guitar. Mystical folk music, it implies holiness.  ((and also heresy))

Came across I AM THE LAKE OF FIRE opening for Viking Moses at Ella Street Social Club a few weeks ago.  Turns out that its the solo project of someone named Davis Hooker, who's been plugged into a certain rung of Portland's nether world for some time. He has played solo and in bands like A John Henry Memorial, Water Graves Of Portland, ...Worms, Rob Walmart - a vast neural network of collaborations, alter-egos, nom-de-plumes; recorded in Orthodox church halls and people's garages. This heavy metal mutant folk is part of what dragged me out to this part of the country.

He has albums out on Marriage and Wil-Ru.. A dark chasm of music opened up before me. He's been affiliated with the likes of Adrian Orange (they play together in the Watery Graves), Mt. Eerie/Phil Elverum, the K Records/Anacortes, Wa. axis.They're all hyper-prolific and eccentric, kind of skewed but endlessly creative.

When i first heard Davis' music, i didn't have much of an opportunity to pay attention. There were friends around, and i'd probably been listening to music for 7 hours that day, in the never-ending bid to stay current and up to the second, hearing every new thing that comes out. The rigors of being a music journalist; attempting to care and be engaged and listen, over and over and over again. I made a note to listen to I AM THE LAKE OF FIRE again.

Trawling through the sparse detritus of the underground's traces on the internet, came upon I AM THE LAKE OF FIRE's bandcamp, 5 slight tracks with a sketchy pencil drawing of what looks like a greek temple. The tracks had names like 'I AM THE PRINCE OF THE AIR' and 'I AM LUCIFER'S PRIDE'; kind of an Old Testament destroying angel that seemed to have profound occult under-pinnings that are oblique and mysterious.

something came alive for me
things began to make sense
this music has change me
sort of fell into this world; like a daydream, or a fever - i came under its spell

what makes something yr favorite?

is it a memory of the live experience?
nostalgia?
Understanding the people that make it?

i see it like frequencies

some of are tuned to the same hum

I am no expert on Davis Hooker's music. It makes me curious; i want to experience it over and over. These days, it seems like you have to make a choice to stand by something - to champion it. Some mad impulse in the spur of the moment, you get a tattoo. Something about the rough hewn hermetic quality of this music and art snagged me like an inverted cross. Coming upon his tumblr account, Great Horned Owls, i found pages of backwards photographs and cryptic stories. Its like getting possessed by somebody's imagination. They peer inside you for a moment.

I AM THE LAKE OF FIRE sounds like judgement day. It seems like things are coming to a head. Its like Godspeed You! Black Emperor said : "Kiss me, yr beautiful/these are truly the end days." It may be dark but at least its romantic. Beyond gods and morality, we glow in the neon. Shine like dark stars. Music is like magick, you plant visions in someone's head. Make dreams a reality.

Davis Hooker lives in Portland. It seems like he plays around a great deal (although he's out of town right now) and is unknown and playing tiny places for cheap or free. He, and all his friends, are a rich ore of mutant weirdness and dark arts.

I highly recommend you take a moment and listen to this 16 minute EP. You can check it out online, or pay him $1.23 and keep it forever. He also has some memorabilia for free. The battle of the black cloud trilogy is available for whatever price you like, and here's a sweet show he did with a radio program called Phoning It In.

This urge to descend into visionary music, to be transported. Some would call it experimental, a work in progress. That's part of what these bandcamps and facebooks and soundclouds are about, its walking the journey unfold. Its like getting to know someone. I'd like to get to know Davis Hooker, and his friends. I respect what they do. It inspires me. Makes me want to carpet the internet with moldy books and stars and field recordings of Sri Lanka.

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Alto!

Played a show with these dudes last night at the exquisite Ella Street Social Club. They kicked out a mind-melting cacophany of tribal percussion and screeching no-wave noise guitar, with an old drum machine holding the beast together. Impressively ritualistic, these guys were taut and focused, unusually powerful. Alto! sounds like Neurosis jamming with Sumner Crane after a Benzedrine all-nighter.

This free download, available from their Bandcamp, is a faithful reproduction of what they sound like live. The drums are full and rich, the guitar is sci-fi, there are textures of tones and ambiance. You can have a late-night drum freak out in yr ears, on demand.
Isn't the internet wonderful!

It was a real pleasure to play on a legit noise bill for the first time, a dream come true. Holy Filament, from Vancouver, Wa, freaked out some squares on a date, and 3 moons channeled Brion Gysin's servitor for the occasion, overcoming technical difficulties to summon the trance, as always.

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Glue Horses

Glue Horses sound like driving down the open road, or perhaps walking next to it. The sun burns yr skin, there are beads of sweat along yr brow, you've got shivers, but yr not sure if its heat-stroke, excitement, or a hang-over from last night. They are affiliated with legendary Portland busking outfit All The Apparatus, preaching the gospel on streetcorners and alleyways since 2010, but Glue Horses are their own beast.

I submit, for yr consideration, a live recording made in the basement of Goat's Head Manor, back in October, when i was new to this city. The sound of the Bremen McKinney's accordion, the thump of the suitcase percussion, Will DeLance's warm worn vocals and soulful guitar, perfectly reflect the feeling of coming off the road, strewing belongings everywhere, life being held together with twine and a prayer - its scary as hell, but at least yr living.

Glue Horses are one of the musical cornerstones of Goat's Head Manor, i often walk in the front door to the strains of their upbeat gypsy jazz punk. One of my roommates, Jonah Lee, has taken over the drumming duties, and his precise, driving beats are the perfect pulse for this modern Romany fairy tale. They've also added a new vocalist, Madi Goldsmith, who further fills out the sound with perfect, feminine harmonies.

As i've listened back to this recording, converting the mp3s and such, i get the sense of standing at the crossroads, looking back and reflecting on the past, and getting excited about the future. Here at Goat's Head Manor, we are constantly surrounded by stunning musicians - this place is a cathedral of sound, and this group of friends that have adopted my hobo ass are constantly inspiring and provoking one another towards excellence. We're all finding our place in the world, finding the right musical family but remaining a collective, a unity, a whole. We stand around the beet-stained chopping block playing rhythm games, laughing and crying, but maybe its just the onions, talking about everything. Hilarious and deadly serious, and always heartfelt - i feel like i am in the primordial soup of creation, and we are inventing the future, we are re-defining the present. This recording also marks the first of an endless onslaught of recordings from Goat's Head, made in the basement where i sleep at night, my dreams filled with the ghosts of countless house-shows and jam sessions, my molecules singing with musicmusicMUSIC!

This recording is merely a stop-gap solution for the real deal, Glue Horses live and in person, sweaty raw and naked. This Saturday, they're playing an awesome show with like minded klezmer punk dance band Chevrona, who sound like an orthodox Russian wedding band after huffing ether out of a brown paper bag for two-and-a-half hours. Saturday night is going to go off like a powder keg, and Glue Horses have been practicing like lunatics for weeks, and are bound to be tight as a jack-rabbit. As an added bonus, Alex Geer from fellow Goat's Head favorites Damn Divas,  will be holding down the groove on the bass guitar for the festivities, and if Alex is involved, you just know its gonna be hot!

Glue Horses in Oct. - live @ Goat's Head Manor

Crowning The Eagle: A Celebration of Polish Heritage @ McMenamin's White Eagle

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Nothing Lasts Forever with Dhug Diario & Donovan; The Lovecraft Bar, 4.11.12

Nothing Lasts Forever is a monthly night of experimental horror music. Each second Wednesday of the month a different group of artists collaborate to create a dark atmosphere. Hosted by Portland's best Horror theme bar, The Lovecraft.

This month's installment of Nothing Lasts Forever was made up of Dhug Diario & Donovan, who together make electronic music under the bizarre moniker Chickenhed. They were joined in a collective improvisation with host Jonathan Christ, to create a bizarre three - headed biomechanical noise machine, with visual ambiance added by Dustin Christ (no relation), who was showing existential German cartoons and scenes from Hellraiser 2. The overall effect was of a spooky hall-of-mirrors, straight to hell.

The three musicians were all perched over glowing laptop screens, running a variety of sound-mangling software, manipulating samples and loops from household objects and acoustic instruments and mashing them into unrecognizable to create a kaleidoscopic jello salad of flangers, beat-repeaters, resonators and reverb; they had the local vampires and zombies literally writhing on the floor, freaking out the squares who wandered in off of Grand Ave. At times it sounded like a funeral for Mega Man, at times it sounded like out-takes from the Escape From New York soundtrack, the whole was satisfyingly murky and deranged; nostalgic yet of the moment. Listening to the loops fall in and out of sync was lulling and hypnotic, my eyes were beginning to roll up in my head, and only the intercession of my friend Nathan prevented me from drifting off to the 5th dimension, right in front of everybody.

It was impossible to tell what each musician was adding to the mix, the mark of a truly accomplished improvisation. They were tuned into each other, and looked as if they were having a good time. I'm not yet familiar with the works of Chickenhed, and it was the first i'd heard of Dhug & Donovan, but it seems to be satisfyingly surreal, and there's a shitload of free material on their website, so it looks like i've found a new band to love. There was the best turn out i'd seen so far, everybody was friendly and talkative; new allegiances were made, old friendships were re-kindled; Nothing Lasts Forever just keep getting better and better.

Jonathan Christ does a good job of re-inventing what horror music actually means, anywhere from electro-acoustic improv to harsh noise, introducing a diverse array of the dark pleasure of Lovecraft's infernal ambiance. It is a refreshing addition to Portland's somewhat schizophrenic experimental music scene. The sound is good, and listening to people improvise noise music for hours is always a good time. Good place to make some new friends, to zone out and channel spirits, to draw or write or drink and make out. Some people even dance! Considering that there's no cover charge for these happenings, and there is just no excuse to not make the jaunt, every second Wednesday. Don't miss out!

Dhug Diario

http://soundcloud.com/dhugdiario

Donovan

http://soundcloud.com/dark-prince-1

Chickenhed

http://chickenhed.us/

Jonathan Christ

http://thegravesofgehenna.tumblr.com/

http://soundcloud.com/Jonathanchrist

The Lovecraft

http://thelovecraftbar.com/

Barry Brussea, Cotton, Waver Clamor Bellow @ The Waypost; 4.6.12

The Waypost was the perfect venue for the intimate, unadulterated acoustic tones of the evening; inside, it seemed like a mash-up of an Old English tea-parlor; all elaborate tapestries on the walls, busts on the piano, with a Old West speak-easy. The lights were low, and the crowd was there to listen.

I've seen Barry Brussea a number of times, at this point, and have definitely noticed that this attention can make or break his music. One man, one voice, a nylon string guitar, a couple of pedals, it's subtle music - but when you are in its thrall, it will wash over you, breaking like waves, removing you from consensual reality into a place archetypal and emotional. Barry is a master of atmosphere, and with the mellow vibes of The Waypost supporting him, he played the finest set i've seen him play so far, even without the presence of his brother Jimmy on drums. He got the tone and mood dialed in completely, his guitar was impeccable, coming through a classy Marshall amp. He played a set of material from his last record, A Night Goes Through (which i talked about over here,) interspersed with some brand new material, he's got a new record coming out soon, and some material that he rarely plays live, a spoken word number with minimal guitar textures, droning Hazerai delay, that sounded like a Raymond Carver story scored by Olafur Arnold, all about jumping off a roof into the hedges. Barry's music is all about the details, the little touches, from the way he packages his records, to the wordless cooing in a soaring falsetto, like on the encore 'Thrift Store Buzz" which had the crowd singing. A moving experience, a good place to be on Good Friday.

Cotton was expanded to a four piece for this occasion, fleshing out Jim Han's maudlin, sarcastic honky-tonk minimalist folk with stand-up bass, backing vocals, accordion, piano. Jim's unassuming stage-presence is really facilitated by the additional musicians, he can really be his dry humble self, without having to shuck and shill. His guitar was mainly dry and clean, the upright was round and full, Lily Valentine was a nice addition, adding vocals, little keyboard parts, and some tambourine. Cotton's music really excels with the presence of female vocals, the three part harmonies filled the room, let the sound take wing. The icing on the wedding cake, was Jeff Kelley on accordion, piano, kick drum - dude's a total badass, and he ripped some awesome country piano solos, really bringing the speak-easy vibe to life. It is clear that they are all consummate musicians and care about what they are doing. Cotton are quickly becoming a favorite - i am honored to have such a dedicated and talented musician living in the same town, often playing shows for free, for the love of music. On this particular evening, Cotton's blend of faded romance, bittersweet romance, c & w drunken sway, and hummable melodies probably saved my sanity, just what the medicine doctor ordered. I wrote about Cotton, previously, with a link to their last album, check it. Love it.

Waver Clamor Bellow were an unexpected delight, a two piece instrumental duo, electric guitar and an army of pedals, and amplified viola, they created some of the most beautiful looping, drones i've heard in a minute - rippling fingerpicked arpgeggios on the guitar with the sawing sonority of the viola, rich and lush, run through delay and a big muff (!), their 45 minute set reminded me of Dirty Three or even Godspeed You! Black Emperor, but way more optimistic and colorful. The interplay between the musicians was near-telepathic, totally in tune with one another and able to pull off intricate ebb and flow arrangements. it was like a mixture of improvisation with a chamber ensemble, which is very hard to pull off well, without falling into the stuffiness of either. Instead Waver Clamor Bellow are creating something timeless and classic and brand-new. Again, like with all the other acts, the tone was impeccable and the audience was appreciative, allowing WCB to really raise the shakti, get something immense and powerful going on, climaxing with the finale, which was built of bowed guitar, clanging and looping, bowed glockenspiel for that temple bell sound, pizzicato viola plucking, that would've done Andrew Bird proud, that settled into a cresting, soaring bowed melody. Fucking outstanding.

If anyone happens to live in Olympia, Wa. and should read this today, Barry Brussea and Cotton are playing together again, along with soul-sister Leah Bee, Jake Kelly, and Snail Party, at the Swamp House. Should be transcendental.

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Malaikat Dan Singa, Skrill Meadow, Free Weed, Rollerball; Ella Street Social Club, 3.30.12

I was running characteristically late; pounding pavement down Burnside, chucking over every aspect and nuance of society, of creativity, what to say and what not to say to Arrington De Dionyso. I had met him a few times over the summer, when i was staying in Olympia, knew a few of the same people, saw Malaikat Dan Singa play a few times, most suitably impressed with his no-wave trance mongolian transgressive rock. There was a moment at Helsing Junction Sleepover, when my head was full of cobwebs and mildew, and Arrington's mixture of chant, bass clarinet, spiky repetitive bass grooves and dancehall rhythms saved my soul.

I arrived early to interview him (more on that later), so was there pretty early, kicking around Ella Street's red interior with my notebook and pen; on assignment. The interview went surprisingly well, seeing as how i had not prepared AT ALL, other than mulling about in my head what i, and what other people, might like to know about this person. We talked about Indonesia, the void, trance, daniel higgs, the physical properties of sounds. About talking with spirits. I was struck, as i am often struck, by the ambiance of Ella Street, its like a Seance Parlor over there, the walls of time just seem thin. Old jazz on the stereo, antiqued hanging lamps. I fell into a lull, lapping up the light. Shooting a game of pool. A very receptive mood for Arrington, and what he had to show me.

A pleasant surprise of the evening was my friend Markley Morrison, who usually plays in Lake, but this evening was playing with Malaikat, as well as performing solo under the name Skrill Meadow. Mark's a good ol' boy from Southern California, he's from the same town as Captain Beefheart; Lancaster, Ca. They have a lot of fluoride in the water. He knows a lot of country songs. He's got a killer soul vinyl collection. Skrill Meadow played with a funky old keyboard, a set of roto-toms, a ghetto blaster, and two microphones; totally nailing a set of '80s plastic funk, echo-laden Motown b-sides, a New Romantic version of 'Nobody Wants To Play Rhythm Guitar Behind Jesus'. Lake did a tour with R. Stevie Moore this last fall, and the connection of their eccentric pop genius is evident, similar also to Ariel Pink. Perfect pop songs, 20 years too late, recorded on a ghetto blaster. But Mark really means it, he goes for it, so many intricacies and nuances and flair. Sweet drum machine fills, a roto-tom solo. A consummate performer.

I went for a walk, found some fruit on the ground, listened to the next band, Free Weed, through the wall, smoking cigarettes and writing in my notebook. Fell into a heavy make-out session in the back of a car, and was pulled away from the next two bands, got back in time for Malaikat Dan Singa. My endorphins were revved, and self-consciousness forsaken, Ella St. was particularly primal this evening, sloughing off its usual opium-den languor to get tropical and sweaty. I felt like a panther as my body began to sway and pulse to Nehemiah St. Danger's slinky bass, Arrington's jagged shards of guitar, like the angular thoughts in my brain, high and bright over the meat carnage of sinew, tendon, and bone. Arrington talked of igniting a spark, transmitting a message, taking people on a voyage, and Ella Street Social Club was the conduit for the current, last evening. It went off; 20 bodies slammed into a small dance floor, moving with abandon. Complete (forgive the pun) Dionysian abandon. They played a surprisingly short set, or maybe i just missed a bit of it, but it mainly consisted of trance-y rock grooves, almost kosmische in their repetition; two guitars, bass, drums, synth, voice. Arrington played his bass clarinet, but not a ton, focusing more on his Mongolian James Brown routine. Charismatic as always, total presence; this is like the fourth or fifth time i've seen them live, i'm just mesmerized every time. Quickly becoming a favourite, and a genuine and decent guy, to boot. Last night was the first night of a ten day tour down the west coast, so if you should get this in time, do. not. sleep. on. this. This tour's gonna rock socks! If you live in Portland, and didn't get to check out last night's show, you have another chance, next weekend, 4.8.12, with like minded cosmonauts, Million Brazillions.

Arrington gave me some links to some cool Indonesian music to check out. Check back on Chain Dlk over the next couple of days, to scope the full interview.

Wukir & Rully - Senyawa

West Coast Tour Dates:

Saturday, March 31st, ARCATA, California- TBA! Probably at HSU at 8pm

in front of the Ceramics Lab? Maybe? Or we’ll crash a house party

somewhere?

Sunday, April 1st- BERKELEY= EARLLLLY ART SHOW AND PERFORMANCE=

6pm!!!! www.facebook.com/events/328748727178840/

at The Tarot Woman 3140 Martin Luther King Jr Way Berkeley, CA 94703

(510-542-6196)

MONDAY April 2nd- San Francisco- at THE KNOCKOUT!

www.facebook.com/events/320403538009215/ w/William Winant and

Dominique Leon!

Tuesday, April 3= San Luis Obispo- www.facebook.com/events/410446525648549/

Wednesday, April 4th, UC IRVINE- www.acrobaticseveryday.org (8pm)

Thursday, April 5th SAN DIEGO- the Tin Can Alehouse!

https://www.facebook.com/people/Tin-Can-Alehouse/1497946481

Friday, April 6th LOS ANGELES- The Smell w/Amps For Christ, Let’s

Paint TV, Skrill Meadow! www.facebook.com/events/370754869622703/

Saturday, April 7th SACRAMENTO- Bows and Arrows Collective- w/San

Kazagaskar, more!

Sunday, April 8th PORTLAND- at THE TUBE! w/Million Brazilians

FRIDAY, April 13th SEATTLE- In Arts NW- www.facebook.com/events/119867128138478/s

Madrigals @ Lincoln Recital Hall, PSU; 3.7.12

Madrigals are a form of Renaissance music, small ensembles of 3 to 8 voices, often singing adaptations of popular poems. I became familiar with the style first through the old, great goth band Miranda Sex Garden, and i deepened my knowledge and understanding with my surreal anglophiliac tendencies.

This evening's performance, at the lovely Lincoln Recital Hall, in the basement of the luxurious Lincoln Performance building, all gilded Corinthian columns and polished wood. One thing you can say for classical performances, even if you don't care much for the music, is you can usually count on the acoustics. The Lincoln Recital Hall did not disappoint in this regard - an intimate room that seats about 100. Most of the attendees were either performers or their families, making it a casual, non-imposing atmosphere, and anybody who knows anything knows that this is the setting in which inspired art can commence, in which song may take flight.

The song was fully mid-wing as my friend and i entered the room; the Madrigal Choir began with a rare duo of sacred choral pieces, Ave Verum Corpus and O Bone Jesus that sounded like Arvo Part and had my whole body in a cold sweat and shivers, before launching into the more familiar street numbers, odes to love and tobacco, a sonnet by Shakespeare given voice. There were songs for only the women, and one just for the men; the line-up switched constantly which shook things up and kept it invigorating, and the variety and combination of voices conjured filmy orchestras in my mind's eye, silken bassoons and golden flutes, automatic harp and a fox hunt, all played out on a dusty celluloid stage, beneath the ghost light.

The University Choir were up next, a full 80 voices! Extraordinary, the fullness and richness, and captured and set loose in such a warm, inviting room. The University Choir is open to full-time music students and hobbyists alike, they have a severe work ethic while practicing but clearly enjoy themselves. The melting-pot of styles and motivations, not to mention the genders and age differences of the choir members, made for such a richly textured music. Some were clearly bored and looking for that easy credit, but some were burning with the holy spirit! They committed several of what i usually consider mortal musical sins.

1. The Choral Rendition of a Pop Tune (And So It Goes, Billy Joel)
   
2. Predominantly white choir doing ethnic music (Balia di Sehu, Aruba)
3. Parading through the aisles, to exit the auditorium

The Billy Joel number was actually my second favorite of the evening, behind the holy choral music mentioned earlier. It tells a story of a person opening up the secret room of their heart, gifting the treasure of their heart to someone, to break as they see fit. The soloist Ariel Young clearly knew what she was talking about, singing in a smooth silky alto: pure, emotional, sincere - a rare gift when interpreting someone else's song. It left me raw and misty, dreading the coming Spring thaw and all its resultant loneliness, but the joy and purity of the evening's music would not allow cynicism to flourish in my chest, i left full of hope and possibility.

The Madrigal & University Choir's whetted my appetite for classical music, and reminded me of how much rich culture there is to be had out there, for those with discerning Eustachian canals.

Sundaze, Magic Fades, Sucker for Lights @ Kelley's Olympian 3.2.12

I came across Sundaze in a very random manner - i was looking for info on the recent Left Banke re-issues on the sweet archival label Sundazed Records. The first thing i noticed was that we shared a common enthusiasm for early, excellent shoegaze bands like The Jesus and Mary Chain and A Place To Bury Strangers. I always get excited when i discover a new 'gaze band, especially when they're still active. Delving further, i noticed that we knew A LOT of the same people, and that they seemed to be acquainted with a number of the venues around Portland. Turns out they were playing in a couple of days at Kelley's Olympian, and they were nice enough to put me on the guest list.

Kelley's is a red neon glare in SW Portland. The southwesterly quadrant was bristling with early spring energy, everybody was out. I was quite adrenalized as i walked into Kelley's warmth, and to my pleasant surprise, ran into my friend Made as soon as i set foot in the door. Its always fun to have a conspirator; i love to pick people's brains, to see how they react to bands. She tends to be kind of close-minded, i was interested to see how she would react to the bands of the evening - she mostly prefers old school thrash metal. Sundaze were playing when i arrived, although it took me forever to figure that out. Two guys and a girl; two Fender guitars, a synth, and a drum machine, kicking out a cross between Spacemen 3's garage psychedelia, with their repetitive hypnotic synth organ lines and Oneida's pillowy wall of gravel and mist, toppling down on yr head. They'll make yr eyes roll up back in yr head, they'll make you see silver stars. Made observed they reminded her of The Cramps, which i found to be an interesting observation, but i could perceive the ghost of Lux Interior in Sundaze's quiksilver twang. They have the wistful romantic etherealness of Chris Isaak's Wicked Game, but without the melodrama and cocaine shimmer. This music is bruised, bleeding from the mouth, heart-rippingly passionate, fierce, and damaged. When they finished, i was disappointed; i wanted them to go all night. The tone was fucking out of this cosmos, truly some beautiful guitar wrangling happening, on this Friday evening, and the antiquated drum samples had just the right amount of grit, that beautiful analog CRUNCH! These guys live here, and have a whole bunch of live dates coming up, the next one on Thurs., 3.8.12, at Backspace, so check out their webpage for live dates, and go check 'em out. Its a pleasant surprise to find an excellent shoegaze band in the neighborhood, one that should not be taken for granted. They told me they were about to send the finished tracks for a new EP to be mastered, due out soon, so expect to hear more about Sundaze in the coming months.

Magic Fades, i wasn't too impressed with; two white boys kickin' out some slick 80s club funk. Drum machine, bass synth, guitar, sweet vocals - all the elements were there, just weren't doing it for me. Probably had something to do with Made exhuding brooding contempt for these poor bastards. When she hates something, she really hates it. For me, the mood was too consistent, this same sex on the dancefloor r&b bravada, over and over. Too polished, too consistent, too easily ignored. In all fairness, i had spent all evening writing a review of the new Nite Jewel disc that's about to drop, and i think the 80s funk receptors in my brain had burnt out. I'd totally give them another chance.

I liked Sucker for Lights much better, a little bit of strychnine, to spike the sweet. Seemed like singer/keyboardist/beatsmith Olivia Voss seemed a little nervous at first, a little tense, she was like one of those Andy Goldsworthy icicle spheres, but quickly thawed beneath the stage-lights, revealing herself to be grandiose, cinematic, the heart of a lion. She reminded me of a Debbie Harry, a Kate Bush; a proper front-woman, while Bryan Brunt played the hell out of his guitar. There's some legit fucking guitar players in this town, so many beautiful instruments, so much thick luxurious tone. Brunt's reminded me of Will Sargeant from Echo and the Bunnymen, with a digital sheen, a prismatic shimmer. He scored some major solo points, throughout the course of their set. I would dare to call him a 'hotshot', even though he stared at his shoes with his hair in his face and spoke not one word. He is a man of gesture, showing rather than telling, and that is a fine quality in an instrumentalist. They've got a new EP out, that's available for download on their bandcamp, and they were giving away free copies at the show last night, so again, expect to hear more from this band, and go check 'em out if you go get a chance, if you like Blondie, Siouxsie, Soft Cell, Prince, Zola Jesus, Billy Idol, Madonna.

Thanks again to John from Sundaze for corresponding with me, giving me an EP, getting me on the guest list. I am a fan.

First Thursday; @Various Galleries, 3.1.12

One of my roommates tagged me for this one, at the last minute; it was my first First Thursday, where all the galleries Downtown, China-town hang new pretties on the walls and (momentarily) fling open their doors, enticing people with free pizza, booze, live music, and all for free. At times, living in Portland, wandering around in the Pearl District feels like living in an Art Museum that is open all night - its an aesthetic town.

The reason we went was to see Anthropormorphism, the opening for artist Dawn Yanagihara, which mainly consisted of gracefully faded chimeras: bird people, deer people, lion-headed people. The effect was consistently antiqued, not necessarily a step backwards in time, but sideways, into a world that never was. Little nuances like an e mail sign up sheet that was a little league list from a Texas town in the 50s, the spell was complete and thorough. More graphic design than fine art, i didn't feel like this was art for the ages, although it was tasteful and would look nice on yr walls. She was selling post-cards and prints, (in old-fashioned manila envelopes), and looked like she had people lining up to give her money; people must've liked it. I would like to see what this artist does, when no is looking, her execution is impeccable and her attention to nuance, detail, and mood, to create an emotional experience, is impressive, and appealing to mine eyes. Anthropormorphism is a figure of the times.

The band My Body provided the soundtrack for the evening, furthering the anachronism with a blend of accordion, electric guitar, glockenspiel, BOSS SP-505 Drum Machine. They created a somniative drift, consistently dreamy and mellow, excellent tone was had by all. Jordan Bagnall's got a lovely voice and presence, and the reedy drone of her accordion was rich and trance-y, like a harmonium, a wooden trellis for the simple-yet-effective electric guitar lines, all snaky middle-eastern Faith-era Cure sounding, to weave around. Not a saccharine sugar ride, but more amniotic and soothing, seducing you into the warmth of the SoHitEk Gallery.

My favorite exhibit of the evening was by Vilem, a conjoined show with artist Kristina Koenig, titled “We can blame the Eskimos…They don’t have an army…”. Vilem's pieces were large, messy affairs, that reminded me of works by Basquait or Anselm Kiefer. One of the pieces featured the pink pegasus created by Basquait and Warhol for Exxon, flying over a serialist field of xeroxed oil wells; Vilem's not trying to reinvent the wheel, obviously, he is pondering and perfecting. A number of the pieces photo transfers from his own photography, glazed with homemade chemicals (don't tell Homeland Security), they sketchy dirty possibly fucked up, full of hidden imagery, layers buried in the fog. He was hanging around the gallery, talking about his various pieces, espousing on art, meaning, creativity, irish men and the origin of China Town. He didn't seem like he was trying to sell me some post-criticism, he's just doing his thing, making art that is trying to say something. Many of his pieces were LARGE and textured, they looked great hanging all together, creating a vibe in the room, you could get lost for hours. He said the exhibit was going to be up for at least another month at the fotoeffect gallery, 625 NW Everett St, #107. The pictures on the internet can't hold a candle to the objects themselves.

Many more interesting things were seen and heard, and i was bowled over for gratitude, yet again, to live in this town in 2012; my friends and i launched into all manner of speculation, heated discussion, agreement and argument, and all of our shores were slightly broadened.

Pierced Arrows, Night Nurse, Terokal, The Lordy Lords @ Plan B; 2.25.12

A few months ago, i e mailed Pierced Arrows on a whim; i was trying to con my way into the dinosaur jr. show. I had heard them down in Austin, TX, (which i talk about over here, along with their predecessors, Dead Moon), and i considered myself a fan, although i haven't really listened to them a ton. Out of the blue, i got a message from Toody, the bass player, who told me she'd love to put me on the guest list for upcoming shows, and she'd be into doing an interview!

This sent my engine into overdrive, nearly overheating: "oh shit, i've got to be a REAL journalist." This sent me into a manic spiral of research and worry, pre-meditating and zen-like calm. I even considered not going at all. On the way over, my tape recorded decided to crap out, and i was off the hook, was able to attend the show without worry or pressure of being legit.

Night Nurse was playing when i arrived, a very satisfying crunchy death/thrash metal band, crunchy low end that eased my worries, that sent my analytical brain to sleep, let me engage in the flow, the bacchanale, the orgy. This is rock 'n roll, its not devoid of intellect, but its not entirely comprised of it, either. Body and Mind, working together. Night Nurse were the perfect appetizer, easing into the evening, whetting my pallet, eager for more. There was a moment when the singer was the most beautiful woman on earth, goddess personified, feral and hungry and sexy and angry, totally fucking owning it. Unashamed. Beautiful to watch. These guys are relatively new, and are from Portland, so i would recommend seeking them out, if you like blackened crust metal punk.

Terokal up next, a hardcore punk bands, with vocals espanol. The singer seemed like a caged pit bull, down on the floor, pacing, screaming at people. He seems like a person who is used to brawls and possibly knife fights, like he wants people to get into his face, to DO SOMETHING. The band was flailing, vicious, taut as razor wire; and for the umpteenth million time, i was reminded why i like punk rock. These guys meant business.

The Lordy Lords were the worst band that i've had the misfortune to come across in a hot minute; imagine the robots from West World, if they were to start a Misfits cover band. All accessories, no meat on the bone. "So, i hope y'all like Rock 'n Roll," stuttered the singer. Too bad there was none to be found. Avoid this band at all costs.

I had run into my buddy Jefferson "3 Moons" Zurna, propping up a barstool, and we commandeered Plan B's free pool table right before Pierced Arrows took the stage. Working on bank shots and the gentle nudge when they began, and all was right with the world: a dingy night club, REAL rock 'n roll, free pool. There was almost some violence regarding a balked corner shot, shit was talked, alcohol and water was consumed. This is the BEST POSSIBLE SCENARIO to encounter Pierced Arrows. Burning ballads like 'This is the Day' or 'Let it Rain' or the jagged, strung-out metal of 'Paranoia', their music dripped with experience and reality, with implied meaning, gesture and inuendo. All the things that can't be spoken, but which come out when people are watching. They got warmed up and into it, their voices found their unity, somewhere between the tempered notes; it was like a punk rock church service, voices and instruments intertwining in the air; a screaming, singing paean to the night, to saturday night. Fred's guitar was ominous, angsty; Toody's bass playing was fast, frenetic, round and robust, driving into the future at a breakneck speed, common to all the best punk rock bassists.

I am glad that i didn't have to try and pretend to be an honest music journalist, and that i took a day to write to this review. This music is not analytical, if you look at the constituent parts, it falls away, like an engine being reduced to greasy nuts and bolts. Often times, their voices and instruments are ragged and out of tune. Their lyrics, on paper, can read like 70s protest songs. On the way to Plan B, i had entered an irreverent saturation point, ready to kill any idols or buddhas i should happen to meet. Just because you've been making music since the 60s does not automatically ensure you my respect, its not enough on my own. In this day and age, everybody is vying for yr ear time, so many bands. It is up to us to not believe the hype, to be discerning and to trust our judgment, and it is my job, at this site, to be honest about what i hear, think and feel. I will not blow sunshine up anybody's ass. Listening to The Rats (Fred's first band, re-issued on Mississippi Records), Dead Moon, and seeing Pierced Arrows the other night, i got it. I understood; these guys are fucking good. They've been playing together, in Dead Moon and Pierced Arrows, since 1987; i can't fathom how many shows they've played, in how many countries, to still be out slinging their shit on a sat. night for 60 people. They walk the walk, and when you catch them in their element, the air shimmers with the potential power of rock 'n roll: defiance, passion, CONFIDENCE. Living yr life the way you want to, unapologetic. All of this comes through their music, in and out of the pummeling bass and paranoid guitar.

Its a real treat that these dudes live in Portland and you can see them a bunch. Thanks so much to Toody, for getting me into the show.

I'm gonna be interviewing PA in the near future, i'll let y'all know when that comes together.

Thurs Night @ The Jade Lounge

If you are in or around Portland tonight, i organized a free concert at the Jade Lounge, 2342 SE Ankeny, just a few blocks from where i live. Mostly mellow, friends of mine, sweet song-writers i have been fortunate enough to meet and play with. Damn Divas play first, at 7, which is my roommate Alex's band, who play an ornate filigreed style of folk music. Acoustic instruments, vocal harmonies, i've seen 'em a bunch of times, and they keep getting better.

Cotton is Jim Han, and he's a minimalist. He doesn't draw attention to himself, but speaks with wisdom and clarity.

Dylan Bloodaxe is sort of like my younger brother, if my younger brother played ska guitar on the corner, to make 3 bucks. He plays in Kings and Vagabonds, who are all bros of mine.

My band, Meta - Pinnacle, plays last, ending the evening on a confusing note. Me and my friend Lily, blurring lines, playing guitars. We like to pretend no one is watching.

Expect to hear more about this tomorrow, but if yr around, come out and find out for yrself. Don't take my word for it.

3 Moons - Almanac of the Dead

'Alamanac of the Dead' is like a diary, chronicling the first five months after violent death; full of sand and whispers and scorpions.

3 Moons is the solo project of Jefferson Zurna, who i became aware of with his work with Fake Hospital, who make the best post-Gysin Morrocan dervish worship that i have yet witnessed in person. Imagine my incredulity when encountering 3 Moons, and finding this irrational, out-of-body cosmic blues. All right folks, i would never utter these words without complete sincerity, but i have truly never heard anything like 3 Moons; i mean, i've heard similar ilk. At times it rubs elbows with psych/free-folk, there's definitely an improvisatory air at times. There's a creepy, reclusive Jandek vibe, (which for some reason, is the highest mark of recommendation i can give right now). But Almanac of the Dead is all of these things, at the same time, with even a splash of early N'awlins jazz, at times. The impression i am left with, which makes it all the more surreal, is i am reminded of pre-war blues, field recordings from dark hollers, when acoustic instruments had not yet been tamed, and confined to 12-bar cages.

The acoustic guitar is the spine of this record, and Zurna's really a damn fine guitarist, and song-writer too, that is just making this otherworldly ethereal music. I am in awe of artists who put such care and craft into left-field creations; the world is a stranger and more magickal place because of it. These acoustic barn-burners are accentuated with unexpected textures like sci fi warbles, frogs croaking, waves lapping. Almanac of the Dead will take you places, far far off the map, off the grid, beyond words, beyond linear thought. You better pray you have a guide book, cuz otherwise yr gonna get eaten by a jackal-demon.

Zurna is also the closest living inheritor of the Burroughs/Gysin cut-up hashish mysticism that i have met in person. His music, and his writing, is imbued with those stark jump-cuts and pulp mysticism, gunslingers and mummies and hashish and the afterlife. I truly get the feeling that he lives in his own goddamn world, and i want in! He has seen things, known things.

At the end of the day, all that matters is the sonics, and Almanac is an enjoyable listen, something for the hermeticist and the traditionalist alike. The guitars, the clarinets, the banjos, all glowingly recorded. The voice; plaintiff, heartfelt. You can really get a sense of 3 Moons Kansas City warmth, humility. His music is sweet, mournful, heart-felt, real, and really fucking strange.

The more i peer into the cracks of the Fake Hospital axis; 3 moons, white gourd, million brazillions, probably others i haven't heard yet, i am slightly in awe that i know these people.

Almanac of the Dead is available as a free download, from 3 Moons bandcamp, and can also be had as a cassette or CD-R.

Fake Hospital is playing tonight, at the fabulous Ella Street Social Club, joined by White Gourd for the occasion, with Eye Myths, Dracula Lewis, and JAWS.

3 Moons

Psyop Recordings

BPM Ensemble - Rechargeable vol. 2

'Battery-Powered Electronic Music', 'Drum Circle 2.0', 'Epic Mass of grinding handheld techno (!!!)'; these are all phrases that catch my eyes and make my ears stand up like antennae. Due to my recent fondness of shitty 80s cheapness, i have found warmth towards 8 bit, which i never had much use for.

Battery Powered Music is a bi-weekly event at Backspace, where they open up the stage and the mixer for a bunch of analog fetishists to throw down and make some strange sounds. As they put it, its more r2-d2 than rjd2, post-hippy jam sesh, i have been intrigued to hear what a mess of insectile, buzzing electronics would sound like.

'Rechargeable Vol. 2' is the cream of the live sets from 2010 - 2011, available as a limited-edition cassette or for download off of Bandcamp, for whatever price you see fit. They've also got an archive up on SoundCloud. The overall effect, which of course is rather varied, since it was recorded on many a night, over the span of 2 years, runs the gamut from Congolese junkyard techno, to gritty hip hop, to Tron atari punk.

There's just no faking that 8 bit sound, that sound of cheap nastiness. It has a hint of nostalgia, for me, being a creature of the 80s, but it sounds more like protest. Like irrationality, raging against the hype machine. Ninja strikes in the night, making music for the sheer bloody minded thrill of sonic exploration. For me, what thrills me the most, is seeing people 'jamming', ie getting together, using unconventional sounds and instruments, breaking down genres and barriers.

More adventure! More exploration! More community!

If you live in Portland, BPM is going on tonight, at Backspace, and every other Mon. and if you don't, you can check out our retroxoticism.

Rechargeable Vol. 2

Backspace

SoundCloud

DTF, Bad Music, Caroline, Blind Lovejoy @ Backspace; 2.18.12

Attended the Music in the Schools showcase last night at Backspace, one of the few all-ages venue in Portland, worthy of support for that reason alone. Extra kudos for being a coffee shop that has a pool table, (it has a lot of spin to it, watch out), and there tends to be interesting art on the walls to gaze at and ponder.

Running a little late, (a running theme), due to complications getting on the guest list, but thanks to the delay, i found a snazzy black feather boa, which complimented my Freddie Krueger sweater and 9 day shadow quite nicely. I thoroughly enjoy confounding the delineation between music journalist, record producer, and deranged meth-head. I might as well accept it, as people are going to think it anyway.

I missed DTF, but caught Bad Music, who were actually pretty good. Probably around 15 or so, but already sporting Crass patches and devil locks, i seriously wonder what it would be like to grow up in Portland, Or. with the entire recorded output of civilization at yr finger-tips. This band was grasping at every cultural signifier they could sew to their clothing, a raggedy anne patchwork collage of hardcore anarchist punk rock history: MDC, Crass, DOA. They had a small but enthusiastic pit going, a little too self-conscious about running into people, but i chalk this up to living in a room where random assault rifle shoot-outs and firebombings is the norm. I tried to set aside my condescension, and focus on the music, cuz i don't care what age you are, if you are going to ally with the anarchist punks, pick up guitars and play a show, it is my job to tell it like it is. I'm glad to say that these guys play their instruments pretty well; a muscular sludgy guitar sound, drums kicking acceptably hard. In short, they ROCKED, to the best of their ability. I was almost shocked when they played one of the better versions of Sonic Reducer, originally by Rocket from the Tombs, made popular by the Dead Boys. These guys want to be Young, Loud, and Snotty; my advice, forget there's anybody in the room, pretend yr practicing. And play LOTS AND LOTS of shows.

Caroline next, my second time seeing them, and i can pay them the highest compliment: i don't think of them as my friend's band. They are a legit band, playing around town, doing the deal, trying to get shows, practicing a lot. They sounded fucking hot last night, (Backspace has pretty sweet sound, i gotta say), with the guitars pleasantly piercing, along with the drummers falsetto battle-cry between songs. I love their dreamy j-pop drift, and their twitchy thrash. I could do without the powerpoppunk emo posturing, but that was after my time, and everybody likes a ballad. I think their tongue is pretty firmly in cheek with their posturing, i still fucking hate it, but i forgive them, and i like 98% of their material. Go see them live. Often.

I was so stoked to see Blind Lovejoy, i've been working on an EP with them (almost done, now), but had not seem them do their thing live. We've gotten to be pretty solid friends, working together, but again, this factor does not effect the objective part of my brain, which merely observes sensory data. There are certain nuances that i can pick up on, being very familiar with a band or their personalities, which makes for a richer experience, but just because i like you does not mean i will like yr band. I happen to like Blind Lovejoy a lot, as people, but i fucking LOVE their band. I felt like watching them live, i was able to get a more complete vision of their sound, what they were going for, which is going to help me complete their EP. Cayla is a fucking ferocious guitar player, her Les Paul screaming like a panther in heat; so low down she was almost to the ground. I see in Blind Lovejoy the future of indie rock, young people with fervor and drive, with excellent taste, but not confined to replicated the glories of the past. I see and hear echoes of perennial favorites like PJ Harvey, Built to Spill (sorry guys), Death Cab for Cutie, Liz Phair. Lo-fi and authentic, muscular and uncompromising, but sweet and drifting, like on Noah's song, 'Umami'. The details and contrasts, the way they switch instruments around, keeps the performances rushing forward, keeps it interesting, and cayla and noah both have very different styles on their various instruments. They get a full rich sound, for being a two piece, and their tone is always impeccable. The guitars are nice, and in tune, the amp sounds sweet, the drums are solid. This band fucking rocks. You heard it here, first.

Michael the Blind

Michael Levasseur toiled for years in obscurity as a solo singer/songwriter, before breaking down and compiling 'The Els' in the Spring of 2011, with his wife, RachaEL Renee, longtime friend and misanthrope NathaniEL Lee on drums, and J ELwood Johncox, on bass. While some doubters might criticize for succumbing to market pressures, for caving, The Els add depth and dimension, weight and heft, texture and nuance.

J Elwood Johncox invited me out to see them at the Spare Room Restaraunt and Lounge, an honest to goodness working-class watering hole in NE Portland that doubles as a karaoke bar other nights of the week. The event was curated by one Sam Densmore, who also played that evening. The night was hushed, intimate; the lights all turqoise, crimson, rose, like the memory of a dream of Miami. The scarce crowd spoke in a low murmur, between sets. A feeling of Deja Vu pervaded me, as i watched the bingo numbers reflected in the picture windows.

The combination of lulling voices, low lighting levels, and the open-air acoustics of the room, it was the perfect combination to experience the music of Levasseur and Co. for the first time. The Els' music fluctuates between early 90s folk jangle, like vintage R.E.M., faded denim barnstormers, and sweet melancholy balladry. Levasseur's beautiful Les Paul hollow-body guitar was gracefully accented by Rachael's auto-harp and vocal harmonies, with J Elwood holding down the groove with vintage McCartney basslines, and NathaniEL shuffling and skiffling in, around, and between the beats; a deft touch, not too pummeling, but not too scattered.

With all the various strands, threads, and tendrils of folk-infused music, its all about the little touches. Accentuating and flourishes can make or break what has essentially been done a million times before. But when the stars align, just right, when the voices and instruments are in tune, in time, it can become gospel, a new skin for the old ceremony, and the human spirit can radiate, shine like the brief, iridescent constellation. A random Thurs., nothing special, but its not coming back. The songs live and breathe, and the Els' made for the perfect bedrock with which these sparse, honest, heartfelt tunes could lift off.

I left the gloriously gaudy tavern, with a renewed appreciation for stripped-down, acoustic music, practically frothing at the bit to write faded campfire symphonies of my own.

If you were not one of the 20 or so people who were at the Spare Room, or even if you were, Michael The Blind and the Els will be playing twice next week: Mon. at the newly christened Elixir Lab, and again on Fri. 2.24 at the ever-popular Ella Street Social Club.

If you aren't from around these parts, Michael the Blind also has a new album, out on 3.20, on Alder Street Records, available on 180 gram vinyl and for digital download.

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