Crystal Ballroom – Everything's A Song

When a Band Becomes Beloved

It was 1997 and I was browsing an AOL message board(ack! remember those?!) about music, when I came across a post about Radiohead. A woman on the other end of the screen implored me to go listen to them, pronto. I’d read about them, and heard the song, “Creep,” but that was it. She told me that “OK Computer” had just been released and I had to hear it. As soon as I could, I hopped into my Subaru and went to Barnes & Noble(the closest thing I had to a record store in the suburbs of CT). I found a listening station, and pressed play.

Within moments, I was smitten. As the first song, Airbag, says “I am born again…” That’s how I felt discovering Radiohead. It was a transformative moment for me, and for my musical life. The music of Radiohead has become a layer of my life, tucked in between singer songwriters like Dylan and ethereal crooners like Jeff Buckley.

Since that day, I’ve seen them 4 times and recently saw Thom Yorke, solo. Every show has been beautiful, more than just music, they felt like an art piece that I had the privilege of being immersed in. Their songs have been the backdrop for some wondrous times in my life, and for this I am grateful.

If you had asked me two years if I thought any other band could come close to their place in my heart, I would have said no. And then I heard Big Thief, thanks to the folks at KEXP . The first time I heard them I didn’t have quite the transformative moment I did with Radiohead, but it was close. I bought “Capacity” and listened to it over and over again. Then Adrianne Lenker released a solo record, and the band put out “U.F.O.F” and “Two Hands,” within a 2 year span All of it, every song, had my attention. I could sink into it, allow myself to get wrapped in her thready, beautiful voice. The lyrics feeling more like poetry than a song. The feeling of it, darkly romantic, stark, but at the same time, incredibly full on an emotional level.

I missed the chance to see them last year, but made sure to grab tickets for the show at the Crystal Ballroom. I don’t really care for the venue, as the sound quality isn’t good, but I still blissed out when they played “Shark Smile” and “Not.” The crowd seemed equally happy as they cranked through one beautiful song after another.

I suspect Big Thief will remain with me as a soulful favorite as the years pass, tucking itself into my perennial playlist along with Radiohead. They’ll be a backdrop for tender moments, for sweetness and in the end, maybe even as I shift over into the ether and join forces with the stars.

Big Thief at the Crystal Ballroom. October 25, 2019

The Show Slider

Last night I saw Sleater Kinney at the Crystal Ballroom here in Portland, Oregon. It’s been a long time since these bad ass musicians played this venue, 2006 to be exact. I remember it, as it was their “final” tour and I got to go. The person I was with was a huge fan and she led us as close to the stage as we could get. There was sort of a sadness in the air, a much beloved band was bidding us farewell.

Last night’s show wasn’t nearly as good, and not because of the vibe of the show in 2006. I simply found the show to be underwhelming. Was it the aggressive light display? (for f#%k sake, please stop trying to induce seizures in the audience) Was it the drunken fool who was dancing far too goofily for the tiny space and kept bumping into all of us? Was it the fact that I could not hear Carrie Brownstein’s guitar well? (which is lame because she shreds) I don’t know but I didn’t wake up feeling stoked.

I want to compare this to last months show at the same venue with The Replacements. Granted, I am much bigger fan of the boys from Minneapolis. I was also with someone who likes the band as much as me. Even so, there was something much more fun and engaging about the Mats show. They joked with the audience, felt no need to have annoying lights pounding us, absolutely killed it on every song and it was just really FUN.

All this got me to thinking about the experience of shows. I see a ton of them, so how might I measure them? The visual that came to mind as I drifted into sleep was that of a sliding scale.

Bottom = Why the hell did I pay money for this band? The temptation to leave never abates. It’s also likely crowded, hot and/or filled with too many drunk people.

Middle = I’m glad I’m here, but this is not wowing me. When are they going to play those two songs I like?

Top = Holy crap, this is so much fun. I’m swaying, dancing and generally physically entranced by the music. I don’t want the show to end.

Nirvana = I get a buzz from the show. As in, I feel really high simply from hearing the music. I likely get the rock’n’roll shivers and the bliss spreads throughout my whole body. Only a handful of shows have reached this delicious peak.

Is it even possible to qualify shows like I’ve done? I don’t know but it’s fun to think on just the same. I’ll put last night’s show squarely in the middle!

Sleater Kinney Portland Oregon May 5, 2015 — Sleater Kinney – Crystal Ballroom, Portland, OR

I Don’t Fuck Much with the Past but I Fuck Plenty with the Future

On February 26th, I got to do something I’ve waited ages to do, see Patti Smith live. From the moment she walked onto the stage, her energy charged the sold out crowd. I heard younger folks, who clearly did not even know who she was, shout to each other “this is amazing!” After the show, I observed several women wiping away tears as they waited to use the ladies room, a look of glorious disbelief on their faces.

A friend placed a few CD’s into my hand just before she came on stage. They had bootlegs of her early shows on them. I listened to one out of Eugene, OR, circa 1979. Patti opens by reading poetry. Her voice is young, raw, full of New York city, I can SEE her as I listen. She’s wearing white, she’s got long hair, she’s ready to fuck with the crowd. Her skinny, little, bad ass self up in their face. There is no persona, no image making going on. She’s a poet, a goddess, a punk rock diva. I hear all those things when I listen. Who she was with Mapplethorpe. Who she was alone in a Manhattan loft, cold, underfed, writing her heart out. Who she was when she sat outside CBGB’s between sets, smoking and laughing with Tom Verlaine. I am transfixed by this window into 1979.

I remember the photograph I had of her on my wall at boarding school. She was holding birds, starting intensely into the camera. I recall dorm-mates coming into my room, asking “who is that?!” I befriended those who knew she was. We’d sit on the porch, listening to The Talking Heads, Prince, Patti, smoking, musing, waiting to be free.

From the moment I discovered Patti, I loved her because she was not afraid to challenge gender roles. She wore men’s clothes (I raided my dad’s closet on a regular basis) and didn’t shave. She didn’t give a fuck about being that GIRL that we were all expected to be. She was androgynous, loud mouthed, scruffy, beautiful, beating the shit out of the cultural norm. When I walked around Manhattan in dirty black pants and red Chuck Taylor’s, I hoped to see her. I wandered through Washington Square Park, bought records on St. Mark’s street, waiting in vain for a glimpse of her that never came.

Now it’s 2013. She’s in her 60’s. I am so grateful to have seen her. I adore and admire her for shaking a crowd to their core, for yelling at us to protect mother earth because “she is all we have.” For singing “People Have the Power,” still meaning every word, even after all these years.

Blog Title Quote courtesy Patti Smith

Dedicated to the one who bought me a copy of her book, The Coral Sea

Music in July

I had the fortune of seeing the Dirty Projectors last week. I’ve been a fan for a few years and saw another outstanding show of theirs back in 2009 at the Aladdin theater. That show was pretty mind-blowing; with killer sound, the crowd mostly Reed students, and this nearly new band kicking out notes that left most of us speechless.

The recent set at the Crystal felt as though they had settled more into themselves as a band, playing tighter with each other but yet, more free. They were having fun and the audience clearly loved that. It seemed as though we all alternated between being lost in the sound and overtly impressed and bouncing up and down. I would look around and catch someone’s eye and we’d grin at each other – the unspoken message being “wow, can you believe this?!”

The new record, Swing Low Magellan, is a compelling piece of work. I mentioned the song, Gun Has No Trigger, a few months back and the rest does not disappoint. This record seems to stretch their melodic interpretations more, slowing down some, but keeping on with the brilliant and unpredictable sound that keeps me coming back. The lyrics are more emotive than Bitte Orca, outward praises of love and affection shine forth.

Oh, hey, and I got a great t-shirt, too. Really, who among you doesn’t cherish your shirts from the shows of your past? I recently pulled my Talking Heads shirt out of a box. Somehow, these two belong together.

Talking Heads t-shirt Dirty Projectors t-shirt — *Speaking in Tongues shirt meets Swing Low Magellan shirt.*

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Speaking of great t-shirts, I attended PDX POP Now! last weekend. I admit some serious bias here. I was on the board for a few years and involved subtly since 2006. It seems as though every year the festival gets better and better, with greater attendance, more press and bigger crowds. Some highlights for me included Jeffery Jerusalem, Grandparents, and Cloudy October. I heard that Edna Vasquez was amazing, ditto for Lord Dying and Onuinu.

“Can’t believe how strange it is to be anything at all…” *

Last night as I looked around the Crystal Ballroom I saw a huge variation in the ages of Jeff Mangum‘s fans. There were 40 something dudes, their beards changing to salt and pepper, their eyes remembering the girl they fell in love with to these songs. I saw not yet 20’s – skinny jeans, black jackets and in absolute adoration over a musician whose records were being released when they were still in diapers. There were plenty of indie/hipster/hippie/bohemers in their 30’s, recalling their college days with much fondness, going home with the beautiful Neutral Milk Hotel vinyl box set tucked under their arms.

These are my favorite kinds of shows as they confirm the mysterious pull that music has over us. Age, while bringing us together for certain moments in time, should not define what we listen to. Any teenager discovering Exile on Main Street for the first time or someone in their 50’s buying a YACHT record knows that it’s about how it makes us feel, it’s about the stir it causes in our bellies and our souls, not about what box we check on the age census.

Don’t limit your musical space, go talk to someone 20 years older or 30 younger and see what’s making them dance, what they’ve got on constant shuffle and “make every song your favorite tune.”

And because I’m a sucker for harmonies and hand claps, here’s a song I can’t get enough of.