Does the thought of an oil company using the Columbia River to send massive loads of mining machinery up to Canada to strip mine the boreal forest and poison the waters burn you up?
The Canadian tar sands have been called the BP oil spill to the north, and even Rep. Peter DeFazio has weighed in on using U.S. roads to facilitate profit for a foreign oil company.
This Sunday, Feb. 20 from 2:00pm - 4:00pm at the Native American Student Center, on the Portland State University campus in Portland, there will be an organizational meeting to discuss what can be done about the Columbia being used as the gateway to fossil fuel hell.
For more info, check out the organizers' Facebook page.
A Eugene meeting is also in the works.
Sunday, Feb. 13, is the 10th anniversary of the Worst Day of the Year Ride in Portland. When this ride first began, 250 hard-core bikers showed up ready for the predicted chilly downpour. But it didn't rain.
“Every year since that first year, the ride has grown and the weather has held out,” say organizers. “Just in case the weather does sour, you'll be kept warm and cozy along the way with hot drinks and tasty treats at each of the three rest stops on course. The finish line is at the Lucky Lab brew pub and Laughing Planet Café is serving up a feast of scratch-made soups.”
Participants can choose either the 18-mile urban route or an extended 45-mile challenge course that traverses the west hills to Hillsboro and back into Portland via a journey through St Johns. The Worst Day of the Year Ride is limited to 4,000 riders. Sign up early to ensure you don't miss out on this whimsical ride. Costumes and decorations encouraged. Register at http://wkly.ws/110
Yes, MFNW continued! And continued to be great! And then I got sick and had Chow to finish and ... and ... and ...
And suddenly it's September Twenty-freaking-third and I'd have to do some serious brain-wracking to figure out how we got this far into the month, but ANYWAY, let's just relive the magic of MFNW just a little bit longer, and then I'll shut up about it until next year.
(Saturday's Late Start Due to Food was courtesy of the incredible breakfast at Screen Door, which, for the record, lived up to the hype. I love it when that happens.)
So, thanks to the magic that can happen when you complain about stuff on Twitter, I got my MFNW on a little early on Saturday — starting at noonish at the OPB Music day party at Mississippi Studios. I gotta be honest: This thing kind of made me feel like a rock star. You walk in and there's an espresso cart. Voodoo Doughnut detritus is everywhere. At the bar on the venue side, a guy in a House Spirits shirt is making an endless stream of aquavit bloody Marys and delicious Salt & Peppers. He sets them on the bar. You walk up and take them. Magic. The fact that you're doing this while waiting for some of the most charming of Portland bands to play makes everything just fucking golden.
I missed most of And And And's set, but what I saw — madcap, multi-member, dancing-in-the-crowd, excitable child of indie and drinking rock tunes — was enough that I made a note to go see them later at Backspace. I saw a little more Typhoon, packed in as tightly as the audience at the bar's outdoor patio, and then claimed a great spot in the balcony for Tu Fawning, who just get better and better and better. My showgoing company explained them to someone by saying, "Sometimes they sound like Portishead — but they actually sound like Portishead, unlike all the other bands that people say sound like Portishead."
But they only sometimes sound like Portishead. The band's four members all constantly switch instruments; Corrina Repp and Joe Haege (who I never tire of pointing out is also in the excellent 31 Knots, assuming they still exist) swap lead vocals as elaborate percussion, an extraordinarily long trumpet, delicate keys and more layer into their atmospheric songs, which sometimes are for a little bit of dancing and more often are for swaying hypnotically in time.
We wandered in and out of the Mississippi main room and the back patio of the attached Bar Bar, watching Portland rock royalty stand around and running into former Eugenean Peter Dean, once of the Fast Computers, who now has a handful of projects and had a summer gig doing sound effects for the totally entertaining Trek in the Park.
Then it was time for The Thermals. Again. Still awesome. Wunderkind drummer Westin Glass had a giant green crystal around his neck; was it for mystical purposes, or is he secretly the Green Lantern? Singer/guitarist Hutch Harris was none too pleased with the monitor sound at the show’s start — “Could you make it not sound like shit up here?” he hollered after the first song — but by the end, even he had broken into a smile. The room had been loosely full up until the Thermals set, but everyone in the place seemed to pack in for the party’s grand finale. A couple of people in the front rows even started dancing. A little. The set was too short, mostly new songs plus “Pillar of Salt” and “No Culture Icons” — and from where I was standing upstairs I could see they cut two songs as the show went on — but it was transporting nonetheless. Kathy Foster bobs on her toes and smiles her enigmatic smile; Harris brings a focused ferocity; and Glass just smiles and smiles and smiles, tipping back on his drumstool at the end of a song as if he can hit the snare even harder with his feet off the ground.
We stepped into the sunlight confused. Daytime? Right. Daytime. Collect yourself and move along. Coffee, now, please. (Keep reading...)
Sorry for being slow on uploading these. For the rundown of what went on last Thursday @ MFNW, see Molly's post. I will say that the Major Lazer x Big Freedia shows were probably the craziest thing I've ever seen at the Roseland. And it looks like Diplo agrees.
UPDATE: INTOTHEWOODS.TV has MusicFest NW videos up of the insane top-of-the-ladder dagger jump and crowd on stage during the Major Lazer show and Big Freedia's surprise show at Sassy's strip club.
Just a warning ... they both freaky and NSFW!
The theme of MusicfestNW — this year for sure, but probably every year — is apparently Getting a Late Start Due to Food. It's just awfully hard to resist Portland's culinary delights, even when you're forced to choose between rock and a sausage. Wait, that sounded weird.
Friday began late for us with Hosannas, who used to be Church (and were briefly Ape Cave, sort of) at Mississippi Studios, where I've basically taken up a permanent location in the balcony. The view from above makes Hosannas more fun; their button-pushing and knob-twisting songs are more interesting than engrossing, and all the more so when you're upstairs watching the glowy lights and the guy with the bare feet triggering stuff on one of his many, many, many pieces of equipment. It felt awfully cerebral, especially without a stiff drink.
Next, we climbed the stairs to the Crystal Ballroom against such a dense flow of downstairs traffic that we thought Okkervil River was already done. Nope — people just weren't into the strangely sloppy/beautiful/sloppy show bandleader Will Sheff was choreographing. Well, some people were: For whatever reason, the place seemed to be full of slightly fratty, more then slightly wasted dudes who chose the oddest moments to pump their fists. The people-watching was more than distracting, especially since the band kept breaking into a nearly goosebump-eliciting song, only to crush it into shreds — and not the good kind — within minutes. Yes, "Our Life is Not a Movie or Maybe"! No! It's run off the tracks!
It was an odd scene.
Down at Berbati's, Richmond Fontaine was easily charming a late-night crowd with the least ironic, most straightforward, always narratively fascinating set of the weekend. If at least 70 percent of the bar didn't have some kind of crush on singer-songwriter Willy Vlautin, well, you could've fooled me. (Is it the sweetly scruffy voice? The Nathan Fillion-ish profile? The spare and sympathetic hard-luck novels? All of the above?)
The set wasn't quite as perfect as the band's afternoon show at Pickathon, which felt like rock 'n' roll preschool, with much of the crowd sitting cross-legged on the barn's concrete floor, but it still ended with "Four Walls." Wistful, building, sentimental, lovelorn, wishful, longing — it's a song for silent rooms and shivering lighters, late nights and long pours of whiskey. It belongs on every crushtastic mix CD ever made.
So, yeah, it would've been a lovely place to end the night, but the Someday Lounge was on the way home, and there, the nine? ten? (19 are listed on the band's MySpace page) members of Typhoon were crowding the stage. I've only seen Typhoon live — several fractions of shows, now — but if their ramshackle heartache holds up on record, I've got some shopping to do. Every time I hear this band, I think of the Register-Guard's Serena Markstrom, talking, as we walked through their Pickathon set, about male singers who sound like what a mouth looks like when it's blowing a bubble. Round, wobbly, earnest, self-aware — I think that's what she was going for. I think. Typhoon calls its sound "epic indie rock" across the top of the band's website; they sound like carefully orchestrated yearning to me. I think they should come play Sam Bond's immediately — pack us in, sweaty and uncomfortably close together, and fill the space with sound until we forget the details.
And that was Friday. Today has already been the super-extra-delightful OPB Music party at Mississippi Studios; the delight will continue with Laura Viers, Titus Andronicus, And And And and more. There will also be a Smashing Pumpkins show. Whether "delight" is a word even faintly applicable to such a thing remains to be seen.