Coffee House Crawl

Imagine bar hopping without the hang over. Sounds glourious right? Well, this past Saturday a-COFFEE SHOP a-hoppin' I did a-go. Portland has a gargantuan plethora of quality coffee joints, all of which I wanted to take advantage of. Ergo, in a single morning I hit elven different coffee shops and one cupcake bakery (didn't even know PDX had one of thoes)! While in each shop, I observed the good, the bad, the ugly, and the kind of music playing. Most of the shops I stopped in were hip and with it, but a few were just plain bizarre or worse, bland as grape nuts. My coffee house crawl went a little something like this:

1. Portland Coffee House (SW Alder and Broadway)- Good: free sample of biscotti, super comfy chairs. Bad: busy, could use more staff and space, music volume was too loud, had to shout to in order to hold a conversation. Ugly: had to elbow through a crowd of bums to get inside Music: odd assortment of Kings of Leon, Mos Def, They Must be Giants, Tapes N Tapes, and Willie Nelson Best For: Mexican Mocha and people watching
2. Pete's Coffee and Tea (SW Washington St. and Broadway) Good: spacious, anniversary tea Bad: small chairs, music was too soft. Ugly: it's a commercial cookie cutter chain, staff was grumpy. Music: always Classical, romantic/classic era Mozart and Beethoven. Best For: people watching (you can sit at one window bar and and watch the people seated outside's entire conversation)
3. Bikini Coffee (SW 5th Ave. and Alder) Good: baristas in bikinis!? Bad: customers were both creep men. Ugly: hole-in-the-wall small. Music: none, the barista answered in response to my question "What sort of music do you play here?" with "Music? What do you mean, like people? No we don't really do that." Best For: oogling if you're into girls. (watch this)
4. Java Man Coffee (Chinatown) Good: fast service. Bad: everything else, opens to the street and is drafty. Ugly: airport coffee stand feel. Music: Doris Day and 50's Atlantic City Lounge music. Best For: if you're on the go.
5. StumpTown Coffee Roasters! (SW 3rd Ave. just past Oak St.) Good: local art, chic furniture, quality selection of magazines to buy (Adbusters, Paste, Vice), best dark roast, bike parking, turn tables! Bad: if you're not an inoculated hipster, you may not fit in here. Ugly: nothing, it's a beautiful place for beautiful people (just ask Colin Meloy). Music: vinyl baby! space for performance, Paul Simon, Tears for Fears, Patsy Cline, Quite Riot, Elliot Smith, Bob Seger, Duran Duran, Ratatat. Best For: hipsters.
6. World Cup Coffee & Tea (inside Powell's Books) it was silent here...very fitting for a book store. Music: none. Best For: reading whatever you just bought.
7. Sip & Kranz (the pearl NW 10th just past Johnson St.) Good: breakfast- the works oatmeal, apple cider, warmth and sunshine, across from a park if you'd like too oogle other people's dogs. Bad: the occasional screaming child. Ugly: there weren't actually any crayons damn it, I wanted to color. Music: Teddy Geiger Pop and last year's top 100 hits. Best For: Pearl district families and eating with your dog on the patio.
8. Via Delizia (NW Marshall St. and 11th) Good: friendly staff, faux Italian themed. Bad: faux Italian themed, doubles as a bistro. Ugly: nothing too bad. Best For: cheap n yummy gelato.
9. URBAN GRIND (NW 14th Ave. and Kearney St.) Good: EVERYTHING!, buckets of comfy chairs and ample seating, cheap and delicious coffee and baked goods, thousands of electrical plugs, free wifi, great meeting space, bodacious green walls, friendly staff, free magazines to read, quality, class, comfort. Bad: location, it's a trek from downtown. Ugly: nothing. Music: Classic Rock, beBop jazz, Led Zeppelin, Blizin Trapper, Miles Davis Best. For: Studying and getting shit done.
10. Pio Square Starbucks (Broadway and Morrison) Good: quick service but... Bad: long lines, it's a space to be moved through. Ugly: it's a commercial cookie cutter chain. Music: Pre-selected Starbucks Compilations, which are usually inaudible. Best For: waiting for the Raz out of the rain.
11. Grendel's Coffee House (NE Burnside and 8th Ave.) Good: steamed soy milk and cinnamon, perky staff, cheap eats, free wifi and free computers (if you forget yours). Bad: on a busy street. Ugly: nothing. Best For: posting event flyers, someone on a budget.
12. CupCakeJones (NW 10th and Evertt St.) $1.50 gourmet mini cupcakes...need I say more.

There you have it, my coffee shop hop. My head was a buzz and my feat were beat, but at least I can now give the thumbs up to Urban Grind, StumpTown, and Grendel's with some confidence. You could take my word for it or try these shops on for size yourself, find which one is your golden atmosphere. Go forth and coffee shop crawl my friends!

-mh

Spring, 2009

This is a picture of my dad, skiing.

I’m getting some new hair. I gotta change my identity; protect myself from the evil that crawls the water-fountain lined streets of downtown Portland. I’m like the queen of stupid, the go-to-girl-to-heckle, the chick with the big brown hair. Round’n’round Chinatown, they know me, aint never goin back- without a new do.

It was a good day when it happened. The sky was pale with clouds, all ribbed like scrunched pieces of binder paper trying to unfold. We were all on our third slice of tender pizza and just chucking runts at people in front of the Roseland. It seemed like a cool idea to suck off all the sugary aspirin coating and then fake-punch each other- you know, to make it look like we just got 6 molars fucking blown out of our mouth, all from just one of Haley’s monstrous punches. We were living like pigs, like dogs, living in the world, eating pizza and runts, and shoulder tapping people who looked cool enough. Crumpled down into a gutter, we leaned back and tried to digest the sticky ball of shit that had grown into a horrible mess in our stomachs. Things started to get weird. Haley and I closed our eyes, humming Ave Maria, breathing slowly and harnessing our voices. We laughed like mad men after, all warm and cozy at six pm on a Saturday. We turn around and there’s this guy, what’s his name? “Joshie, his name’s Joshie. Oh dat? Dats Joshie!” All right.

“Hay, you girls look like you be needin something”

“What, you need a hotel room of something, I can get that”

“Oh, you girls need some booze, eh, shit I can get you that right o’er here.”

“Ya, I saw that Asian’ lookin chick eyen’ me, she’s all like, scopin people out an stuff, looking at me.”

“You from Madison, Shit I’m from Milwaukee,”

“Ya, I like it over there, Wisconsin’s where shits at”

“Yeah grew up there, “

“Well, I’m here now, ya, Now I write screen plays”

“You know, movies and stuff, screen plays, like that”

“So four forties then, an what I get in return man, I aint doin this for free”

“Naw I get something”

“Three dollars isn’t good, girl, weak”

“What’s your deal now huh”

“Alright she’s got some type of funk n shit”

“This girl means business, she knows what she wants”

“That shit wack, ya’ll be talking too much”

“Theres like a puddle over there, and she’s all like noooo, don’t talk to me, and the Asian lookin chick is the one who was checking me out. We gonna do this o what”

“Hey y aim AbulaDouchey, want summa this”

“Naw I don’t do that stuff, wife wouldn’t like it, got some kids, to think bout”

“Oh, him? He Joshie!”

“Dats Lil Prince Billy, he’s got the money”

“Here take this, ya know”

“Why not, what you think this be a good idea, Ill do it better, free”

“Hay, Lil Prince Billy!”

“Faith in humanity, you say you got faith in humanity?”

“She says she got faith in humanity”

“Joshie gun come back, faith in humanity!”

“Didn’t have it, all out, c’mon lets go oer here”

“Lets go oer here, now”

“Luts go now here”

“Jus right there, now”

“No, I ain’t givin nothing back”

“no”

“No.”

“No!”

“NO!”

“Hay! And she’d got all this faith in humanity! Faith in humanity! NO! Faith in humanity! Faith in humanity! NO! Faith in Humanity!

“No, not getting anything back, gave it to me, see.”

“Wahtchu do is you go now and chu call 9-1-1, see that’s what chu do.”

“FAITH IN HUMANITY!”

And then we ran. We just ran. For about seven blocks, until the pizza and runts almost escaped. I trusted Joshie, some fucking creep in a Rastafarian yamika and scuffed Airwalks with my fifteen bucks.  And Abuladouchey, the one with the small outline of a tear drop tattoo nestled in the right cornea. Like Lil Wayne, Birdman, that one guy in Bone Thugs-N-Harmony, he’s been in the clinker. And Little Prince Billy, the bald one in a faded Rip Curl long sleeve t-shirt, with wrinkled palms cupping six one dollar bills and a baby afro hairbrush; disregarding his apparent lack of hair. And then everyone else, the homeless day walkers of Portland proper. Half dead, half blind, half fried, crusty people, trundling along in whirring motorized scooters, shitting in their pants, scraping their one ambulatory leg along the cement, dragging the ghost of another leg a couple feet behind. I hate these people. I hate my hair too, Harajuku; I need new hair.

I got heckled, left without my dignity, and money, and now scared and slapped with a streak of sour vulnerability. But I still had my good’ ol, goddamn, god forsaken FAITH IN HUMANITY. I should have flashed my t-shirt; it said “Leave Me Alone” in confrontational Helvetica font. I want to repeatedly spit out millions of sweet tiny runt teeth into Joshie’s poisonous yellow eyes; I also kind of want to kill him. I felt like a puddle of fear and shame, a puddle of curdled milk and chilled clam chowder. No more will I fork over a quarter for an independent homeless publication, “Street Sheet” or “Street Spirit.” I hate the Portland day walkers: Joshie, Abuladouchey, and Little Prince Billy. “Leave Me Alone.”

We did rediscover the spirit of resiliency within us and hobble over to Dekum manor, only to sit and sulk in the linoleum tiled kitchen while watching two pudgy, Mervyns-wearing, Reebok-lacing, squishy girls eat each others faces whilst gyrating to this shitty New Orleans gumbo band with a fucking saxophone. Life sucks. But then this guy with a big red beard who we met earlier in the day came to the party and bought us an eighteen-pack of PBR for free and that’s all folks. Happy Saturday in FartLand Oregon! The End!

 By Lauren Fischer

 

Dan Deacon- Bromst (2009)

colorful-crayon music, dance till your feet fall off, one heck of a good time! These are all accurate descriptions of electronic musician, Dan Deacon's newest album. Most of the album was recorded live with a full sized ensemble, a delightfully new and kickin' contrast to Deacon's single handed power of effect pedals and wave function generators on past work. BROMST, as it's titled, is a step in the right maturing direction for Deacon. Since 2007's SPIDER MAN OF THE RINGS, Deacon has bee a busy bee both inside the studio and out. He states, "[Spiderman of the Rings] was very carefree and youthful -- sort of partying for the sake of partying. This record is less about a party and more about a celebration" on NPR's Talk of the Nation. Indeed, Bromst is one gargantuan and energetic celebration. So, turn on the beats and celebrate!

rating: 9

Track picks: "Ref F" "Wet Wings"

M. Ward- Hold Time (2009)

Typically after listening to any of M. Ward's past studio albums, I will swoon, I will admire, I will even Google his name to try and find where he hides in Portland making his old-soul music, hoping that he'll invite me to join in. But when I gave M. Ward's most recent release a listen, no such reactions were inspired. It may be that Ward is moving on, taking a slightly more performer pace in today's rapid momentum that is music. As a follow up to both 2006's POSTWAR and 2007's TO GO HOME EP, HOLD TIME just does not hold the same time as Ward's past lyrical motifs and nostalgic melodies. For this album, Ward collaborated with such artists as Tom Hagerman of Devotchka, Peter Broderick from Horse Feathers, Zooey Deschanle of She and Him, and Lucinda Williams. Paradoxically, most of Ward's collaborations pick him up when he sings of being down. On track "Oh Lonesome Me," Lucinda William's man-haggard honky-tonk voice is a glaringly shrill comparison to Ward's swimmingly lush and soothingly sorrowful vocals. The combination makes for the worst track of the album. As critical as my word's have been, amazing and enjoyable still are Ward's tantalizing guitar skills and groovy timpani beats. Just simply being touched by M. Ward makes HOLD TIME a cut above the rest, but for my own M. Ward expectations this album falls short.

rating: 7

track picks: "Never Had Nobody Like You" "To Save Me" "Shangri-La"

so You thiNk YOu CaN DJ?

The other afternoon I scrambled to the KLC studio after class, punched in the door code wicked fast, and fell face first on the studio's dilapidated forest green couch. It had been a super long day. I was bone tired, and desperately need to stop, drop, and no I wasn't on fire...just needed to sleep. Thereafter, I decided to browse the CAVE (our gigantic Music Library) while I waited for my time slot to come up for my show (Dear Audio Abby every Thurs 12-2pm). This was a bad idea. With what started out as pulling two maybe three cds for listening rapidly grew into a small mountain of albums piled high in the corner for burning (for FREE!). Once I gathered the music I was going to play for that day's show, I sat reading all the profound hieroglyphics scrawled across the cave walls. One such statement reads, "this is a fucking profound statement ." I went on to play some tunes, answer some questions from an impromptu interview with a passing by Templeton friend, rant about bureaucratic 21+ venues, and answer some advice letters MUSICALLY. After my show was over and it was time to go back into the "world outside KLC," I realized that I was rested, rejuvenated, revitalized, and most importantly, sane again. KLC, my Prozac! What a wonderful place to be a part of.

for more reading about being a radio dj click here

-monique halgat

Dr. Dog, The Cave Singers, Golden Boots WONDER BALLROOM

I would have rather dealt with the worst, most slick ticket monger in the world than have had gone though the hassle I did to see Dr. Dog at the Wonder Ballroom. Me, as brilliant as I have proven to be, thought it clever to buy tickets from the Wonder Ballroom box office and beat the TicketMaster service charge. Ergo, a friend of mine and I checked the box office hours of business and printed out directions. Here I thought I was being so pennywise AND stickin' it to the man. But nobody told me how difficult it is to stick it to the man when you print out the wrong directions and the box office tenant never shows up for work. At this point, I thought about resorting to Craig's List but then remembered my past experience buying tickets off Craig's List. The last time I tried that route I got a call back for "two hours of pure pleasure" and an inquiry about an antique oak dresser set. As for Dr. Dog, I eventually gave in and bought the tickets for twice the price on TicktMaster.

Despite my ticket hassle, the show was WONDERfully delightful. Dr. Dog, the Cave Singers, and the Golden Boots (none of them were actually wearing golden boots but that is just fine by me) played Portland's NE Wonder Ballroom Wednesday April 15th. It was a night filled with pirate shirts, lead-heavy guitars, washboard folk diddys, melodica melodies, and killer sunglasses coupled with stylish facial hair.

New to my music radar, the Golden Boots were a pleasant surprise of psychedelic folk rock and two drum sets. Rapidly becoming one of my favorite acts, Seattle's Cave Singers tore up the stage and left the crowd abuzz with excitement. Their on-stage camaraderie and jump-jiving tunes have kept me coming back for more, five times in the past year to be exact. Once the night had warmed up, Dr. Dog rolled out in a puff of pot smoke and quelled the rambunctious crowd with an EASY BEAT. Their set was complete with mood lighting and area rug! To my surprise they played what seemed like nearly one billion songs. Their encore even had a staggering five songs! I most enjoyed Dr. Dog's collective dancing on-stage. I never knew that people could bop for the entirety of their performance. The lead singer even had duck taped his shoe because he had toe-tapped it in half. Like the heel of Toby's shoe the night was never motionless. I would highly suggest investing in the TicketMaster service charge to see such a WONDERfully delightful performance live.


-mh

nurses

Seems as if Portland is the refuge for musicians who want to make real art these days. "Down with commercialization! Down with popularity! Down with the ugg boot! We're moving to Portland", said music nomads THE NURSES. After drifting from Chicago to Southern California to Idaho and back and forth and in between, this quartet has finally found a happy home in the hills of Portland. They currently have two albums to their name, debuting with //Hangin' Nothin' But Our Hands Down\\ in 2007 and mostly recently wrapping up recording //Apple’s Acre\\. If you're into Animal Collective, Q and not U, or the Born Ruffians, chances are you'll swoon over the Nurses. With swirling floktronic melodies and lush Bohemian beats, the Nurses are sure to find Portland a warm and welcoming home. You can hear them live this Saturday the 25th at the Doug Fir Lounge and keep tabs on all things Nurses at MYSPACE or ROCKYMOUNTAINSTREAM ...you can even download their single "Lita" at WillametteWeek .

(pictures courtesy of http://mainstreamisntsobad.blogspot.com/)

-mh

SUNBURN 2009!

(the Nurases)


(Personifying O)


(Free Food!)


-mh

Proverbial masturbation

"There's nothing different between us sitting here drinking Olde English in a field, that guy gardening, and going to a music festival. It's all like masturbation. We're the same [unchanged] people, just with new experiences."

"We're trying to do our job, and you are impeding us. This is private property and if you don't like it you can leave."

Why do we do the things we do? In some ways we are following a trail and making decisions when we come to forks in the path. In other ways our choices don't really affect the outcome, and simply reflect a series of miscommunications, or the abstractions that allow individuals to move forward in competing postmodern dichotomies. By this I mean that our actions are in reaction to the narratives that we are presented and thereby implies that our knowledge is framed in a way that relies on limitations rather than holism for response.

I've been feeling flashes of anger in greater frequency. Rage is putting pressure on my daily interactions without a healthy outlet. This is alien to my usual demeanor, a new signal to a brain that is generally a demure pattern of highs and lows. I can't explain why these impulses of violence have been gaining footing in my emotional terrain. My justification of passing through mental and physical transition does not fully explain the rising bile that I hide behind my face. Rather there is some mysterious, undefinable force on my psyche that leads to uncharacteristic moments of genuine hatred. 'It's not you,' I promise inside, 'but just a stressful day, or too little sleep.' I continue to smile and nod sympathetically.

But underneath the surface I am ready to punch through your skin. Not just to cause a bruise, I want to push past your bones and blood. I am grasping for any justification (or relishing in the absence of such) to turn your body into a dark smear on the wall. To quote Dead Moon (who provide enough material in their repertoire to cover any circumstance): "I'm already gone." I am turned against you and all the institutions, attitudes, and beliefs you represent. While my expression doesn't show it, I don't really care about what you have to say, because I know you don't care what I do. You are so ready to place everything into such neat boxes, to reduce all the phenomena to your preconceived ways of understanding. I am only standing here silently, listening to your complaints and sorrows, because my brain just can't react quick enough to motivate my tongue into a clever retort. As such, I am visualizing your demise and putting all my frustrations into the tense fist that you don't see. Someday this fist will be so tight, with my nails digging into the molecules that make my bones, that I will unleash it to destroy the world. Then I will relish in the visceral joy of destruction, the screams and needless pain that will soothe my fiery soul. The glass and flesh and metal will all be annihilated, reduced to their atomic blocks, to become clouds of smithereens.

I will then rearrange this dust into a more harmonious and productive reality. One that integrates all the opposing mentals into systems of reaction. The obstacles to transmission of individual meaning will be broken - all the expressions and words and images that confuse our daily communications will be removed. In this utopia we will respect each other as individuals deserving rights, regardless of social position, blood, or species. We will speak straight to eachother, without defensive or obscuring phrases. Similarly we will see straight into each other, with no deflections of appearance. The new dawn will be bright and harsh and warm after the cold that enshrouds our fanciful, mystified modernities.

We're Fucking Presidents!

I recently got to sit down with one of Portland's fresh new groups...

Q: Can we start with the basics- line up, genre, name?
A: Sure thing! We are We’re Fucking Presidents and our current line up includes JFK (lead guitar), Lincoln (string base), Teddy Roosevelt (drums), one of the Harrison Brothers? , Andrew Jackson (vox and harmonica), James Garfield (theremin), McKinley (fake British accent), and occasionally Regan on the bongos. All members either have been assassinated or had an attempt on their life. As for genre, we’d say post industrial, ska punk, adult contemporary…

Q: Would you agree your group’s claim to fame is your band name? If so, please tell us more about it.
A: Well, it’s got a double meaning…naturally it came to us one day when we realized we were both Presidents and were having sex with presidents.


an action shot! Most of the band members also work at Best Buy to supplement their income.

Q: What are your inspirations- musical or non?
A: (Andrew Jackson) Personally, I’m heavily influenced by baroque and try to incorporate the jaw-harp into much of my music but as a band we’re all just one big family…were not afraid of electric either! (JFK) Personally-shmersonally, for sure cubism, Hitler as an artist, and industrial light music. Oh and we started as groupies for Spray paint for puppies so…

Q: As “up-and-coming” to the PDX music scene, what can we expect to see from you next?
A: We’re working on a MySpace page. And we’re currently recording a concept album. We originally were developing the idea of an old man making a theme park out of cloned dinosaurs…but turns out that’s already been done. Now were set to go with this idea of an alien comes down to earth, befriends a young boy and enjoys eating chocolate covered peanut treats. Oh oh and we’ve rented a van in preparation for Spray Paint for Puppies summer tour, we’re opening!

Q: Last question, why should we make it to your next show?
A: Two words, laser pointers. Don’t forget the mosh pit campfires too!

Special thanks go out to the Lewis & Clark College Forest Staff and insomnia, without the two this exclusive interview could not have been possible.

disclaimer: to hear a real band or two attend SUBURN music fest SAT APRIL 11th on the Lewis&Clark College campus!


-mh

5 Places to Get Your Drink on in PDX if You're Not 21

1. House Shows -- Long the safe haven of underage fun, house shows are a great way to drink and see great bands, or get real shwasty and think you saw good bands. Places of note: Dekum Manor is great, getting all the way there is half the fun -- but don't drink in the Dekum park, or this will lead to horrible encounter with Portland's few redneck children. This is speaking from true, fact-based experiences.

2. Outside of Real Venues -- If you can't beat them, don't fucking join them. There are many great places in the surrounding neighborhoods of real venues, why pay money to see White Fang sober? The Artistery, although they're dicklers about drinking inside the venue, apparently have no qualms with you hitting the brew once you set foot on their porch. And the Hawthorne, fuck it for all of its shittiness, has a great surrounding neighborhood in which to make future non-memories. Pet the cats if you're there. Drinking doesn't have to be a hassle, explore!

3. First/Third/Every(?) Thursday -- Feel uncultured, sitting there on your bed swinging a Ribbon? Why not get tanked and look at some fucking art? The Pearl District has some great galleries to walk around and pop one open in every Thursday, and being drunk is an awesome way to look like you're totally into this woodcarving of a hand giving a thumbs up. The drunker you get, the longer you'll stare at the art piece, and the more intellectual you'll seem. If you're so drunk it's hard to hold yourself up, people will just think the art is affecting you that much.

4. On the RAZ -- Not that it's ever done, but if I were really in a pinch and couldn't stand to walk around in the cold without some liquid heat, then crack a brew on the bus on your way downtown! Don't try this on the TriMet, because everyone will want in on your drink -- riding the TriMet sober is one of the more painful experiences for Portlanders.

5. That Parking Lot in the Pearl -- Why let bourgeois lofts and snotty mid-30's couples bring you down? There's a great lot in the Pearl to hang out in and do your thing, and why not go around town and discover

SUNBURN 2009 this saturday!!!

KLC Radio Presents Sunburn 2009
23 bands on two stages!
Lewis & Clark College
0615 sw palatine hill rd (in templeton student center)
FREE for LC students/ $5 for non-students
noon to midnight.
free parking!!

no car? don't wanna bike all the way to the sw hills? TAKE A FREE SHUTTLE! pick ups are at PIONEER SQUARE in front of nordstroms.
go here to get a schedule:
http://www.lclark.edu/dept/parking/shuttle.html


here's the tentative schedule:

Council Chambers:
10am--> KLC-TV film festival

Trailrooom (part 1):
12-12:30 - Snake Plissken
12:45-1:15 - Elitist
1:30-2:00 - Stag Bitten
2:15-2:45 - Maus Haus
3:00-3:30 - The Whines
3:45 - 4:15 - Blank Its

Stamm:
3:30-4 - Wampire
4:15-4:45 - White Fang
5-5:30 - Experimental Dental School
5:45-6:15 - Nurses
6:30-7:15 - AU

{short break!}

8-8:30 - The Pets
8:45-9:15 - The Intelligence
9:30-10:00 - Coconut Coolouts
10:15-11:00 - Psychedelic Horseshit
11:15-12:00 - Pierced Arrows


Trailroom (part 2):
7:30-7:50 Personifying O
7:55-8:15 Hives Inquiry Squad
8:20-8:40 Nate Larson
8:45-9:05 Henry Canyon's Empyre
9:15-10:00 Quixotic
10:10 - 11:00 Macklemore
11:10 - 12:00 Marq Spekt

better late than never.

favorite acts of sxsw 2009.

harlem: this is the music that plays in my head when i feel good about fucking up my life which made it my own anthemic soundtrack to sxsw. rumor has it their lead singer coomers is a gay icon in the garage/punk scene. who knew?

ty segall: some people say the whole "one man band" thing is over played but ty's raw and fuzzy garage sound blows my mind. i was also convinced that he only wore striped shirts until fairly recently.

king tuff: who woulda thunk metal band witch's frontman kyle thomas could make such sweet psych pop gems? whenever i hear his music i have fantasies of high contrast, drug induced aimlessness. (ladies, he ain't too bad on the eyes either.)

hex dispensers: amazing punk rock from austin. their last album was recorded and mixed by mark ryan and mastered by jay reatard, need i say more?

jadakiss: i have always dreamed of marrying a rapper. instead of an engagement ring i will get a platnium grill and will forever live in the magical land of champagne and baby phat. i might also have a special affinity for jadakiss because everytime i go to the nurses office they think i have asthma (which i may add is a LIE).

Broken Glass

I just got a message in a bottle.

A la Sting and the Police, Pirates of the Caribbean, and probably that movie Castaway (I'm probably the last human on earth to not be initiated I know), my friend resorted to the most chancey of communicative means. Maybe not so threatened, I found in my mailbox a cardboard tube, in which lay an old beer bottle wrapped in newspaper. Sealed with a cap of wax the label instructed in an off-tilt scrawl, " BREAK FOR WEAK VOMIT" with a crude sharpie box urging an appropriate smash zone.

Just where does one go to break a bottle?

The first place I thought of was the backyard where I sit now. The yard is practically a trash heap already, strewn with rotten camping chairs, bits of soggy cardboard, some odd tvs and computer monitors, an imploding shed, and some intrepid daisies in the corner, while malfunctioning power extensions snake through the muddy pit of a "lawn." But with my heady, bare-foot-loving roommates tromping about it seemed too likely that some wayward shard would cause bloody tracks across the murky kitchen floor. The street out front was also nixed. Though there was plenty of hopeful concrete awaiting, no one wants to be the house that puts glass in puppies paws. So I wandered down the street, with the hopes of finding a way to extract my mail.

I turned the corner and walked straight into a cop. 'Looking for parties,' I thought as I tried to absorb the bottle's silhouette into my jacket. No need to try to explain why I'm marching with such determination on a Saturday night, beer bottle gripped in hand. Around the next, I found more hopeful instruments. The pile of woody debris proved too 'thuddish,' and the cigarette post seemed fragile. Turning into a parking lot I decided to let my inhibition go as I hurled the bottle across the night sky. A resounding clunk and clatter as the post skittered along the pavement was the reply to my low toss. I chased down the still-trapped note and hurried away from apartment windows.

The next lot proved successful as I swung down on a curb, retrieved my well-earned letter and returned home.

The question in my mind as I walked was, where do we go to destroy, to make a mess? No one wants broken bottle in their home or community. No one wants to live in dangerous filth. So we deposit our trash in the proper box, put it on the curb on the appointed day and wait for it to disappear. To some other indian's home, where we don't have to see his tears. I went to a company's property to do my damage, because it seemed less real than the neighborhood of homes and children. I pushed it on an unknowable figure, a group of many without perceivable faces. It was just enough levels of abstraction, as it likely won't affect anyone I know or meet.

It seems an apt analogy to the patterns of humanity in my sleepy mind. We project our pain and filth onto distant others so we can enjoy the immediate gains. I got my letter, I got the visceral pleasure of making a mess, and I don't have to deal with the aftermath. What could be better?

~SSW

aloha

On the flight back to Portland, the only music that would rise above the din of such a cramped and crowded plane was that of PARADISE. Over and over again, the Hukilau song played in my head, scrabbling my brain until I began to hallucinate Don Ho himself. And as I left the islands of Hawaii, I sung one souvenir that would be eternally mine..."Oh we're going to a hukilau. A huki-, huki-, huki-, huki-, huki, hukilau..." Now I'm certainly no Don Ho, but pretty soon I had the whole back of the pane-rows 13-24- singing along! "We throw our nets out into the sea and all the alma alma come'a swimin' to me..." Once the flight attendants added in hand movements and hulaed down the aisles, it was a real luau. Originally written by Jack Owens in 1948, the Hukilau Song became a popular hit when Hawaii's own singing sensation, Don Ho covered the track circa 1962. Ho went on to record for Reprise Records winning over many tropicals hearts with such hits as "Tinny Bubbles" and "Pearly Shells." Today many, myself included, give a big mahalo to Ho and Owens for such happy Hawaiian music.

SUNBURN IN 10 DAYS

Do you know that KLC Radio is putting on their annual spring-worshipping all-day, band-packed music festival???

Saturday April 11th the mayhem descends upon liberal-arts prestige once again in the Templeton Student Center on the Lewis & Clark Campus in Portland, OR.

Just who is playing to justify your spending your weekend in the bougie SW hills you ask?

Everybody.

Really, just about, on two stages Noon to Midnight:

Pierced Arrows, MarQ Spekt, the Intelligence, Maclemore, Psychedelic Horseshit, Quixotic, Pets, AU, and a hell of a lot more.

So mark your calendars kids and check back here for updates