Shoegazey artiste Pete Kember (aka Sonic Boom) performed on March 28 as part of the electro-experimental 3-D Music Fest, held at the always rad Waldorf Hotel. Okay, technically, he performed on March 29, hitting the stage at 12:30am, after half the crowd had thinned out, deciding it needed bed and hometime… but whatevs.

Kember’s a bit of  legend, a king of the aural equivalent of the hypnagogic state. He was one half of  Spacemen 3 (along with Jason “Spaceman” Pierce, now of Spiritualized), rode solo as Spectrum (“How You Satisfy Me” was an epic early 90s track) and collaborated with feedback wizard Kevin Shields of My Bloody Valentine in the project E.A.R (Experimental Audio Research). He’s also played with Dean Wareham and Luna (I chatted with Kember about the last time I’d seen them together in London in ‘95) and produced Panda Bear’s album Tomboy.

Want stoner soundscapes? He’s THE GUY. “It’s been a long time” the drawn, lone man with his boxes and knobs, said from the stage, and it has. After a DJ warm-up set that included Neu!, and that rad Anika cover of Yoko Ono’s “Yang Yang”, it was nice to trip out even further to the fuzzy wuzzy of Sonic Boom. Sorta paved the way for sleep. \m/

Dunno if it had been the San Francisco sunshine, the reverberations from going to that lesbian club night in Oakland with the city’s best queer porn stars the other night, the pints of Lagunitas, the nice guy named Rob who bought the beer, the tiny girl who said she loved my hair and kept shimmying up against me or the excellent sound system that made the March 6th gig at San Francisco’s Independent so good.

Coulda also been the silly drone of Australia’s Pets With Pets, the psychobilly of Bordeaux, France’s Magnetix (I have so much amour for these two) and the enormity of the moment when I realized that locals Thee Oh Sees were putting on one of my favourite shows of this year so far.

Yeah, this was one of those nights: insane psychedelic-PsychicTV-Cramps-indie-surfpunk-rock sorta goodness, wrapped in a tattooed five piece – with double drums, motherfunkers! It was Thee Oh See’s John Dwyer, clutching and licking his clear guitar, sucking on a mic, with Brigid Dawson playing counterpoint to Dwyer and being lethal with a tambourine.

It was Lars Finberg eyeing other drummer Mike Shoun so carefully that they were matching each other bash for bash. It was the most wonderfulness of Petey Dammit in his suspenders and Docs, wearing his bass literally around his neck, grinning like a loon and stamping. And it was 7 minutes of “The Dream” sounding like a spazzy freakout. That’s what made it so good. That one big mess. A San Francisco treat. Bliss. \m/

Somewhere into the third or fourth song of former Cardiff U students Los Campesinos’ live set at Electric Owl – after ear-tickler “Romance is Boring”, “Death to Los Campesinos!” and “Life is a Long Time” – I turned to my gig buddies.

“Huh.” I said.
“Huh, what?” Michelle asked.

“I was expecting them to come out swinging, like really, really BIG and blow my mind with high energy,” I said, or something to that effect. “But this is straddling a 7 out of 10. I reckon they’re halfway through the tour. This is a CLASSIC halfway gig. Still good, but halfway tired.” “Huh. Yeah.” Michelle said. “Mind you, the stage is really too small for all of them. They probably can’t move.”

And it was true, they couldn’t really move. And they couldn’t really dance. And they were tired. But Los Campesinos! were still charming. And not just because of song titles like “A Heat Rash in the Shape of the Show Me State; or, Letters from Me to Charlotte” and “The Sea is a Good Place to Think of the Future”.

Between knocking the appeal of his own band, celebrating the fact that former tour mates You Say Party! were in attendance, making jokes about their videos and sort of backhandedly complimenting Vancouver, singer Gareth Paisley did all the chatting. And it was endearing.

But not as endearing as the hand-written sign posted on his xylophone that said:  “Do not be afraid to make eye contact with girls.” D’awwww. Oh, Los Camp, you’re adorable.

Afterward a solid set of first, third and latest album songs, I asked guitarist Neil Beale where they were in terms of the tour. “Halfway!” he chirped. “Why? Could you tell? ‘Cos we were all totally knackered?” “Uh, yeah, I could,” I said, not wanting to lie to a cute, young Cardiffian. “Huh, yeah” he said, smiling.

The next day, I got a tweet from Gareth on Twitter. “We’re weren’t knackered! The stage was just too small to dance!” he wrote. Uh, yeah, we got that, but that’s not what the three brunettes with beards in your band said, friend.

But still, I really like you Los Campesinos!  And tired…happens. Touring is tough, I geddit. Especially when you have a hard time looking hot girls in the eye. \m/

Los Campesinos live at the Electric Owl was a co-production between the equally rad music site SceneintheDark.com and Timbre Concerts. Both of whom I love.

The Lemonheads performing iconic 28-minute long 1992 album It’s a Shame About Ray, in 2011, is a perplexing offer.

On the one hand, how great to gleefully belt out, once again, “well he kinda, shoulda, sorta, woulda loved her if he coulda….” at the top of ones lungs. Or shout “Alison’s getting her tit pierced!”. Or hearing “Rockin’ Stroll”, “Ceiling Fan in My Spoon”, “Rudderless” and “My Drug Buddy” (highlights all from this scrappy little album and live in Vancouver). How great to hop aboard the Nostalgia Tour Bus and travel back to those Juliana-Hatfielded awkward years. I mean, we’ve been doing it for the past two for Pixies, Pulp, Sebadoh, Pavement, Guided By Voices et al so why not Lemonheads? It’s a delicious place to be for a bit of time.

But this tour for Evan Dando (let’s face it, he is the Lemonheads, and as hard-working as his two hired guns on drums and bass were, nobody really cares), started off in New York with a thud: Evan seemed wasted, the show was kinda car-crash and we all reminded ourselves that “My Drug Buddy” actually meant that Dando was/is? a waster. (Fun fact: Sebadoh’s song “Skull” was written about a night Lou Barlow and Evan Dando did hard drugs together).

I dunno how wasted Evan is these days, but he does look kinda sad. Vacant. Or was it just tentative and shy? Surprised or unhappy to be back on the circuit playing these old amazing songs? Hard to say. But the notorious mumbler said nary more than a “thank you” after clutches of songs, and made little eye contact with the clearly enraptured club audience.

In fact, when he did rarely open his eyes, he chose to fixate on the ceiling. But there were sneaky poignant moments that you could only see from the front row: Evan, turning around and smiling. There were awkward smiles when the love was thrown back at him.  And you could tell he was concentrating HARD on remembering how to play the songs…so maybe the happiness at the end of tracks were from…relief?

Yeah, okay, what’d I expect? Evan Dando is a slacker. But we were ready primed to party. And we tried. Evan opened, solo, with the wistful “Outdoor Type” then eventually went into Ray, and for a time the audience bounced and we grinned. Right in his face. But c’mon, man, throw us a line! Banter! Look at us, even.. We wanted something….more than a dutiful play-by of a classic album. Or maybe they didn’t. But I did.

Even “back in the day” (I saw and met Evan and the Lemonheads last on November 16, 1992), I remember more more energy and ease on stage. Maybe it was the drugs, I dunno. Le sigh.

And while non- tracks like “Great Big No”, “Big Gay Heart” , “Into Your Arms” and the fab “If I Could Talk I’d Tell you” sounded pretty sweet. And lest we forget that the Hair soundtrack cover of “Frank Mills” resulted in a jubilant singalong. There was no “Mrs Robinson” (the band always hated that that made it onto Ray), but hey. And it all sounded …fine. But I was hoping that Evan would have made peace with whatever, and be more comfortable in his skin, and happy to be back.. I’m not so sure that was the case.

So yeah, it was good. And it was definitely nostalgic. But it was also…..kinda sorta slack. I kinda shoulda sorta woulda loved it if I coulda.\m/

>

The Antlers’ session is rad and I’m chuffed that I get to see ‘em twice today. Extra new guitarist/bassist Timothy is the joker, complaining about how his “good idea at the time” breakfast sandwich is now coming back to haunt him. This has no impact, however, on the loveliness that is “Every Night My Teeth Are Falling Out” and “I Don’t Want Love”, two of the tracks that fill the room at noon.

Afterwards I corner Peter and gush (Me: “yeah, and I also love Hospice but can only listen to it when I don’t want to feel emotional.” Him: “Yeah, understandable.”), and we start to make plans about the absurdity of a Cruise featuring a bunch of 90s indie rock bands…and them. Darby and I also plot. Insert *muhahahahahahahaha* here.

Next up! GODSPEED YOU BLACK EMPEROR! No, sorry, MOGWAI! No, sorry, GODSPEED YOU EXPLOSIONS IN THE MOGWAI! Uh, whoops, I mean EXPLOSIONS IN THE SKY! Yeah, that’s it! I really, really dig the new era of quiet-loud-quiet-blood-loud-epic-instrumental bands, and Texas’ Explosions are bringing back the need for earplugs in a good way. Their songs soar, even at this contained KEXP sesh, and Michael James and Munaf Rayani (plus Mark Smith) are bowled over by their own awesome that they all need to sit down. Perhaps conserving for later’s night show….

After the back-to-back awesome of Antlers exploding in the sky, and having a brief chat with EITS’s Rayani, I head up in the vampire-killing sunshine to check out the awesome rock PosterMart that’s on in the Jupiter Hotel’s courtyard. I fall hard for San Fran’s Lil Tuffy’s stuff (see above), and we chat about how he did all of Pavement’s posters last year. I’m about to buy up tons of his stuff when I realize that I’m broke. Sadface. Anyway, it’s lunchtime and I need some coin for more Sizzle Pie.

After lunch, I get a bit of indigestion watching Avi Buffalo. Nice enough guy, but I couldn’t pick his music out of a crowd if it came up and bit me in the mixed metaphor. We chat afterwards – he digs and knows Lou Barlow – but someone has told me that he’s seen a Tumblr with Avi’s girlfriend doing naughty stuff and that Avi’s private parts are on it as well. I can think of nothing else.

Then it’s a wander down over the bridge, through the remnants of the Portland Saturday Market and towards to the outdoor venue of Pioneer Courtyard Square for my second-helpings of Typhoon, The Antlers and Explosions in the Sky, as the sun sets on a muggy night. Typhoon are great. Perfect late-summer music, and fill the stage with their aforementioned 1,698 members. I like!

Then it’s back to The Antlers. Timothy walks past, sitting on a stoop, recognized me from earlier at KEXP and we end up talking about, what else? The Weezer Cruise. “I can’t decide if it’s totally hilarious or really pretentious,” he says. We agree it has to be former. It’s too much weird not to be. Then he runs off to find his cousin before taking the stage. By then, the sun is dipping and Peter’s voice just hovers in the haze. Dunno how he manages the fragile/forceful mix but hey, well done. They sound pretty perfect in the air.

After the set, I run into this guy – Michael from the Antlers – to complete my full set of horns. Do I win a prize? Yep, me and Michael hit it off instantly and are riffing off each other immediately. “You’re painting quite a debauched picture of this Cruise,” he says. I apologize. “No, I think that’s what it’s going to be like.” We try to figure out the quantity of booze we need to bring onto the boat. ‘Cos, like, that shit’s gonna be expensive on the open seas! Antlers, I deem thee my favourites of MFNW. Can’t wait to help judge the Bellyflop Contest with you, Michael! *hi-five*

I love this picture. It’s Explosions in the Sky, exploding before the night sky. And look! There’s a rainbow! See? Sky! Explosions and sky! (They also sounded brilliant and enormous.) But by that time it was late dinner o’clock… What’s that Deschutes Brewery? You want me to drink your beer and eat your hot wings outside with my mate Shelly from KEXP? Okay! So we do. Then I hop in a cab to the OTHER end of town’s Hawthorne Theatre in time for the mega near-finish of the week….

Hey look! It’s my friends in punk band OFF! featuring former Circle Jerk and Black Flag-er Keith Morris! EXCLAMATION MARKS! Here’s Dimitri Coats and his amazing hair, whom I ran into before the show. I remind him of meeting up not more than a month ago at their Copenhagen gig. He gives me a big hug and says it’s nice to see me again. I also flag down OFF!’s Steve McDonald (formerly of Redd Kross) to catch up. He says he digs my t-shirt. He’s not the only one. I’m one of, like, five girls at the show and wearing a canny only-insiders-get-it Black Flag shirt, which means I get a lot of punk guys stopping me to admire my taste in coverage. Or cleavage. Not sure.

Keith Morris remains one of my favourite persons to take pics of. He’s brilliant, knows where the camera is and is all insane energy. He rabbits on about Gun Club’s Jeffrey Lee Pierce, before playing the song, along with pretty much everything else on their first four EPs. I love OFF! so very, very much…but Shelly’s outside in the car and it’s time to wrap MFNW back at the Doug Fir with a local band I’ve never seen before…

…it’s the Portland two-piece The Helio Sequence, who are playing to a wrapt and rammed room full of love. Have no idea how to describe Brandon and Benjamin’s stuffs, but it’s kinda indie pop with an electronic backbone. And it’s a pretty sweet way to end the night and end the week, with the KEXP gang, in the room they called home for a bit.

So, thanks, MusicFestNW, that was a blast. Your pizza, doughnuts, venues, local bands and locals are quite frankly, hipsterrific. I’mma be back, if you’ll have me?  \m/

NOW READ PART ONE, FEATURING SEBADOH, THE ARCHERS OF LOAF, UNKNOWN MORTAL ORCHESTRA …and FRED ARMISEN!

NOW READ PART TWO, FEATURING THE HORRORS, DAN MANGAN, RHETT MILLER, SHARON VAN ETTEN, TYPHOON AND MORE!

FOR MORE PICS FROM MUSICFESTNW, PEEP MY COVERAGE IN CONSEQUENCE OF SOUND

Poking around in the garage, I find a very tired looking Joshua (nee Von Grimm) and Rhys (formerly Spider Webb, looking all dandy in a stripey shirt with a cravat) having a smoke before having to face the audience. I say hullo. They nod. Barely. Lead singer Faris sits down near me in the empty club and we start chatting. He asks me if I’m Irish. I tell him no, I lived in London for 7 years and my accent is kinda bastardized. He tells me his girlfriend – also from Vancouver – always gets questions in London if she’s Irish so he wonders if all Vancouverites have a slight Irish accent. I laugh. We’re getting on great! Then I ask him if I can take a candid picture. He declines. He has clearly been coached not to accept promotion unless it comes via his “people” (which I’m sure the Horrors have). Gods Londoners sometimes need to crawl outta their own arses…

…still, all I can fixate on is their hair. Remember the Horrors when they looked like this? Awww! Least Joshua’s hair is more managable now. Uh…yeah. “Changing the Rain” and “I Can See Through You” sound fab, incidentally. Even at 10.30am.

Aaaaand now for something completely different. The lovely, beardy folk-rocker called Dan Mangan, from my hometown Van, is next up at KEXP and plays an absolutely stunning set of tracks from his upcoming album Oh Fortune. We all forget about the Horrors’ hair and swoon. You need to know about Dan Mangan. if you don’t already. His songs are made of the pretty and he’s ridiculously nice and witty on air. Afterwards, he and I chat and make plans to get drunk at our fave local bar when he’s back in Vancouver. As you do.

After a lunch of Sizzle Pie (a slice o’”Kylesa” for me), I wander though the warehouses on NE Couch and Davis up to Portland’s famous Voodoo Doughnuts (Too) to queue for a Maple Bacon Bar (with real bacon on top, and it’s insane good) and this, the Miami Vice. Here’s Brittney, one of KEXP’s photographers, helping me with my hard work.

After lunch, it’s PDX’s  Typhoon’s turn in the studio. They seem to have 1,698 members, and remind me of a sort of Polyphonic Spree-meets-Arcade-Fire thing, though not so kooky and very pretty. Here, they hang out waiting for a group shot. Remind anyone of school photos?

LOOK AT THE CUTE TYPHOON HORN SECTION! What’s a baby Typhoon called? Breeze? AirCon?

But I was waiting for this. Old 97’s singer Rhett Miller brings his geetar and stomping boots and plays one of the best KEXP sessions of the week. Sure the music’s a bit samey rawk, but he takes requests, does a cover of REM’s “Driver 8″ and looks to on-air DJ Kevin for encouragement.  And when he gets the thumbs up, he even plays an encore. It’s brilliant. Afterwards we chat and take a pic together, because he is a cutie. And I like cuties.

Then it’s back to the hotel for a 45 minute nap before…

…newish Portland rappers TxE at the Roseland Theatre, playing just before Mackelmore and Lewis. To enjoy this set and take this amazing pic of Epp standing on air, I had to go through a metal detector. Oh those keeeeraazy rap shows filled with all-ages kids!

But TxE (pronounced T&E) are really quite fun, and both Calvin and this guy, TOPE/Anthony Anderson, climb on into the crowd. The kids duggit. I duggit. Check ‘em via Facebook.

After TxE was Shabazz. Was really looking forward to checkin’ out the former Digible Planets’ Butterfly in action in his newer joint Shabazz Palaces, ‘cos I dig their SubPop album Black Up! muchly. It’s a delicious dark muddle of twisty hiphop. Problem is, there’s some serious sound issues tonight and it’s the wrong room for ‘em. All I seem to get from Shabazz’s performance is a dark mumble. Bummer.

….aaaaand now for something completely different. AGAIN. I rush up the street to the Crystal Ballroom to catch the last few songs of Weinland and then watch with nodding appreciation of the wonderful Sharon Van Etten. But it’s about 145 degrees inside, and I’ve not eaten. I inhale another slice at the back of the venue while trying not to dehydrate. But Sharon, you’re a beaut.

Then it’s rushing back DOWN the street to the EMP Backstage lounge, where Toronto pedal-hoppers PS I LOVE YOU (whom I love) have finished up and local trio/heroes The Thermals have taken over. The lounge is rammed and I climb onto a sofa near the door to watch the indiepoppunksters do a brilliant fun set. In fact, it’s so fun that this happens. At the back of the room I catch up with Ben PS I LOVE YOU, then head next door for the last bit of Ladybug Transistor.

…f0llowed by Julian (from Elephant 6/The Music Tapes) and the rest of weirdies in Olivia Tremor Control, doing their sort of indie rock 60s psychedelia to an absolutely sardined crowd in the narrow Someday Lounge. I tweet PS I LOVE YOU’s Paul Saulnier to tell him sorry I missed him, and that I was next door at Olivia Tremor Control. He tweets back “Let’s party!” So I…

…scream “MORE COWBELL!” at Will Cullen Hart (or maybe I did?) and then type back at Paul, telling him I’m gonna head back to the EMP to find ‘em. But when I get there? Guess what? The Thermals have blown up their amp, shutting down the rest of the night…and the place is empty. So I head to the Horrors a few blocks away, eager to see if how their hair fares at midnight instead of 10am. In the meantime, Paul PS I LOVE you is tweeting me: “I’m at Olivia Tremor Control!”. We are rock ships passing in the night. Shame.

At the appropriate-named venue Dante’s, The Horrors are playing in the dark. Pretty much. And even though I’m standing next to a mixing board stage right and next to Von Grimm, all I can see is this…you know, hair. But the band sounds great, and are rightfully more on point for their actual show. I’m thankful for a bit of Brit, quite frankly.

And that’s it! Stick a fork in me, I’m done! Absolutely shattered after 15 hours of music, pizza and doughnuts. Good thing there’s not another day of MFNW ahead! OH. \m/

NOW READ PART ONE, FEATURING SEBADOH, THE ARCHERS OF LOAF, UNKNOWN MORTAL ORCHESTRA …and FRED ARMISEN!

NOW READ PART THREE, FEATURING ANTLERS, EXPLOSIONS IN THE SKY, TYPHOON, AVI BUFFALO AND OFF!

FOR MORE PICS FROM MUSICFESTNW, PEEP MY COVERAGE IN CONSEQUENCE OF SOUND

And hey, guess what? I was there, too. Why? Because Portland rules: there’s beers, hippies, hipsters, fixie bikes, good food, nice venues and awesome donuts. And I spent three outta the five nights doing what I like to call SERIOUS MUSICKING.

Here’s what transpired on September 8th: Part 1.

Couldn’t quite get up in time for Sweden’s Little Dragon, who played Thursday’s “HOW early?” 10am KEXP session, but made it to the Doug Fir in time to catch my fave new US band, Unknown Mortal Orchestra. “Ffunny Ffriends” sounded particularly sunny, and lead singer/guitarist Ruban thanked folks for coming to the set so early. “Normally I’d be getting up around this time. And thinking about whether or not to smoke a bowl.”

After the sesh, and a chat in the Green Room with my new KEXP mates (including friend Shelly Corbett, who is a live-session videographer) and UMO, we all bail upstairs to the outdoor patio. It’s about 14 degrees hotter than Hades and we’re all digging the Indian Summer. By sweating.

…and drinking gin and tonics. Portland local and UMO bassist Jake Portrait and I catch up – he’d given me a list of great places to try out in town, including the almighty Sizzle Pie pizza shop. (Kind of rock n’ roll pie place down the street, which had conveniently renamed some of its pizzas for its favourite MFNW bands. Over two days I had the Kylesa and the Explosions in the Sky. They were out of the Sebadoh.) I also make him do the rockhands, but he insists that at this time of the day, this is all he is able to muster. It’s pretty fucking pathetic…

…so we teach him to straighten up and rock right. I mean, these things are important, yeah? \m/

Around the time, my boys in Sebadoh show up in their little silver rental car, and get set up for the next KEXP session. Jason Loewenstein does some pretty swift thinking during “Careful” and drops the “bullshit” at the end of the line “Watch out for my bullshit/Everybody’s got it” for the benefit of radio listeners with sensitive ears. Quick thinking, JL! And it makes Lou Barlow laugh…

After a seven-song set, including the rarely played (this year) “Soul and Fire” and the always awesome “Forced Love”, Sebadoh zip out to the street to do a KEXP photo shoot, and then we hang out with a fan who’d driven 22 hours to see them from Las Vegas. The band is pretty impressed and the fan – Jake – and his brother end up hanging with us after the night’s show. But first! There’s musician geek shopping to do! So we head nearby to the Old Town Music shoppe ‘cos the guys need strings for the bass and guitar.

After chatting for a bit with Jason, and not quite making the connection that he’s got Sebadoh shopping in his store, sales guy Hank looks up to see Lou Barlow pottering around the guitar section…and the penny drops. (Though his sandwich doesn’t). “Holy fuck,” he says, it all falling into place. “That’s Lou Barlow…. Wow, huh…okay now I get it.” He gives the guys t-shirts and helps ‘em out with strings. Meanwhile Bob has fallen in love with a snare drum and both he and Jason spend time drumming on it. I walk around admiring pedals like the “Big Muff”, which will never cease to make me snicker. Because I am a child. We also put Hank and his buddy at the store on the guest list for later that night. As a thanks for letting us interrupt his lunch.

Then it’s off to the Crystal Ballroom for soundcheck. Still unsure how “Just Gimmie Indie Jock” rockers Archers of Loaf have the headline slot tonight but Lou assures me people really heart them. I never got the Archers, and am actually curious to see ‘em first timey.

At the venue, Lou catches up with Matt and Eric from Archers. They re-acquaint, though the bands have -strangely- never actually shared a bill, though are from the same circles/era. Matt appears to be quite the Sebadoh fan. It’s kinda cute.

Opener Kevin Robinson from the night’s third band, Viva Voce, was pottering around during soundcheck and approached Sebadoh’s Jason for a chat. He had a nice clear drumkit. Aaaand that’s about all I can tell you about the duo of Viva Voce. I watched their set, but…yeah. Fine.

Anyway! After Sebadoh played (I was too busy drinking half of Lou’s bottle of white wine to shoot pics by this stage.), it was Archers o’clock. THE ‘DOH AND THE LOAF, together for the first time!”  The 1500-capacity room was PACKED and the crowd awaiting Icky Mettle stuffs. The Sebadudes and I all came upstairs to watch from the wings. Eric Bachmann rocked out, indeed, and bassist Matt Gentling bounced about like Flea from the Chili Peppers’ bro. Some of us shrugged, but yeah, seemed like the Loaf were winning with most folks.

Returning back downstairs,we returned to getting squiffy and laughing like loons…when at precisely the perfect moment, actor/comedian and former Trenchmouth drummer (“he was really good!” said Lou) Fred Armisen knocks and I let him in. He’s got a long history with Sebadoh via mutual friends and record company connections, and he’s insanely sweet. It also blows my mind that I’m standing backstage chatting in Portlandia with the co-creator and main dude of…PORTLANDIA. Stick a bird on this picture, stat!

What would the end of the night be without a strange ceramic cat bank? Nothing! Marvel at the gift of psychedelia kitsch that was bestowed upon cat-loving Mr. Barlow by a rad girl called Alix who hung out with us backstage. She had, apparently, painted kitty herself. It was pretty….scary. Its green eyes still haunt me in my dreams.

And soon it was actually time for dreams. I think. Not entirely sure. I was a bit drunk. ROLL ON the next day!

NOW READ PART TWO, FEATURING THE HORRORS, DAN MANGAN, RHETT MILLER, SHARON VAN ETTEN, TYPHOON AND MORE!

NOW READ PART THREE, FEATURING ANTLERS, EXPLOSIONS IN THE SKY, TYPHOON, AVI BUFFALO AND OFF!

FOR MORE PICS FROM MUSICFESTNW, PEEP MY COVERAGE IN CONSEQUENCE OF SOUND

It was somewhere around 11.15pm on a Tuesday night when it was revealed to me that Darren Foreman/Beardyman would not be gracing the good soundsystem stage of Fortune until 12:30am. Now, I love me a good club night, don’t get me wrong. I have been known to come home late the next day, worse for wear and gurning like a loon. I understand why bars want to keep you there, drinking and parting with your wallet contents. But I do not love me a live gig that’s billed for a Tuesday and starts on a Wednesday.

So by the time London’s most awesome beatboxer – one of the best in the world – and live looper Beardyman loped on, the audience was completely munted. And I was ready to ram my head against a spike. Assoholes lurched in the front row, braying at each other and everyone around ‘em, girls pushed past each other, and some fucker kept pinching me. This gig was rapidly approach its well-past-its-sell-by-date for enjoyment. Even Beardy rapped about the American Apparel-clad students falling over each other.

But nevermind. Let’s talk Beardyman. Late or not, he’s incredible. His mouth is a science and his performance is about rhythms and beats expertly and technically looped over each other, while he also stitches in hardcore drum and bass and techno. The dude is proficient, and scary amazing in his skill.  The dark fuzz version of Prodigy’s “Smack My Bitch Up” and a hell-yeah funny take on Snow’s “The Informer” were both ace. He was high energy.

But it wasn’t quite what I was expecting. And it wasn’t quite what I wanted. Beardyman’s shows elsewhere have been more actual beatboxing and comedy performance. But tonight, I felt like I was watching a DJ. A rad DJ, but a DJ nonetheless. The heavy-duty effects – while impressive – made the performance feel less organic. He sounded great. He looked great. And the students with nothing to do in the morning totally danced great. But to me, it felt too altered, too produced. Step away from the knobs, Beardyman, I wants to hear yo’ voice. That’s where the magic is, man. More, please. \m/

BSR NOTE: This review comes following discussions with the event’s promoters in which they offered me a free ticket in exchange for watermarking my photos with their logo and only reviewing the show “in its best possible light”. I feel like I have reflected the show in its best possible light. However, I was uncomfortable doing their marketing for them by adding watermarks, nor could I commit to a positive review until I’d actually seen the performance. In the end, BSR is about honesty and integrity and it’s all I’ve got. So I bought my own ticket, and took my own shots. Hope you enjoy.

“Wooooweeelooveyoudaniel”. The sound around us as Daniel Johnston shlumpfs on stage in a hockey jerseything tied with a rope belt, is the sound of support. It’s also the sound of a small and weird crowd – beardy hipsters, young Dan Clowes Ghost World girls, drunk Aussies and stoned doods.

He clutches the white binder with his song lyrics (The Beatles’ “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away” is the more efficient “You Got to Hide Your Love Away”), straps on his strange matchboxy guitar and bashes away at it. He furrows his brow. He cannot really play guitar. Nor can he really sing. He has that high-pitched, childlike yelp that is only Daniel Johnston’s. At first, it’s noise, just like the guy in the wonderful documentary The Devil and Daniel Johnston said…

…but then words of epic and heartbreaking struggle come, via his first song, “Lost In My Infinite Memory”:

Hi!  How are you these days?
Everything seems sort of crazed
And I feel so lazy I could cry
I feel like I could lay down and die

And I feel like my life is already gone
And it seems so hard just to get it on
Though I think I’ll try just for fun
Though I fail

I love you all, but I hate myself
And there doesn’t seem to be anyone who can help
And everything has turned out bad
I’m so sad

And your ventricles swell and pop and you sort of look down and fiddle with your fingers between shooting pics and you know: this is a guy still fighting hell, still plagued by his demons and saved by his superheroes, and wrestling medication for severe manic depression. But it’s inspiring, too, that an artist who spent bouts of adulthood in psychiatric hospitals dealing with paranoid mania is now, in his 50th year, just healthy enough again to tour his songs; to draw a comic book called Space Ducks: An Infinite Comic Book of Musical Greatness; to have kids queueing to buy photocopied cassette tapes; and to sell drawing after drawing, along with THAT t-shirt that Kurt wore.

And that, friends, is the miracle. And you think: “Bloody hell, Daniel Johnston, well done.” And you think, yeah, I can understand why 150+ artists (from Flaming Lips, to Yo La Tengo, to Mike Doughty) have covered your songs. You are so very, very special.

Also special is when, after just four songs solo, and at the end of “Freedom“, that voice mumbles, “thanks, we’ll be right back with the band”, and a few minutes later, returns with his openers, the perplexing Seattle band Motopony. (An aside: Motopony are currently being hustled by record companies, and are a band who weirded me out- mainly thanks to their former fashion designer singer Daniel Blue’s hippie-high talk of the audience’s heart vibrations, how he likes visiting foreign countries – yo, dude, Seattle’s three hours from Vancouver – their unexpected  cover of Starsailor [!] track “Alcoholic” and impressive/ridiculous dancing. Still, good keyboardist. Extra bonus points go to Johnston later, when he quips [I think?'] “Thanks to – what’s the name of this band? Rent a pony?” Bahahahaha.)

ANYWAY. Johnston returns and sits down, the proficient band behind him and launches into the “one song you wanna hear”, which is “Speeding Motorcycle”. It’s sublime.  Folks yell out for “WALK THE COW! WALK THE FUCKIN’ COW! To which Johnston replies to the drunk chick, “Sorry, m’am, but we don’t know that one.  But here’s another Beatles one…” and heads into the aforementioned …Hide (which comes a couple of tracks on from his “Revolution” cover. Along with Mountain Dew, Captain America, Casper, and the Devil, Johnston was obsessed by the Beatles).  ”Life in Vain” goes back to ruin and heartbreak, “High Horse” is a love song…and then he cheekily asks “OKAREWEREADYTOROCKTHISTOWNTONIGHT?” while he and the band…sorta do.

Then he leaves – again – and comes back with “Okay, here’s the song you want for Christmas” and he’s right. It’s “True Love Will Find You In the End” and your heart cannot take it. It’s just so raw and weird and sad and wonderful.

Then he leaves again, and comes back with a cigarette and stands, in a black t-shirt, his hands shaking, and recites a version, kind of, of “Worried Shoes” in which his characters know what it feels like to be dead (rhyming with “let the train run over his head”). The he leaves us for good and and you can’t help but think you’ve seen something you’ve never seen before and it is car-crash and tragic and beautiful and you are thankful for Daniel Johnston tonight. \m/

BUT ALL HAIL THE RETURN OF GRANDADDY!

Sorta. At least on reissue. (Sorry.)

Last week Lytle announced that the now-defunct band would be reissuing Sophtware outside the US in double-CD format on Universal/V2, with some new stuffs wedged onto a double disc, à la Sebadoh’s Bakesale. (Yes, yes, yes, reissues are trendy/boring now, but who can blame really cool yesteryore bands for wanting to tap into this cyclical re-awakening. Indie rock is au courant!)

They’re also re-putting-out the first three Grandaddy albums in the US, Under the Western Freeway, Sophtware and the double Sumday, on vinyl (via label The Control Group). This is all good, good news for vinyl and ageing hipster nerds like myself. Do the pre-ordering/buying thing here.

But back to Sophtware. I decided to check in with Lytle and toss him a few questions about this album I swoon over. Love his first answer, particularly. It’s a knife to the chest of this idealistic music fan, heh. (Though Lytle has been quoted elsewhere as saying he loves the album.) Here’s our cyberchat o’ silly:

What do you recall liking the best about Sophtware Slump?

I don’t recall ever really liking anything about the Sophtware Slump. Perhaps getting away with that title is something to be proud of. I do remember feeling a bit driven and having something to prove throughout the whole recording process. I kept telling a girl I was hanging out with at the time “I really think I’m onto something here”. Things did start to take an interesting shape eventually…then we went on tour and proceeded to play and replay the songs a gazillion times and I started losing interest. Onward and upward….ready to move on…ready for Sumday.

To me, Sophtware is pretty much perfect. But if you could go back and change one thing about it, what would it be?

I would go back and try to have a little more fun during the recording process. I really tend to beat myself up a bit too much when I’m in “work-mode”. A lighter atmosphere while recording is something I strive for these days.

I mean I know he’s dead but he’s a robot, so I’d like to think he was re-programmed. If that’s the case, what’s Jed been up to for the past 11 years?

Jed’s been trying to re-evaluate some shit …and keep a keen eye on his blood /alcohol ratio. Yes, Jed has blood…and I, in fact…. have circuits and capacitors.

I have an orginal SS CD with bits of computer and plastic in its spine. Will the re-release have stuff like bits from your hats, or skateboard? Can I have a broken part from a musical keyboard, maybe, in mine?

The re-release jewel case will be filled with typical grumpy/crusty old man stuff: thick toe nail clippings, grey beard shavings, ibuprofen…..ear plugs….you get the picture. \m/