The
Dolomites' St. Paddy's Day assault:
Music
Millennium-Northwest
801 NW 23rd Ave., 248-0163 Noon, Free
McMenamins Edgefield
2126 SW Halsey St., Troutdale, 669-8610 3-5 pm, Free
Biddy McGraw's
3518 SE Hawthorne Blvd., 234-7474 7-9 pm, Free
w/ The Dickel Brothers, Velvida Underground
Satyricon
125 NW 6th Ave., 243-2380 10 pm, $4
I spent last St. Patrick's Day in London.
I do remember that much.
Those who learned about current Irish reality from Harrison
Ford flicks might find it surprising, but the capital of
Ireland's traditional oppressor catches booze-fueled fire
each March 17. London, after all, probably contains an Irish
metropolis about the size of Portland within its bewildering
multiculti sprawl. In the midst of the Indian curry shops,
Chinese noodle houses and vendors flogging ENGLAND scarves,
thousands take to the streets, packing every pub with a
name starting with "O"--and most others, too.
This much is for sure: I started with a mid-afternoon absinthe
cocktail in a ludicrous bar called Detroit, which looked
nothing like Detroit but much like the set of a straight-to-video
cyberpunk sci-fi movie. (The waiters wore black; my drink,
appropriately enough, was green.) My brain called it quits
at about midnight, shortly after I watched a fistfight in
a Chinese restaurant and bellowed a few lyrics from the
Pogues' classic "Dirty Old Town" as I swerved
through Camden.
Somewhere in there, I know I went to Filthy McNasty's,
the Islington pub famous/infamous as a dive favored by literary
types and other assorted scum. At the bar, a squad of harried
tapmen pailed Guinness like there was a flood on, while
the surrounding spectacle closely resembled the Mos Eisley
Cantina scene in Star Wars. Perfect, then, for Filthy's
was renowned as a hangout of Shane MacGowan, the
Pogues' notoriously polluted ex-singer.
St. Patrick's Day--Filthy McNasty's--Shane MacGowan: An
alcoholic hat trick that brings us to Portland's own Dolomites.
According to its own official mythology, the riotous quartet
began stirring its cauldron of Irish anthems, rock-and-roll
trouble and multinational exotica after songwriters Koji
B. and Max Skewes collided with MacGowan at F.
McNasty's in '97. An all-night swilling contest with the
mush-livered MacGowan--ending with a polite invitation to
leave from the management--inspired the pair to beg, borrow
and buy some banjos, guitars, accordions and bouzoukis.
Three years on, the Dolomites have become one of Portland's
secret musical weapons, spitting out raucous Celtic brawl-anthems
that, while they're certainly indebted to the Pogues' reeling
Irish-punk, also reach for a pirate's trove of Middle Eastern,
European and American folk traces. Their years of docklands
rioting come to a head this St. Patrick's Day as they celebrate
the release of their excellent album A Hogshead of
Whiskey (Walking Records) with a sodden pentathlon
of gigs. After an early-morning TV appearance, they'll haul
themselves to a record store and three different bars, no
doubt leaving a trail of empty pint glasses and savaged
one-day-a-year Irishmen in their wake.
Hogshead makes good on the sweaty, unholy threats
the Dolos pose live. "Lobotomy Bay," a shouted drinking
song punctuated by echoing drums, launches things in suitably
swashbuckling fashion. Skewes and Koji drive things along
with twin rasps, and by the sopping-wet final elegy of "Silver
Shanty," the room should be spinning. It's as exhausting
as the Easter Rising and nearly as bloody.
Of course, such raucous fare isn't to everyone's taste.
If you'd rather have a more, er, contemplative Feast Day,
the oh-for-the-sweet-green-fields-and-mother school of Celtic
music is in fine health. Naturally, the approach of St.
Patrick's Day brings a spate of greenish releases, and most
tend to the softer side.
In particular, Claddagh, the Hibernian branch of
Atlantic Records, marks the season with three releases
as quaint as an Irish Spring commercial. The indisputably
classy Tin Whistles, featuring traditional
songs arranged by Chieftains members Paddy Moloney
and Sean Potts, is the finest of the batch. Come
Dance With Me In Ireland, a compilation of jigs
and reels, makes a fine sonic backdrop to a quiet drink,
though it never shakes you by the lapels to demand attention.
O Riada's Farewell, the last recording of
harpsichordist Sean O Riada, showcases exquisite skill but
not enough sass to hold my interest.
Likewise, Night Owl (Alula), a solo album
by Chieftains collaborator Dolores Keane, fails to
build much excitement. Keane's nicely mellowed Galway burr
is beautiful, but the "contemporary arrangements" her producers
saddle her with would sound right at home in an elevator.
This is Celtic for the Yankee consumer, thin as watered
whiskey. Fine if you like that sort of thing, but I recommend
a straight shot from the Dolomites' Hogshead instead.
Steer clear of Chinese restaurants, absinthe served by trendoids
and those last six pints of Guinness you think you want,
and you'll do better than I did in dear olde London towne.
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Willamette Week | originally
published March 15,
2000
|
