The
Lucky Charms of NXNW
Everywhere there were little treats. Clans of club
whores scoured the streets for just a little audio-visual
nookie, leaving even the corner cheeba dealers looking discombobulated.
All those people who left Portland for high-rent, bad-traffic
cities returned with Bad Decision stamped on their foreheads.
In short, this city kicked ass.
And for the most part, the bands did too. Each night was
studded with performances that were like little marshmallows
floating around among the toasted Os.
Thursday Night: Pink Hearts
The Halo Friendlies revved
up the Tonic Lounge crowd with Go-Go's-style smart-ass sass.
New York's Hissyfits closed down the joint with a growl
and a smile. Sweet dreams are made of this. Go get 'em,
girls.
Friday Night: Purple Horseshoes
Straight from L.A.,
Botanica buffed and shined the Spot with elegiac cabaret
rock. The bass player wore a beguiling devil-horned knit
cap, and the lead singer crooned dark songs of hope and
redemption.
Saturday Night: Green Clovers
I want W.A.C.O. to
play my funeral. These L.A. high-school band geeks dropped
science on the Green Onion with slide trombone, flute and
a whole host of instruments that conventional wisdom claims
won't get you anywhere in the rock world.
Right after W.A.C.O. came the NXNW money-shot. Two boys
from Portland who call themselves the Helio Sequence took
to the Green Onion stage and put the crowd in their perma-press
shirt-front pockets. Lucky me--I live in Portland and will
see them again.
(Caryn B. Brooks)
Kismet!
Early
on Saturday night, my better half and I ricocheted in and
out of clubs faster than Charlie Sheen at NA meetings. Ground
Kontrol was too cramped, the band too quiet. When the bleeps
and whistles of detonating Galaga spacecraft rose above
the music, it was time to press on. The Spot was dangerously
dark and, uh, moist. We bumbled about in the blackness for
a few minutes, shvitzing and looking for the bar. On stage,
more cute people whispered songs about romance, pain and
Schwinns. We regrouped in the NXNW-free confines of Shanghai
Tunnel. Over cocktails, we settled on a midnight duo at
the Green Onion. As I stepped out of the men's room after
a preemptive loo stop, I heard one makeup girl complain
to another, "We're just looking for a good band." Get in
line, sweetheart.
And then, out of nowhere, it happened: a Good Band. At eye-watering
volume, the Helio Sequence stunned the Onion into a rare moment
of silent appreciation. It hurt, but I didn't dare budge.
(Mac Montandon)
Video (games) Killed the Rock and Roll Snore
Allegedly, North
by Northwest is a grand opportunity to take a chance on new
acts. Unfortunately, I've taken venturesome flyers on enough
never-were bores to last a lifetime. Call me a conservative
curmudgeon, but I played it safe Thursday night, picking two
acts I knew about and one with a good buzz. Sadly, this lone
unknown quantity--Japan's all-girl punk band Ex-Girl--demonstrated
the dangers of gambling, driving me from the Roseland with
scree far too shrill for my ears. Thankfully, the night had
already seen two shimmering highlights, the splendid accordion/violin
exotica of Miss Murgatroid and Petra Haden at the Cobalt Lounge
and Imogene's smoldering set at Jimmy Mak's.
Friday night, Mandarin and Marigold (at Satyricon and Roseland,
respectively) salvaged my adulation of rock with power-chord
action. When I returned to Satyricon to see King Black Acid,
they'd stopped letting people in. In my frustration over
that setback, though, I made my best discovery of NXNW:
Ground Kontrol is now the city's coolest venue. There, it
doesn't matter if the band sucks (San Francisco's Green
and Yellow TV truly did), because you'll be too busy playing
Galaga or Centipede to pay attention.
Saturday, feeling mellow, I returned to Ground Kontrol
to check out Portland's own Kissing Book. Though their set
was a shambles of stop-start shenanigans, the shy members
of Kissing Book delivered the festival's most punk-rock
moment when they exited the stage early to let their friends
in Dear Nora play a few. Unfortunately, Nora's set was also
marred by too much clumsiness to be cute. I hoofed it home
with no new great wisdom, no new favorite bands and a few
new high scores. Oh well.
(Jamie S. Rich)
Friday
Night Lights: One Man's Journey
Friday night, after
making Kelly's Olympian just in time to watch the Dolomites
pack up their stuff and slam a Guinness, I schlepped to
the Green Onion, with high hopes for a night of weirdness.
I would not be disappointed.
The Gone Orchestra worked up its original brand of Mingus
mayhem with a packed room digging the cacophonous soul.
The Maya Unsemble tossed a flute into a Bitches' Brew-esque
sauce without a trace of Andean schmaltz. The twin guitars
and shard-glass electric piano created a thick dirge drone
for the flutist to screech over. The jazz kids ate it up,
hunkering around the stage as if Miles himself bleated before
them. The San Francisco boho tango types of Tin Hat Trio
presented their musical version of gay Paris, and when closers
Bebop & Destruction and Harriet Tubman both canceled,
they gamely stepped up to the mic for an extended set.
Around the corner, the Sensualists' show at Berbati's was
a scene of scenes, with more than a few inebriated sots
bewitched by the bewitching hour. One gent decided to unburden
himself of his shirt while teetering on top of a friend's
beefy shoulders. The city's beat-happy darlings seem to
have that effect on drunken bedwetters. Meanwhile, the band
churned along on waves of shimmering sonic goo, a charming
'90s Tom Tom Club.
At the Spot, L.A.'s Botanica got the place all kinds of sweaty
with a writhing pop quiz on gothic literacy that would've
made Nick Cave hot. As the brainteasing evening wore down,
I saw some note-taking going on. Whether or not these bar-side
scribblers were shorthanding the name of a would-be next big
thing or just preparing records of their own Friday rampages,
I couldn't tell.
(Bill Smith)
Who Will Die For Art? The Kick-Off Party Poster Show
Rock and roll, in any setting or context, always assumes
a slightly awkward pose when jimmied up against the vaulted
expectations of "art." It was, then, a pleasant surprise that
this year's fourth-annual pre-opening-night NXNW poster show
was only amusingly pretentious. Certainly, the mezzanine of
the Embassy Suites Hotel provided an air of art-gallery sophistication
as folks carefully regarded a collection of promotional advertisements
meant for telephone poles and record-shop windows. During
my 10-minute tour, the Klezmer-inspired strings of Three Leg
Torso only added--delectably--to the proceedings' sense of
high-falutin' fakery. But the posters were, indeed, quite
good. Running from spare, bold images to surreal montages,
the entire collection was varied and striking. No tired chicks-and-hotrods
'50s pastiches here, thank God. Highlights included works
by Marco Almera, Yee Haw Industries and the boundless wellspring
of bold graphic creativity that is Northwest hero Art Chantry.
The smart-looking commemorative coloring book that served
as the show's "program," organizer Mike King, displaying a
self-deprecating sarcasm that is sorely missed in most NXNW
events, summed it up: "Graphic art is an extremely important
part of the music business, and we should all be grateful
that there are people out there that have dedicated their
talents and skills to convincing the world that a certain
band or event is way more interesting than it really is."
A very silly and enjoyable event all around.
(Sam Soule)
The
Rebel Alliance Meets Revenge of the Nerds:
The NXNW New Media Conference
These days an aspiring
rock musician needs a split personality: If you want to
be a rock star by night, you have to be a computer geek
by day.
An obsession with the Internet unified the speakers and
panelists assembled at the Embassy Suites Hotel for North
by Northwest '99. Some musicians think the ability to blast
sound straight onto the Internet will become their very
own secret blueprint of the Death Star, a way to destroy
self-serving major labels forever. Labels, meanwhile, are
cautiously excited. New formats usually mean more money.
The conference began with MTV Interactive CEO Nicholas
Butterworth, who clearly doesn't buy the power-to-the-people
scenario, outlining a future in which megaconglomerates
tie the Internet, TV and other media together into one big
knot of information. And indeed, there seemed to be a paucity
of revolutionary advice for upstarts. In a Friday panel
hosted by WW's own Zach Dundas, Amazon.com's Diane
Zoi announced that one key to success on the Web is "picking
a band name that's easy to spell." Lumpen masses, arise!
In a panel debating the merits of MP3 (piracy? promotion?
both?), Jim Griffin, a digital-music expert with clients
at every major record company, advocated a future in which
record companies broadcast music free over the Internet
instead of selling it in stores. But Griffin was short on
specifics, leaving out how the industry would make money--which,
as we know, is the bottom line.
Ultimately, the real message was that for all the possibilities
of the matrix, real success on the Internet must still come
from aligning yourself with the big boys. If they don't know
about you, you'll probably end up lost in space.
(Brian Libby)
Six Conundrums Of North By Northwest
1. Were we laughing with the Centimeters (Cobalt
Lounge, Thursday) or at them?
The female lead singer of these L.A. strangelings broke
out a curious chicken dance and pseudo-opera-shower-curtain-showcase
voice, leaving many puzzled.
2. How best to slap yourself awake after Cole Marquis'
sleeper set (Friday, Tonic Lounge)?
Marquis plays thoughtful guitar-based songs with occasional
drums and keyboards, but the crowd needed a jolt after his
slumber-time performance. Fiver, a five-piece pop extravaganza,
obliged, delivering a rousing set to an adoring crowd.
3. Which performer had the best audience participation?
Film School, a dreamy pop band from San Francisco. During
one song, people in the crowd twirled long, bright, plastic
tubes, producing a loud, eerie, communal "whooooo."
4. What was the most fortuitous scheduling mishap?
Some of the bands on Satyricon's Bloodshot Records showcase
Saturday night ran late. The fabulous Riptones seized the
day, and the confusion allowed me to see an extra half-hour
of their set.
5. What was the most militant fashion statement?
The Riptones' closing number, the almost-instrumental rock-a-country-billy
manifesto "Don't Touch My Hair."
6. What's the most appropriate response to the new-media
focus of the NXNW conference?
Internet, schminternet.
(Alyssa Isenstein)
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Willamette Week | originally
published October 6,
1999
|
