Thursday,
September 30
NXNW
'99 Daystage
Embassy Suites Hotel
Buzz Meade (3:45 pm)
Brenda Kahn (5:30 pm)
8
PM
Fleming and John
Cobalt Lounge
No information available at press time.
Slugger
Satyricon
Slugger plays peppy, sticky, guitar-driven songs with
dual girl vocals that project a veneer of placid sweetness
thinly veiling the rough edges underneath. The band seldom
sticks to one formula, instead stirring things up with some
attempts at old-school punk, a good ol' raucous drinkin'
song and even some wacky early-'80s covers (Bow Wow Wow,
Joan Jett). (JS)
The Robert Rude Band
Zoot Suite
Portland veteran Robert Brown (he claims he got his
brash nom de rock because people asked him what he
thought too many times) straddles power-pop and bar blues.
There's nothing revolutionary here, but the fire it takes
to drive a 20-year musical career comes through loud and
clear. (ZD)
9
PM
Fivehead
Ash Street Saloon
Before the wheels fell off the alt-rock revolution, thousands
of bands tried to put this thing together: sad, blissed-out,
overdriven pop, sopping with distortion and sharpened by wry
lyrics. Y'know, like Superchunk. Fortunately, most of the
hacks who briefly peddled this brand of rock are now safely
ensconced behind a pair of Technics turntables, boring some
fourth-rate rave crowd to tears. That leaves keepers of the
flame like Austin's Fivehead to forge ahead into fields bombed
flat in failed love affairs, dead-end dreams and the all-around
strife of daily life. While its brand of music no longer stands
bravely at the vanguard, Fivehead seems content to fight its
own battles, and it fights them hard and well. (ZD)
Pomegranate
Berbati's Pan
Thanks to play on L.A. radio stations and a steady pilgrimage
through the clubs of its native Bay Area, the sunblasted
length of California is buzzing about Pomegranate. Culturally
confused reviewers compare singer Gavin Canaan to everyone
from Lou Reed to Tom Petty, but he's very much his own man,
an alt-rock troubadour feeling the pain. His band never
strays far from the well-worn mid-tempo path, but this standard
guitar-bass-drums array struts with a purebred pride. (ZD)
Junk Train
Club 21
Country clarity meets rock 'n' roll sludge. Singer Glen
Gaidos seems to have a pile of grime in his throat, as though
it were a chimney from the days before clean industry. His
band sends strobes of bright guitar up through a thick blanket
of smoggy bass and strutting honkytonk guitar. Raise a glass.
(ZD)
The Centimeters
Cobalt Lounge
The carnivalesque sound of L.A. band the Centimeters
brings to mind the crazy cabaret of Kurt Weill and the disturbing
dystopias of Tom Waits. Singing over this dark but upbeat
music is Max Gomberg, whose Cave-like croon could be mistaken
for that of Tindersticks' Stuart Staples on speed. Battling
vocally with Gomberg is Nora Keyes, whose squeaks and trills
add only more pandemonium to the organized chaos. Their
stage act, which sometimes involves Keyes biting and spitting
on Gomberg, is apparently a sight to see, though I've heard
that the other band members carry on regardless. (JM)
Krampus
EJ's
From the misty lands of lore, these pale riders deliver
a black harvest of sorrow. Reaping what the Portland rains
sow, Krampus delves into a world replete with shadow, terror
and clammy nightfall. Fans of black metal might dig harder,
faster and sicker stuff than this, but with ominous echoes
and gritty grind below, Krampus has its dark spirits in
line. Serious props to any band with the gothic cojones
to bust out song titles like "In the Hall of the Mountain
King" and "Army of Snails." (ZD)
Whitey Gomez
Golden Crust Pavilion
When country and bluegrass are done poorly, you're left
crying into your Kentucky straight; when they're done well,
you'll gladly lift the shot in a triumphant toast to the
band. San Francisco's Whitey Gomez harmonizes its way into
the exalted corner of heavyweight neo-country twangists.
(MM)
Mr. Rosewater
Green Onion
Kids, if you can learn to mix jazz, funk and dance music
with the tasty moxie of Mr. Rosewater, you too can scale
the heights of fabulous popularity. (ZD)
The Surf Trio
Ground Kontrol
As the name suggests, this threesome manufactures some
breakers in the heart of Portland. (ZD)
Melissa Warner
Jimmy Mak's
She's the kinda country that's more black stocking than
barefoot, and the kinda rock 'n' roll that's more a whisper
than a scream. Enter the world of Melissa Warner, where
Joni Mitchell lives down the street and Emmylou's across
the way. You might even catch Melissa Etheridge riding by
on her motorcycle. Make sure you wave! (CBB)
Face First
Kelly's Olympian
Tacoma's Face First sticks firmly to the hard-rock blueprint
drawn in the early '90s by fellow Washingtonians Pearl Jam
and Alice in Chains. While singer Paul Anderson's vocals
owe much to Eddie Vedder, the band shares similarities with
newer, radio-friendly acts such as Seven Mary Three and
Creed, shifting between moody lyrical phrasings and downright
heavy thunder-riffing (courtesy of the dual-guitar action).
(JS)
Sharpie
Paris Theater
Bellingham, Wash., smells disconcertingly like a ham
sandwich warming in a microwave. The locals claim the scent
emanates from the wood-rendering plant that's the town's
economic blessing and environmental curse. The predicament
leaves Bellingham, like most small, industrial cities in
the West, looking like paradise and living in hell. Sharpie
captures that lifestyle's grind with pummelling, punkish
metal as abrasive and sparkling as asphalt after a car crash.
With songs called "Radical Icicle," "Stalin's March" and
"Slag Heap Fire," the tone stays grey as a western Washington
February, and the pace remains brutal. (ZD)
New Rock Nellie
Rocco's
These self-styled bad boys from Astoria boast some intriguing
résumés. Academic crash-and-burns, on-stage
fights, Spike Lee bit parts, hotel room fires and porn addiction
form the merest tip of the post-adolescent (only one predates
the Reagan Administration) pranksters' collective iceberg.
The music? Bouncy rock that owes a little to hard electronic
dance music and a lot to four smart mouths. (ZD)
Mr. Sunshine
Roseland Downstairs
Earnest, nice-guy music from Dublin, Ireland, that could
actually hail from any placeless place. Did I hear "I didn't
mean to hurt you" somewhere in there? As John Lennon seemed
to understand in the achingly sincere "Jealous Guy," that
ain't no throwaway, cover-your-ass kind of line. Through
plain old reliable repetition and the lead singer's lilting
falsetto, you get to a kind of emotional truth that resonates
but doesn't know how to end. (ML)
Dim Fabian
Roseland Upstairs
A frayed Japanese punk quartet makes a hop across the
Pacific pond for a little American happy fun time and settles
in...Eugene? Well, whatever. Kenta, Tatsu, Naoki and Shin
certainly don't sound like they belong in the homeland of
vacant-eyed groove as they crank speaker-shredding, tooth-chipping
street rock. The drums have discovered the joys of the 4/4
signature; the guitars revel in messy distortion. Shades
of British Oi and ducktailed Rising Sun comrades like Guitar
Wolf and Teengenerate are sure to keep all manner of rockahs
happy. (ZD)
Slow Gas Heater
Satyricon
If you thought the "Seattle Sound" was dead and buried,
think again. Jet City band Slow Gas Heater's big guitars
and Dominic Garcia's stylized vocals recall bands like Alice
in Chains and Soundgarden at the height of their rockness,
though this band describes itself as "semi-psychedelic post-alternative
sci-fi rock." Somewhere in there, one of those descriptors
must be right. (AI)
Cool Nutz
Seges ArtBar
Without doubt, the most significant development in American
pop music over the last 20 years has been the rise of hip-hop.
While the culturally confused have been reassuring themselves
with the fond hope that the sound of young black America
will vanish like a flash in the pan since the early Reagan
years, the music built around spare beats and nimble tongues
just keeps coming. Portland--demographically the most Caucasian
big city in the States--hasn't exactly been down from day
one, but a few tight local cliques have worked hard to bring
the music off the corner. Cool Nutz has been dropping tales
of life in the streets for years, fusing old-school beats
and kapow-kapow-kapow lyrics to bring the noise to PDX.
(ZD)
The Maxfield Rabbit
The Spot
There's been a whole lotta jiltin' going on--or so it
would seem, to hear Maxfield Rabbit singer Julia Albert.
Her impassioned voice leads this La-La Land band down through
the thick of a not-so-Wonderland. With one foot tapping
to the acoustic scat of Ani DiFranco, and the other trying
to follow the light groove of Alanis Morissette, you should
expect to walk away with a few new come-back lines. (AD)
The Hopefuls
Tonic Lounge
New Mexico isn't the softest of places. The sun, the
grit, the poverty.... The Hopefuls, as their name suggests,
look to escape the summer-baked reality into a world of
hard, lush pop. Their exuberance is catchy, but is it just
me, or is there a hint of the tragic at the edges of the
rock? (ZD)
David Steinhart
Tugboat Brewery
No information available at press time.
Baseboard Heaters
Zoot Suite
Classic American rock with strong country undertones
rings out from the twin Telecasters anchoring the catchy
and driving Baseboard Heaters. After less than a year in
action, the Portland quartet played NXNW '98 to an adoring
crowd. Nothing motivates like praise. Following the show
the band kicked into high gear, recording a bunch of songs
that eventually led to slots at Los Angeles' House of Blues
and the infamous Viper Room. For the Baseboard Heaters'
grand return to NXNW, the pressure is on. (AI)
9:30
PM
Dyana
Tugboat Brewery
No information available at press time.
10
PM
Kinski
Ash Street Saloon
And they say space exploration isn't as glamorous as
it used to be. Pshaw. The members of Seattle's Kinski know
that space is still the place, and they're determined to
get there on their own, with no help from square NASA or
the bumbling Russians. Layered guitars prickle; drums hammer
along like a healthy man's heartbeat. Then, suddenly, it's
go time, as Kinski's droning themes hit hyperdrive and head
for the event horizon. (ZD)
Slackjaw
Berbati's Pan
In the past six years, this local M-Theory Records signee
has continued a steady rise up the local and regional ladder
with ambitiously lush instrumentation that recalls everything
from the Sundays to Sebadoh. Ask for its cover of the Human
League's "Don't You Want Me." (BL)
Radiogram
Club 21
Can you still call it "Americana" if it comes from Canada?
No matter. Built around the voice of the Emptys' Ken Beattie,
Vancouver, British Columbia's Radiogram finds the hollow
parts of the heart with its elegiac country. As the rich
sound ambles by, you can almost see the worn fenceposts
passing, one by one, along the highway to the plains. (ZD)
Miss Murgatroid and Petra Haden
Cobalt Lounge
Two great tastes that taste great together. Miss Murgatroid
(a.k.a. Alicia Rose, sometime WW music writer) is
Portland's answer to goth accordionism. Petra Haden, late
of peppy L.A. alt-rockers That Dog, sure knows her way around
a fiddle. At once uneasy and calm, the sweet-and-sour sound
of spare accordion meshed with lush violin will make you
want to get married immediately, and if you're already hitched,
well, you'll clamor for divorce. Search no further than
this duo for music to question your mortal existence by
while you sip a nice glass of sherry. (CBB)
The Jimmies
EJ's
Longtime denizens of Longview, Wash., the Jimmies have
wheeled their way down to Portland so many times that everyone
considers them local. The members of this quietly aggressive
quartet aren't about to let the 65 miles between towns prevent
them from polishing their melodic punk platters to a fine
shine, however. On Let the Fat Men Plunder (their
forthcoming album, soon to be released on Ben "Screeching"
Weasel's Panic Button label), the Jimmies prove that pop-punk
can expand beyond the walls of the Ramones' "one-two-twee-foah"
simplicity. It's obvious from first listen that the band
placed melody before all other considerations; the resulting
14 tracks glow like a sunny summer day, warm and full of
punk-rock possibilities. (JG)
Dryer
Golden Crust Pavilion
Painting pictures of bleak highways and misspent youth,
Rachel Browning's rugged twang leads this urban-folk group
through the dusty roads of the rural South where she spent
her childhood. Drawing comparisons to Neil Young, this Portland
band has contributed to the Andy Fish-produced Porch
Songs, a compilation of Willamette Valley musicians
that runs in the country-folk vein. (KL)
Michael Whitmore Some'tet
Green Onion
Whitmore is the tortured, mumbling sort who forces you
to lean in and listen because of the atmospheric ache of
his sound. His music has an eerie luminescence, and his
choice of instrumentation is essential to bringing out its
moodiness. For this show, he'll have his own nylon-string
guitar along with accordion, vibes, trumpet, lap steel,
mandolin, bass and drums to bring out the whirl of his dervishes.
Think Jim Morrison fronting Dead Can Dance and you get the
idea. (BS)
Kim Bingham a.k.a. Mudgirl
Ground Kontrol
No information available at press time.
Forever Goldrush
Jimmy Mak's
A youth spent down-country (in this case, Amador County,
Calif.) dirties up Forever Goldrush's freewheeling country-rock.
In the '70s, before anyone had ever thought of "alternative
country," this was simply the kind of music a certain genus
of mustache-positive bands played. It's about drinkin',
lovin', breakin' bottles and doin' crime, and it feels good.
The Goldrush lads are young yet, but their work so far hints
that if they keep at it, they'll nail many thousands to
the wall before they're through. (ZD)
Drive
Kelly's Olympian
Guitars sparkle, then rapidly advance through radioactive
decay into hard rock sludge. Drums and bass set on stun
pummel away. Then, from the edge of the familiar alt-rock
sound, a violin swoops in, sawing its way from the fringe
to the center of the noise. Eugene's Drive, acclaimed at
band-battles and packed houses both down there and up here,
constructs a classically inflected aesthetic that looks
delicate from afar--high female vocals arc over trickling
drums, competing with the violin for the upper register,
etc. Get a little closer, though, and the gossamer melts
away to reveal a steel frame under all the softness. (ZD)
Tesch
Paris Theater
An inscrutable name, an inscrutable song. Tesch's song
"Punjab" is full of autoerotic tension that makes your ears
go weak. The sound is dark, irresistible and carnivorous,
backed by prowling, predatory beats. It's bad-dream jazz-rock--tuba-playing
monsters give chase but your limbs won't move and you wake
up drooling. Cymbals break through and churn up everything
that's good and everything that's bad. (ML)
The Dismukes
Rocco's
No information available at press time.
Strauss
Roseland Downstairs
Austrian band Strauss makes no bones about wanting to
reach out and conquer the pop charts of the English-speaking
world. The band's EP Radio Songs is perfectly named--all
four songs sound like carefully crafted contenders for rotation
on Top 40 stations. Innocuous verse/chorus/verse numbers
are accented by singer Susanne Plattner's R&B-influenced
vocals. On the song "Pigs (Are So Intelligent)" Plattner
not only sings in a perfect English accent, but she does
a light rap/spoken-word bit with an American accent. According
to the liner notes, Plattner received vocal coaching for
that feat. So that's how they do it. (AI)
FEED
Roseland Upstairs
Mazzy Star with a Tokyo accent. Elegiac country drone
(country from this country, that is, not this band's native
Japan) writhes beneath spaced-out femme vox that puts one
in mind of Nico gone native in the Land of the Rising Sun.
(ZD)
Squirt
Satyricon
This Seattle band is prepared to fight for its right
to party: "I remember the old days/When they didn't make
you feel bad/If you wanted to rock out." Nowadays, of course,
things are different, and people think you're a total dork
if you don't do backflips over the new Fatboy Slim whatzit.
If Squirt's ebullient, disarmingly nerdy pop-rock can do
anything about it, though, there will always be space in
this world for banging heads. (ZD)
Hungry Mob
Seges ArtBar
Earlier this year, this smart, rambunctious hip-hop
outfit celebrated a new CD release at the 1201, a show that
afforded a glimpse of the potent cultural fusion wrought
by the Mob's jazzy live band, silky female vocals and wiry
MCs. B-boys whooped it up, indie rockers sashayed through
the packed floor, sorori-frat types grooved through their
befuddlement. All the while, Mike Crenshaw and Circol rocked
mind-swirling rhymes over the live drums, bass and spaced-out
keys. Chanteuse Toni Hill stepped in with just a touch of
feminine spice whenever the proceedings needed a little
intrigue. In short, it was off the proverbial hook. (ZD)
The Happy Regrets
The Spot
Even in the age of twin turntables and singular microphones,
the heyday of the sampler and the hour of glory for such
non-catchy types as Korn and Marilyn Manson, there's something
to be said for the ability to write a pop song. You think
it's easy to make those hooks spin on a dime? Try it sometime,
DJ Sweetgroove. The Happy Regrets of San Francisco have
punchy down to a science, reminding the world not to believe
the hype--pop's not dead. (ZD)
The Halo Friendlies
Tonic Lounge
Fresh off the Warped Tour wagon, this female foursome
brings its take on the pop-punk anthem. With plenty of oohs
and aahs to stick in your head, you'd probably need their
brand of energetic rock drive to keep your feet on the ground.
(AD)
Susan James
Tugboat Brewpub
Put some opera training, some guitar chops and a singer-songwriter's
dreams together. Stir. Susan James, an acclaimed product
of the Darwinian theater of pain that is the Los Angeles
music scene, seems to be surviving very well, thank you.
Her powerful, classical-fueled vox couple with aggro acoustic
guitar to put a rock-and-roll twist on the sometimes fey
folk tradition. (ZD)
Ian Moore
Zoot Suite
A former guitar-wizard-for-hire in Joe Ely's stable,
this Austin favorite, who now lives in Seattle, went mildly
crazy for his new, self-released solo album. Seemingly throwing
every musical instrument he's ever heard (balalaika, didjeridoo,
etc.) into a basic blues-rock broth, Moore cooked up a strange
stew to tide himself over between major-label deals. (ZD)
10:30
PM
Nerissa & Katryna Nields
Tugboat Brewpub
Hear two women singing in earnest harmony, and the temptation
is to start screaming "INDIGO-INDIGO-INDIGO!" But there's
more to this sister act than its superficial resemblance
to the ascended icons of the femme-folk form. Nerissa and
Katryna are on leave from their larger family band (The
Nields--duh), a tight and bright outfit that drops its albums
on the esteemed Rounder Records imprint. While the reduction
from psychedelic quintet to folky duo will leave less room
for mop-top bobbing, the pair's always-strong vocal teamwork
should carry the night. (ZD)
11
PM
Saltine
Ash Street Saloon
After leading the decidedly Beatles-esque Posies through
the decidedly non-Beatles-esque grunge eruption and taking
occasional shifts with R.E.M. and the reunited Big Star,
Seattle's Ken Stringfellow is in rarefied pop circles indeed.
Saltine, Stringfellow's new three-piece, reflects his songwriting
expertise with a strong drive and ample vocal dynamics.
(ZD)
Alien Crime Syndicate
Berbati's Pan
Despite what the corduroy-swishing hipsters have done
to it in recent years, there was a time when indie rock
was fun. Ninety-nine percent irony-free, go-ahead-and-dance
F-U-N. Alien Crime Syndicate, like a collegiate-pop elephant,
remembers. This new musical outlet for the Meices' Joe Reineke
is bursting with bubbly pop power, oozing more enthusiasm
on stage than a dormful of dorky Sebadoh wannabes. (JG)
Hominy
Club 21
Former Whiskeytown guitarist Phil Wandscher has teamed
up with Jessie Solomon Sykes to stir up Hominy, a bluesy
Seattle band that wrings the apple pie out of Americana.
Don't dismiss Sykes as a singer-songwriter--it's not her
fault that Jewel has sullied an otherwise respectable profession.
She sings tough and true, laying it on the line in staggering
lilts.(CM)
Nels Cline and Devin Sarno
Cobalt Lounge
A guitarist who plays with a toy lazer-gun instead of
a plectrum and has more FX pedals than strings? A bassist
who'd rather sound like a malfunctioning bus than Bootsy
Collins? Oh my, I sense some tectonic plates about to shift
under my feet--but then I'd expect nothing less from earth-moving
experimental guitar wizard Nels Cline (Scarnella, Geraldine
Fibbers, Thurston Moore) and his four-stringed accomplice
Devin Sarno (CRIB). This deep-noise duo spelunks through
cavernous subterranean soundscapes on its Edible Flowers
album, sometimes pausing to scrape crystalline shards off
the walls, other times drilling through granite with diamond-sharp
bits of dissonance and feedback. Eventually they discover
the beauty of floating in a bath of molten magma--it burns,
but it warms the bones before final dissolution occurs.
But don't take my word for it. Join Cline and Sarno on a
sonic journey to the center of the Earth. (JG)
The Dinner Is Ruined Band
EJ's
Musically, it's always been easy to blame Canada. After
all, Loverboy and Bryan Adams were among the outfits good
enough to get out. But Toronto's The Dinner Is Ruined
Band isn't just more of the same tepid Canuck-rock. The
group's brand of pop is as strange, quick-shifting and psychedelic
as its strangely trippy name suggests. In the past the band
has even opened up for respected Americans such as Sonic
Youth, Beck and Vic Chesnutt. (MM)
Warren Pash
Golden Crust Pavilion
The man who once wrote the Hall and Oates hit "Private
Eyes" (yes, the ones that are watching you) has grown up,
wizened, moved to Portland and become a godfather of sorts
to the country/roots-rock scene now bumping along on the
Fernando-Luther Russell-Cravedog Records hydraulic axis.
Pash's songs careen past in a dusty Impala of squawking
sounds before parking themselves in the lobby of a blues
hotel. (MM)
Little Wings
Green Onion
Before the Flaming Lips discovered just how clever they
were and started mucking around with four-CDs-you-play-at-once!
"art" projects, they made affecting high-lonesome music
like this. While San Luis Obispo's Little Wings are probably
sick of Lips comparisons, leader Kyle Field's quavering
voice, intimate songwriting touch and sad, sad, sad lyrics
make them inevitable. There's a hint of country here, too--country
like it will sound after the End Times play out, faded and
wistful. (ZD)
Actionslacks
Ground Kontrol
This triad of Berkeley indie-pop scientists seems to
out-juke comparison-hopping critics at every turn: Do they
sound like the Jam? Like vintage Hüsker Dü? The
Clean, for godsakes? Riding the tiger of singer Tim Scanlin's
smartass worldview, the 'Slacks kick out dynamic and detailed
post-punk pop. There are enough emotional surges to keep
the sensitive kids in line, the guitars are loud enough
to appease the rockahs and Scanlin ladles out plenty of
acid for the intelligentsia. Recommended. (ZD)
Imogene
Jimmy Mak's
It's easy to imagine Imogene as the more interesting
cousin to the groups featured on the soundtrack for any
number of WB shows: Buffy, Felicity, Dawson, you
name it. The band seems to have just emerged from the lab
of musical arrangements founded by Mazzy Star, protective
goggles foggy from making out. The Portland group's willowy
poofs of pop smoke drag smoothly and safely along. One can
sense the group's ability to soar boldly and beautifully
at times. (MM)
Inside Scarlet
Kelly's Olympian
Las Vegas hasn't turned the women of Inside Scarlet
into slot machine-cruising automatons. Instead, prolonged
exposure to the heat and sleaze has fired up their songwriting
jones, lending a hard spine of authenticity to their altish,
meditative hard rock. (ZD)
Das Weeth Experience
Paris Theater
Hamburg, Germany, is a dirty seaport town. You get off
the train and see people shooting up immediately. Whores
grab you and try to drag you into greasy alleys. The streets
are lined with casinos, peepshows and knocking-shop hotels.
All manner of Eurotrash hustle for loose pfennigs in the
beerhalls while the many and varied men of the high seas
take their leisure at the ragged edge of the Reich. Out
of this fecund breeding ground comes Das Weeth Experience,
tossing its native decadence with delayed-detonation American
rock. Drums idle along, pregnant with potential violence;
overdriven guitars stew in their own feedback; vox in accented
English wander over this ominous terrain. Deep in the mix,
you can feel the city seething. (ZD)
Hip by Association
Rocco's
Hello? Listen to Sabbath much? Right on, man--I totally
knew it. HBA is all about the rawk, chugging through songs
laden with that sweet '70s distortion--lots of buzz, lots
of fuzz. Paranoid (hmm) rambles on UN drug-running conspiracies
up the creepy-commune ante considerably, giving me a Way-Back
Machine ride to the "political" discussions my parents'
friends would kick on the porch back in the day. And just
so there's absolutely no confusion, HBA titles its most
recent work Supersonic Hydroponic. No truth to the
rumor that High Times subscribers get in free to
this show. (ZD)
Nina Hynes
Roseland Downstairs
Dublin, Ireland's Nina Hynes is one of the most promising
foreigners playing this year's NXNW. Her voice is part Björk,
part Harriet Wheeler from the Sundays and part fairy godmother.
Though mixed low in the take-me-to-your-cloud music, Hynes'
ardent vocals are the big draw. Half the time she sounds
as if she's just seen a ghost, and the other half she is
the ghost. Ranging from Massive Attack-ish smooth beats
to shimmering waterfalls of guitar, the music that backs
Hynes' vocals is flexible enough to keep up with her wandering
muse. (AI)
Orange Kandy
Roseland Upstairs
Artificial orange is one of the sweetest flavors ever
conconcted by humanity, and Japan's Orange Kandy seems to
have had a blood transfusion, replacing its sanguine humors
with Sunkist soda. The band describes its music as "garage
flower" (whatever that means--they probably understand it
in Olympia, though), which roughly translates as a musical
blend of plasticky pop and staticky electro-punk. But regardless
of the high sugar content, you know that whenever there's
a pair of cute Japanese girls on stage, crowds lick it up
like, well, like sweet candy. (JG)
Speed Twin
Satyricon
Speed Twin's press kit came with a photocopied picture
of the band posing with none other than the legendary KISS
in full '70s regalia. Along with the handmade devil horns
that were captured on that beautiful day, there was the
indelible spirit of rock, thundering hard inside the boys
of Speed Twin, instilling them with a determination to riff
it up with ROCK hooks for Seattle Rock City. (AD)
Da Evul One
Seges ArtBar
Who says you need to come from the blacktop jungle to
kick credible hip-hop? Da Evul One, a 22-year-old mic controller
from Kinston, N.C., by way of Hampton, Va., throws up a
gritty, menacing sound. Stripped-down beats and old-fashioned
keyboard funk drive the slow-burning verses this highly
ambitious and aggressive MC spits out. Big-time hip-hop
venture capitalists like Master P and the infamous Suge
Knight have shown the way to millions through the mic; though
Da Evul One says he sees himself eventually fitting the
image of the rap star/CEO, his sound has a downhome feel
that's refreshing after millions of radio hours of the big
boys' processed beats. (ZD)
Left Standing
The Spot
No information available at press time.
The Lassie Foundation
Tonic Lounge
The Lassie Foundation will take you higher. Literally.
Singer Eric Campuzano fronts this lulling indie-pop band
with a falsetto Tiny Tim would cut off one tiny finger for.
The Foundation's sound is comfortably down-at-the-heels,
a shabbily genteel brand of rock that finds elegance in
life's dirty margins. The ghost of the Beach Boys wanders
across stage, just visible behind the '90s guitar haze.
(ZD)
Buzz Meade
Tugboat Brewpub
Blues Traveler has made the world safe for honest white
kids wielding harmonicas and broken hearts. Buzz Meade,
a solid, mid-tempo band from the solid, mid-tempo state
of Wisconsin, eagerly occupies the ground Popper and company
have cleared. (ZD)
The Gravel Pit
Zoot Suite
Bright guitars and throaty, heartfelt vocals lend this
Boston combo a little of the jangly goodness patented by
'80s collegiate darlings XTC. Sudden detours into dissonant
guitar pileups or spunky keyboard runs set the band apart
from the older breed of smart pop, though, placing it squarely
in this post-everything era. (ZD)
11:30
PM
The Lew Jones Duo
Tugboat Brewpub
Portland songwriting stalwart Jones could be the poster
boy for this year's NXNW focus on electronic media. After
decades of chasing listeners through alternative channels
like cable access TV, Jones has fallen hard for the MP3
bug. His meditative and prolific output is all over the
place on the Net. Ironically, his music is as traditional
as it gets: A guy and a guitar confront an off-kilter, sometimes
heartbreaking world and come away victorious. (ZD)
MIDNIGHT
The Magic of Television
A sh Street Saloon
Architecture isn't what it used to be. Look at the new
buildings creeping toward the Portland sky--I give 'em an
A for effort, but you just can't buy the rock-ribbed craftsmanship
of old-fashioned masonry anymore. All too often, it seems
the same is true in rock 'n' roll. Then along comes the
Magic of Television with a message of blue-collar redemption,
and you realize that there are a few old-schoolers out there
making it right. Think good, honest Springsteen, hardy John
Cougar or mellow Neil Young. (ZD)
Suplex
Berbati's
Good mid-'80s style fuzz and feedback from college-boy
rockers Suplex, who toss in equal doses of Sonic Youth drone
and Soul Asylum/Replacements rot and roll. Fifteen years
ago, the tune "Space Opie" (with its chant "Sometimes I
forget/I don't quite get it") would've been a widely touted
anthem. Middle America's angst can be so fun. (BS)
86
Club 21
Jug-rockin' urban cowboys from San Francisco send random
hick guitar skittering across thick slabs of bass and shit-kicking
one-two beats. Just at the right moment, they cue up the
banjo and let 'er fly. Wins special prize for the couplet,
"Get real famous/Change your name to Seamus." (ZD)
Systemwide
Cobalt Lounge
These Portland electronic-dub activists want to agitate
locally and blow minds globally. Peddling a potent fusion
of African beats, techno gear, experimental edge and dub
funk, Systemwide looks to leave the Age of the Guitar in
the past. Recent collaborations with the late English artist
Bryn Jones (a.k.a. Muslimgauze) took Systemwide to arcane
new levels of sonic adventure. Despite their penchant for
the latest gear, these mad scientists come off sounding
like acolytes of some ancient wisdom. (ZD)
The Bar Feeders
EJ's
With a punk sound as fuzzy as a hungover man's tongue
and a name that's a vomit-rocious homonym, it's safe to
say the Bar Feeders have spent a few nights in their lives
drinking to excess. What's amazing is that, even after all
those woozy booze sessions, the Bar Feeders are remarkably
sharp. Though their guitars constantly broach red-line volume
and speed limits, they make quick, turnaround chord changes
seem as easy as Tony Hawk spinning a 520. (JG)
Kissinger
Golden Crust Pavilion
Ric Ocasek is not dead, but if he were, his fans could
ask Kissinger for help in contacting the Cars' power-pop
genius on the Other Side. Big chunks of lean rock fly from
these Austinites, with occasional splashes into the New
Wave. Reportedly, they present a spectacle of oddity on
stage, as singer Chopqper (his real name! maybe!) straddles
the mic stand "like a praying mantis." (ZD)
The Billy Nayer Show
Green Onion
Imagine yourself transported to a time when snake oil
seemed reasonable and show biz meant making a killing one
tent at a time. Welcome to the Billy Nayer Show, the San
Fran Bay's answer to call-and-response calamity, split personality
shenanigans and the cult of charisma. Cory McAbee's creation
is just one part of the all-domain auteur's plan to take
over artistic realms as varied as printmaking, filmmaking
and mayhem-making. Be warned and seduced. (CBB)
Teen Heroes
Ground Kontrol
Judging from their name, their hometown (Surfside, Calif.)
and the bands who share their management company (Reel Big
Fish, Let's Go Bowling), you might guess the Teen Heroes
were another hyperactive skacore or Calipunk outfit. You'd
be wrong. Mostly. There is a dab of punk in the band's emotional
pop, and they contributed a track to a recent Operation
Ivy tribute, but this quintet lays lower and plays slower
than your typical hopped-up California teenager. (Telling
sign: They also covered a song for a Pixies tribute.) For
the most part, the Teen Heroes move beyond their silly Third
Wave ska peers, pouring their sentimental hearts into chewy,
New Wave-influenced pop nuggets that have no right to be
as filling as they are. (JG)
The Souvenirs
Jimmy Mak's
In songs as true and tattered as the front of the Portland
Outdoor Store, the Souvenirs' preoccupation is with women
and their wicked, wicked ways. The words rockabilly, alternative
country and swing come to mind to describe this bunch from
up Seattle way. Though heavy on the pedal-steel guitar,
frontman Lucky Lawrence sings with something akin to Chris
Isaak's high-lonesome tones and Jimmy Dale Gilmore's stunned
wonder, well-greased with plenty of Dixie Peach pomade.
"Oh Delilah, why you wanna cut my hair/I know that you don't
want me strong/You want me weak and scared." Pick your poison,
pull up a chair and greet your ghosts. (ML)
Cecil Seaskull
Kelly's Olympian
This L.A. cutiepie girl rocker takes a stab at naïveté,
but we're not buying. Yes, her singing falls in the school
of confessional indie that made Olympia famous, but she's
packing powerful friends--Rufus Wainwright and Hole's Melissa
auf der Maur put in cameos on Whoever, Seaskull's
disarmingly, deceptively named album. Beyond her side players'
résumés, her prickly songs betray a formidable
nature that no amount of doe-eyed thrift-store tweeness
can hide. (ZD)
Pointy Birds
Paris Theater
"What exactly is a 'pointy bird'?" you're probably asking.
"Is it a genetic hybrid of a hedgehog and a heron? A porcupine
and a sandpiper? A rhino and a red-winged blackbird?" No,
the Pointy Birds are, for lack of a better term, a "rock
band," but they're as unnatural as the monkey-with-four-asses
from South Park. This cacophonous team of costumed
miscreants makes music that's intentionally atonal, a lopsided
monster of serrated guitar, megaphone shouts, nail-gun drums
and gooey bass. Like Frankenstein, though, all this monster
asks is for a chance to prove itself. After a while, it's
pretty nice, and if you let it into your world, you may
find yourself understanding its strident patois. (JG)
Lolly
Rocco's
Portland's Lolly has spent the past year developing
its lush pop style, playing live shows (including a recent
one with the like-minded Hang Ups) and recording with Tony
Lash. The result? A more refined sound that manages to retain
its original, innocent charm. Boyish, crystal-clear vocals,
enviable harmonies, jangly guitars and soaring keyboards
bring Lolly's memorable, head-bobbing choruses and its more
fragile, floating creations to life. (Don't let the makeshift
venue dissuade you; think of it as an "intimate" setting
and a chance to jumpstart your second wind with a fat slice.)
(LB)
Groundswell UK
Roseland Downstairs
Hailing from the so-British-sounding 'burg of Stourbridge
(I bet the town soccer club is in the Dr. Martens League),
Groundswell recreates the adrenal joy of Madchester's heyday,
that Ecstasy-fueled time when North England's mod-rock past
collided with its techno future to produce such winners
as Happy Mondays and the Stone Roses. (ZD)
Ex-Girl
Roseland Upstairs
Rock 'n' roll from Planet Blade Runner. Three Japanese
women open Pandora's box, split the atom, go through the
looking glass, whatever you want to call it. Total sonic
anarchy results as ultra-abrasive guitars vie for supremacy
with oddball UFO noises, squealing vox and caveman drums.
Music has crashed into a brick wall and been rebuilt by
foreigners in the grip of hard psychedelics and over-the-counter
painkillers. Feel the majesty. (ZD)
Cooler
Satyricon
This Louisville, Ky., band recognized the concept of
truth in advertising, then sprinted in the opposite direction.
Despite its calming name, Cooler is hyper as hell, spitting
out amped anthems of angst that triangulate Weezer, Superchunk
and the Best Kissers in the World. In these post-tronica
times, it's not the freshest thing in the world, but Cooler
makes it sound the freshest, if you catch me. Head-bobbing
Portland indie fans just might snap their necks on this
one. (ZD)
00-Soul
Seges ArtBar
"Cosmic Goove," the opening cut on 00-Soul's disc The
Solid Sounds of the 8-Piece Brotherhood, starts off
with the opening riff from the Temps' "Papa Was a Rolling
Stone." Things only get better from there. This Long Beach,
Calif., gang of groove merchants heaps on a cornucopia of
'70s, funk with solid helpings of Isaac Hayes pimp culture,
Sly Stone horn choruses, Hank Crawford jazz grooves and
the blistering horn of On the Corner-era Miles. Dyn-O-mite.
(BS)
Deepdown
The Spot
"You better check your punk ass!" Tough guys make tough
music for tough times. Choppy monster riffs slouch toward
Babylon as an amped-up vocalist shouts unto the multitude.
Fans of Korn, Rage Against the Machine and Limp Bizkit should
be in the house, yo. (ZD)
Glitter Mini 9
Tonic Lounge
Allegedly San Francisco's "answer to Sleater-Kinney,"
the three prickly women of Glitter Mini 9 actually pack
a lot more Britpop shine into their songs than the Oly-lo-fi-bred
SK. With ample Bay Area buzz behind them, GM9 looks to parlay
tasty, compact hard pop and toothy attitude into something
much, much larger. (ZD)
Mike Nicolai
Tugboat Brewpub
Nicolai, originally a Minneapolitan, made the I-35 switch,
following the highway that's basically the Underground Railroad
of alt-country down to Austin. His hardboiled-with-a-heart-of-gold
songwriting, which dwells on the usual themes of smashed-up
love, drink and religion, found a comfy home in the land
of Willie. He's a little high-concept for the two-steppers
at the Broken Spoke, but his songs, ranging from spare guy+guitar
to full-band compositions, seem to have taken well to the
baking Texas sun. (ZD)
The Countrypolitans
Zoot Suite
As polished as a new pair of boots, Portland's Countrypolitans
deliver practiced country and roots rock with the occasional
pop tune. This band clearly plays for the love of country
music, not out of a lust for Western wear. Elizabeth Ames'
clear, rich vocals can serve up slow laments to love gone
wrong with a longing similar to Patsy Cline's, then swing
into a honkytonk number about repeated one-night stands.
One minute you're crying, the next you're two-stepping--a
true sign of a well-rounded country show. (KL)
12:30
AM
Kathleen Haskard
Tugboat Brewpub
You'd think the market for introspective songwriting
was just fine on this side of the pond, but Californian
Kathleen Haskard uprooted her smooth sound and deeply personal
lyrical vision and hauled 'em to the U.K. Her relocation
to London hasn't softened the distinctly American accent
marking her songs about heritage, womanhood and the addictive
qualities of love, which fall squarely in the DiFranco tradition.
(ZD)
1
AM
Grain USA
Ash Street Saloon
Those who truly love bubblegum never apologize for their
passion, and Grain USA takes its place among the brave.
After years of dodging bad major-label ideas ("Hey, why
don't you guys throw some ska in there?"), these Ames, Iowa,
natives continue to lay it down catchy and sweet. They claim
it's disposable "pansy punk," but if there's a droplet of
justice in the universe, their clean-scrubbed pop will survive
long after NuMetal sludge has gone the way of the Tyrannosaurus.
(ZD)
Mars Accelerator
Berbati's Pan
Everyone knows that after interplanetary craft outlive
their usefulness, they often end up as entries in the spectacular
crash-up derbies that highlight the Lunar Fair each year.
Mars Accelerator's music captures the spirit of these violent
displays of technological mortality, applying the same destructive
principles to standard pop-song structure. Guitars flicker
and roar at random like engines on fire while songs stretch
to improbable length, each section broken down and pushed
to its limit. There's little let-up, but the discerning
listener can carve out small refuges of peace in the storm.
(ZD)
The Cultivators
Club 21
As their bucolic name suggests, the Cultivators hoe
rows on the Americana back 40. The Minneapolis quartet are
in touch with the Granger spirit, keeping their guits crisp
and their two-step rhythms tight. Leader Dan Israel brings
an acerbic lyrical sensibility to the table; if the combination
of rootsy music, clever verbiage and a singer with a Jewish-sounding
last name seems like a weird product for Minnesota, just
remember one Robert Zimmerman, 'kay? (ZD)
Sound Secretion
Cobalt Lounge
A self-styled "dub scientist," Sound Secretion sounds
like a band but is actually a man. His advance publicity
speaks of sinister times in the laboratories of Portland
and New York City, where he perfected a mutant strain of
'70s dub and late-century agit-tech. Nerves will fray during
this one. (ZD)
Heavy Johnson Trio
EJ's
There's a reason the Heavy Johnson Trio has
opened for nearly every numbingly loud band that's blasted
through town in the past few years--when it comes to high-volume,
thoughtful hard rock, there's simply no one better in Portland
than the HJ3. The foursome can be both fearsome and fun,
sweating out lengthy sets of unpretentious, power-chord-driven
devastation, with pummeling drums and punchy basslines providing
more low end than a Weight Watchers' convention. And they're
practically a catalog of cool hairstyles, too, from Eli's
'fro to Josh's dreads, from Kota's straight mane to Dan's
shiny, unembarrassed scalp. (JG)
Harvester
Golden Crust Pavilion
Northwest band Harvester, like a gazillion other unfortunates
before it, got the short end of the major-label stick a
few years back. The country-rock act signed to DGC but was
dropped shortly thereafter. Now Harvester calls Lather Records
home--the boys released their latest album, Mud Is My
Ally, on that little label. Bold, raw guitars and likable
rural melodies touched with twang (not to mention periodic
warm fiddle accompaniment) make up the best songs, and although
the unadorned vocals walk a fine line between being comfortably
sloppy on the most rollicking tunes and occasionally wavering
off-key in mellower moments, there's plenty here to like
if Americana is your thing. (LB)
Barrett Martin
Green Onion
Ah, Barrett Martin, he of Screaming Trees and indie
supergroup Tuatara with Peter Buck. A drummer gets a little
closed-in being in a band sometimes. Primping singers. Sweaty
guitar dudes. So catch this beat boy going solo with some
rather jazzy percussion displays. Wild. Loose. Free. (CBB)
The State Flowers
Ground Kontrol
At the confluence of two smart Portland songwriters,
Corrina Repp and Pete Ficht, lie the State Flowers. Repp's
dusky folk and Ficht's fancy for psychedelic pop alternate
and meld, coming together when appropriate and maintaining
a distance when necessary. The payoff is sweet, pastoral
pop playing off tuneful guitar lines, not far off from early
R.E.M. or the late, great Go-Betweens. (AI)
Havalina Rail Co.
Jimmy Mak's
The wanderering men of the Havalina line abandoned their
early (potentially lucrative) swing stylings on Seattle's
vaguely Christian Tooth & Nail label in favor of beatnik-flavored
"travel records." That is, they seek their inspiration on
the road. This peripatetic approach to songwriting informs
America, a diffuse 20-track portrait of the nation
that roams from frantic L.A.-infused instrumentals to cracked
Appalachian banjo to Havalina's own versions of hip-hop
and jazz. It's an ambitious project and it doesn't work
all the way through, but the band's honest love for its
country and its cacophony of native sounds triumph in the
end. (ZD)
Matchless
Kelly's Olympian
Strictly tough love here. Matchless slaps you awake,
then lulls you into a false sense of security with whispery
quiet and a rhythm section ready to be transplanted into
a bar-funk party outfit. You can be sure, though, that the
morning coffee's gonna be spiked with witch hazel. Harsh,
repetitive guitar salvos and strident male-female exchanges
on the mic put a sharp frost on the rock. (ZD)
JFK
Paris Theater
We can't say much about JFK because it's brand new--so
new we haven't had a chance to hear it yet. But we may not
have to say more than this: JFK is the new rock band fronted
by one Mr. Sean Croghan, and if his past glories (both solo
and with Crackerbash, Jr. High and Moustache) are any ruler
by which to judge, JFK could rapidly grow to massive heights
of popularity in town. Rumor also has it Croghan's become
less introspective and more reckless, visualizing JFK as
a raucous blues-punk racket with which to raise the roof.
Instant party, just add audience. (JG)
Howlin' Maggie
Rocco's
From the wreckage of Royal Crescent Mob--a Chili Peppers-esque
funk outfit that went nowhere fast--Ohio rock auteur Harold
Chicester salvaged Howlin' Maggie, a strangely magnetic
band that's half glam camp and half pure pop quality. Chicester,
who sometimes joins the Afghan Whigs on keyboards, writes
excellent, emotional songs, then salts 'em with touches
of decadence reminiscent of coke-era Rolling Stones. A pretty
refined product, to be sure. (ZD)
H-Blockx
Roseland Upstairs
No information available at press time.
Camaro Hair
Satyricon
Who said New Wave was dead? This local band has admitted
admiration for such acts as Flock of Seagulls, the Psychedelic
Furs and Simple Minds, and pushed the sound into Cheap Trick's
realm of upbeat, slick power pop. The quartet favors crisp,
hummable melodies and blends in with a harsher aesthetic
that also recalls the glam-rock days. (DM)
Five Fingers of Funk
Seges ArtBar
These longtime Portland scene stalwarts shake the shack
with their tasty fusion of funk and hip-hop. Pimping ain't
easy, but sometimes it's necessary. (ZD)
Breech
The Spot
This Los Angeles band revels in the dirty side of life,
from its dark, depressing, loungey music to the twisted
reality of inner emotions in its poetry. The band's stark
and nuanced textures create a visceral experience punctuated
by singer Missy Gibson's in-your-face vocal delivery. Employing
a pop/alternative rock sound, Breech's musical world is
filled with smooth rhythms and guitars that explode from
soft acoustic segues into powerful power-pop chords. (JS)
Hissyfits
Tonic Lounge
Touching on a heritage of girl groups stretching from
the Supremes to the Shangri-La's, the Hissyfits use the
power of sweet female vocal harmonizing to add depth to
straightforward punk rock. Unlike girl groups of former
days, the New York City trio are powered from the inside
out, and know how to use "la la la's" as well as dark and
reflective lyrics. The radiant song "Something Wrong" from
the Hissyfits' recent 7-inch on Mutant Pop stands out, as
powerful a probe into the dark side as anything,Sleater-Kinney
has written. Top that off with effortless melodies and you
have summed up the grandeur of the Hissyfits. (AI)
Karry Walker
Tugboat Brewery
No information available at press time.
Lael Leroy and the Loved
Zoot Suite
Leroy is his middle name--it's kind of a long story.
Suffice it to say, it encompasses the big themes: trust,
betrayal and redemption. Lael and his boys survived a heartless
major-label dumping to stick with their affecting, orchestral
pop, which nods to the Beatles even as it ponders the future
of rock. With Lael's intelligent songwriting front-and-center
and amply skilled players all over the stage, the Loved
usually make their name come true. (ZD)
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Willamette Week | originally
published September 22,
1999
|
