Guess What?!? Year's Over!
FROM THE MUSIC DESK
The Year 2000 Proves BothGood, Awful for Music: Discuss

by ZACH DUNDAS
zdundas@wweek.com

Stealing is a time-honored tradition in journalism (just one of the many charming traits that make the Fourth Estate so universally beloved). So I'll say it: Musically, the Year 2000 was the best of times, the worst of times.

In Portland, there was some grim music scene news. Stalwart EJ's booking agent Terry Grob died. Then the longtime Northeast Sandy punk club itself died. Pine Street Theater, a live venue under various names for years, is slated for closure. The Rocket capsized. Much fretting over the future of the Scene occurred in those small circles
in which such things are discussed.

However, PDX also provided much cause for rejoicing, specifically in the form of a better-than-solid crop of albums by local bands. Portland music continued its outward-bound expansion into more experimental, electronic and non-rock-based music--which is not to say that there aren't some damn-straight rock bands in this town, either.

Bands like Systemwide, Cosmos Group, Hochenkeit, Rollerball and Jackie-O Motherfucker continued to homestead the city's sonic frontiers, and numerous and diverse new venues played host to the burgeoning experimental scene. The crushing laments
of Norfolk & Western and James Low showed that Portland's rainy manic depression hasn't been cured yet, while the deliciously variant brutalities of Last of the Juanitas, 31 Knots, Fireballs of Freedom and The Natrons served notice that reports of rock's death may, once again, have been greatly exaggerated.

Yes, a lot of other stuff went on, too. Space doesn't allow a full inventory of Portland's glories, but I will say this: I feel honored to live in the same city as Mel Brown. If you haven't seen one of his scores of gigs at Jimmy Mak's, you're robbing yourself blind.

On a national level, pop continued its grim death march toward Total Decadence. Evil scientists spawned reconstituted boy bands from a secret radioactive pod concealed in a Florida sub-basement, and the nation continued its love affair with this fruit of misbegotten seed. Fortunately, a few vicious troglodytes and garage geniuses around the country and world insisted on making decent music this year--if you could find them amidst the teetering piles of Scheißdreck.

The difference between a band like *N Sync and, say, a real band is sort of like the difference between an organic homestead and a sprawling factory farm: the agricorp may know how to deliver bowel cancer to your system efficiently, but the guy who runs the small operation could probably beat the bright-eyed fuck out of you. I, for one, would love to lock the lads from *N Sync in a room with the rampant Irishmen of Flogging Molly, seven hammers (one for each Flogging Molly member) and a bucket of nine-penny nails. Just to see what happened. Swagger, Flogging Molly's uproarious album recorded by Steve Albini, proved to be the most addictive disc
of the year for me, all shotgun drums, Guinness growl, brass knuckles and cast-iron heart.

Ideally, of course, all rock should attempt to provoke a riot--if it has any delusions of being good, anyway. The Embassy Tapes, a beyond-the-grave blast from Nation of Ulysses, goes all out for chaos. So what if these DC faux-revolutionaries broke up in '94? These ragged four-tracks unearthed from someone's closet breathe an unholy fire. Another great reissue, The Who's BBC Sessions, captures the classic quartet's exuberance and dispenses with its later ponderous pomposity.

Not that those bands and artists who still walk among us all went gentle into that good night. Jets to Brazil's gloriously overblown Four-Cornered Night tweaked a lot of purists with its strings, keyboards and peach-luscious melodies, God bless it. Common and D'Angelo won new territory for the Hip-Hop Nation with Like Water for Chocolate and Voodoo, a pair of albums bleeding old-fashioned soul.

The creepy possessed preacher-boys of Colorado's 16 Horsepower read from a freaky Gospel on Secret South, a white-knuckle fusion of country, rock and really, really weird religion. Also in the wonderful world of country, Seattle refugee Neko Case's heartwrencher Furnace Room Lullaby gave the Northwest a sweet C&W voice like it hasn't ever had; too bad she fled to Chicago to escape Jet City's metastatic gentri'factor.

Finally, despite the endless, cynicism-breeding problems that spill from the figurative hands of the Music Industry, there remained one beacon of hope. A soul-shattering live show can still make the Spirit move within you. This year, everyone from the Bell Rays to Dead Moon to Bruce Springsteen to Ibrahim Ferrer managed to do it for me. God bless them, everyone.

Good News Circa 2000:

--Fresh local music venues: Meow Meow, Billy Ray's, Viscount Ballroom, Ethos, Robot Steakhouse, etc.

--Local labels: BSI, Jealous Butcher, Hush, Magic Marker, Filmguerrero, Wicked Witch, etc.

Sad, Sad News Circa 2000:

--Pour some on the pavement for EJ's, Pine Street Theater and The Rocket.

--One member of the Dickel Brothers moved to Enterprise, Ore. The rest been layin' low.