Skip to main contentThe Wires Saturday Nov. 11 And Monday Nov. 13
Primitive rockers study hard at the art of messing up.
[GARAGE ROCK] Don't fault the Wires for not having a sense of humor. At Billy Ray's last month, the local four-piece withstood a barrage of good-natured heckling inspired by their near-namesakes, classic British punk band Wire. At one point between songs, someone in the audience of 20 or so jaded drunks shouted, "When's your album Pink Flags coming out?" cleverly pluralizing a Wire album title (that's rock-geek funny!). Then another clown chimed in with a request for a Wire song, "1 2 X U." And so it went.
For a moment, the Wires looked mildly irritated—house parties, they will tell you, are more their thing. Then, with a gravel-choked howl and a raggedy-ass guitar slash, frontman Jordon Barron signaled the band's return to shadowy, primal rock 'n' roll. David Hires laid in with a hypno-primitive drum beat while Jake Thomas covered the bottom with a thick, hip-shaking bass groove. Though Barron, with a stage presence that suggests Nick Cave channeling Joaquin Phoenix's Johnny Cash, is clearly the focus of attention, the devil in this music is found dancing in the down-beat accentuated by his partner, Laine Shipley, on tambourine.
The smartasses were duly silenced by a band that Dead Moon bassist Toody Cole named as her favorite young, local band in a WW interview shortly after the Wires opened for the Clackamas legends in Seattle, one of almost 70 shows the young band has played in the past year. In 20 minutes of coffee-shop conversation last week, the band name-checked Dead Moon as an inspiration four times. And, in addition to an ear for the moodier turns of Portland greats the Wipers, the Wires certainly have a direct line on DM frontman Fred Cole's famously raw and unpolished approach to vital music. "The whole garage-rock thing to me is about going out there and messing up," Barron told me, "and making something cool."
But with the Wires—all of whom are either students at or graduates of Lewis & Clark College—rock 'n' roll shtick is no laughing matter. Their studied approach to such simple music gives even a cover of a celebrated tear-jerker like "Teenager in Love" by Dion and the Belmonts a grim and deliberate intensity. In fact, Barron takes an almost academic tone when talking about his music, explaining the Wires' sound as trying "to get back to something that was really pure...something so simple, it was almost pristine."
—SAM SOULE
The Wires play the Red Room with Qwong and molly BANG on Friday (9 pm. Free. 21+.), and the Tonic Lounge with the Shotgun and Emergency on Sunday (9:30 pm. $6. 21+).
Ken Cheppaikode of Dirtnap Records
Ken C. helps Portland feel the Green Noise with a new, locally focused imprint.
[CLASSY PUNK] Seven years ago in Seattle, Ken Cheppaikode's Dirtnap Records began releasing music by some of the classiest high-energy punk rock bands around. Many of those bands—including the Exploding Hearts, the Epoxies and the Triggers—were from right here in Portland, so Cheppaikode had some company when he purchased the Green Noise record shop at 2615 SE Clinton St. and moved his label to Stumptown in 2005. Now, as Dirtnap's scope continues to broaden, Cheppaikode has announced plans to launch a new, PNW-centric label imprint, Green Noise Records. Last week, C. answered questions about his imprint, his label and indie-label mogulhood in general from behind the counter of his store.
—SAM SOULE.
WW: Have you met your goals with Dirtnap? How did it evolve?
Ken Cheppaikode: I've completely exceeded most of my goals, I think. I always thought it would be cool, in the early days, to get a full-length out at some point, rather than just doing singles. When I first started [Dirtnap], I envisioned it as more of an international garage-punk label where I'd release singles by really obscure bands from all over. That actually changed pretty quick. We did a complete 180 and decided to focus on local stuff instead. None of the local labels were really documenting them at all. So it seemed like a smart move.
So why launch the Green Noise imprint now?
The Green Noise thing, I think, is just returning to our roots as a local, singles-based label. Dirtnap has kind of moved away from that in last few years as it's grown. Right now, for example, we've got no Seattle bands and one Portland band. [With Green Noise] we're going to focus on local stuff and it's all going to be vinyl, 7-inches at first and maybe 12-inches later. We're going back to the early days; kinda doing it for fun and not worrying about distribution and stuff.
What's your best advice to anyone who wants to start a label?
Start small and realize that this is probably one of the worst-ever times, historically, to start a record label. Even in the best of times, it's hard to be a huge money-maker. Just keep your expectations realistic and do it because you love it. If you're just a 7-inch-only label that's only doing local stuff, it's pretty easy to treat it as a hobby. But if you're going to try to do it at a national level, you definitely have to have some kind of head for business. On the other hand, I never studied this in school. I never went to college. I'm not even entirely sure I graduated from high school. If I figured it out, I suppose pretty much anybody could.
For more with Ken C., visit localcut.com. Green Noise begins its 7-inch onslaught in fine PDX fashion with the Absolute Rulers in late November, to be followed by the Nice Boys and previously unreleased Exploding Hearts material.
Agalloch Nov. 3 at the Gravity Room
A seamless set and six broken strings awe numerous visiting metalheads.
[DARK METAL] "If a band like Agalloch can come from that scene, there must be great things happening there." This was the thought that drove 25-year-old University of Miami grad Mark Stahl to move to Portland from Florida four months ago.
The only thing that made Stahl different from about half of the near-capacity crowd at the Gravity Room last Friday is that Agalloch brought him here for good. About halfway through the local four-piece's set in support of Portuguese group Moonspell, vocalist John Haughm thanked those who "came a long way" to attend. Nearly half of the 300 to 400 people present threw their hands in the air and went ballistic, many shouting out the names of their hometowns—which ranged from San Diego to Anchorage. Among them was another Floridian, Stahl's friend John Warfield, a 30-year-old guitarist who flew up from the Sunshine State just to see Agalloch, as well as 23 year-old Todd Beardmore who made the trip from Tucson, Ariz. and brought along half a guitar that Agalloch's Don Anderson smashed at a 2003 show in Phoenix, which he showed to Anderson on SW Third Avenue after the show.
Stahl says the bands he's discovered here—which include Aldebaran, Flying Fortress and Waldteufel—have exceeded his expectations of Portland's metal scene. And those who simply dropped by for a rare performance by Agalloch—they've played only around 20 shows total in their celebrated seven-year career—had no cause for disappointment, either. Although some of the band's complex, layered material has to be altered to be played live, the signature guitar leads on "Falling Snow," as well as the set's closer, "Bloodbird," were played absolutely flawlessly by Anderson. As the latter song picked up, the band's guitarist closed his eyes and moved his mouth as though he were speaking as he bent the mournful notes. The first five or six rows looked on in awe, nodding to drummer Chris Greene's crisp beat; the fans moved in unison with each other and with bassist Jason William Walton, who stood front and center, calmly bobbing his head like a collected sea captain in a raging storm.
Haughm's vocals were remarkably rich, especially considering he was often singing songs that feature multiple voices on the band's recordings by himself. But as he sang the final line of the set, which is also the title of Agalloch's 2006 release, Ashes Against the Grain, he lost composure for a beautiful moment, raising the pitch of his growl and allowing his voice to crack. Shortly after, Anderson made a similar display as he brutally tore all the strings off his guitar, dropped the instrument and waved good night.
"It was definitely worth the trip," said Warfield.
—JASON SIMMS.
The Prids ...Until the World is Beautiful (Five 03)
The Prids return with another episode of goth and gloom. Hide your knives.
[GLOOM POP] The Prids have yet another marvelously perfect husband-and-wife backstory (see Viva Voce, Mates of State, the Plants, etc.). In case you missed an episode: David Frederickson and Mistina Keith met back in Missouri in the mid-'90s, started a band, got married Bonnie-and-Clyde-style, got divorced, and still live together in a place somewhere in Portland they call, ahem, "The Compound," where they are reportedly surrounded by Morrissey posters and, presumably, Mason jars full of tears.
This season of the Prids finds us with the release of their second full-length, ...Until the World Is Beautiful, a benign, well-executed post-punk throwback that rests on the general inscrutability and subtlety of Frederickson's and Keith's vocal dynamic. Apart, the latter sounds like a restrained Kazu Makino, while the former is defined mainly by a faux Brit accent. Together, they create grand, high-voltage harmonics that bleed of secret confrontation and over-the-shoulder glances, leaving the impression that the relationship itself is the victim, rather than the individuals. Unfortunately, the lyrical content's generally overpowered by a heard-it-before combo of spiky guitar and rolling bass. But it's easy to imagine that a couple of bushels of broken hearts are involved.
One of the standout tracks, "All That You Want," is one of only a few that veer from the formula (if briefly), leading with a naked, unpolished guitar note for a half-minute before breaking back into bass-heavy drama—drama that, in another rare moment, steps from the private to the public sphere with the frightened line, "Helicopter/ firestarter/ You kill everything/ You want to." Songs like "The Glow," with its dreadful synth descent, and "Let It Go," with its rumbling bass twangs and gloom-corrupted surf guitar, feed the guilty pleasure that is wallowing, even if these tunes are throwbacks. Please understand, I'm not saying the wallowing is healthy—this is by no means cathartic emo—but if you need to feel bad, sometimes having a little help is a good thing. Besides, if you miss this season of the Prids drama, you'll be totally lost by the time their next album rolls around.
—MICHAEL BYRNE
The Prids play at Holocene, Thursday, Nov. 9, with 120 Days and Another Cynthia. 9 pm. $7. 21+.
WWeek 2015