Skip to main contentModernstate Saturday, Nov. 25
Modernstate and ...worms leave listeners stuck in the middle with Sam.
[PSYCH LOOPS] Modernstate's single release, Highwater Moonbot, is an exercise in control. It's a looping record, the product of Sam Schauer alone creating intricate weaves of sleepy, melancholic guitar melodies and deep-throated vocal intonations that split the line between spoken words and singing. While boxes, pedals and yards of audio cable aren't a barrier to compositional freedom (find a current psych musician who plays without them), they are a barrier to raw, spastic energy. Punk rock abhors a looping pedal.
Enter ...worms (there's always an invisible word before "worms"), an experimental four-piece with the ability to win listeners over in the space of a single song. Few bands can pull off "no wave"—a two-decade-old anti-genre of noise-corrupted post-punk, a conduit of stylistic rejection, a "fuck off" to the bounds of memory tools. But ...worms is (perfectly) that "fuck off." And, rather ironically, the primitive, spastic rhythmic skeleton of the band is a drummer named Sam Humans, known also as Modernstate's Sam Schauer.
It's an odd contradiction, perhaps opposing modes of release. Clamor begets control; control begets clamor. Tranquility begets noise, and so on, and so on. In the middle is Sam Whomever. In the middle is also a shared attitude of political repulsion, exasperation and anger, a short-circuit across an aesthetic gulf. The subject matter—the "state of things," the war, the administration—remains the same throughout Schauer's output, however different the modes of artistic escape.
A sort of sonic double-agent, Schauer is driven further by an all-consuming musical concern/obsession with community. On his website, he cites the once-pirate, now-Internet Portland Radio Authority—another genre-liberated music being (which he helped found)—as the thing he's most proud of. Additionally, Schauer is the recent co-opener of a yet-unnamed recording studio in Northwest Portland (he assures us "recording in the Pearl" will have no place in the eventual tag). And, of course, the studio's projects are as artistically antithetic as ...worms and Modernstate. So far, they've ranged from Charlie Salas-Humaras a.k.a. Panther's new project, Leti Angel, to the psych rock of Eternal Tapestry. Between those two lies simply another stylistic gulf that, under Schauer's watch, means little at all. His explanation is simple enough: "Any good music can and should relate to other good music."
—MICHAEL BYRNE.
Modernstate plays Saturday, Nov. 25, with Metal at Acme. 10 pm. Cover. 21+.
The Fix Nov. 16 at The Night Light Lounge
A trio of heavy-hitting DJs brings good vibrations to the Southeast side.
[HIP-HOP] As I walk into the Night Light Lounge, Dun Diggy is finding a common beat between Dudley Perkins' theme song, "Funky Medley," and a hypnotic, bassy instrumental track. The sound is crackling out of a single, Space-Age-looking speaker with a lisp that struggles to balance the low and high ends. Patrons at the bar nod their heads subtly to the rhythm at their backs, while focusing blank stares at taps and half-empty bottles. To get to the beat, their ears have to filter out the noise from the secluded back room, where a large group of well-dressed twentysomethings engage in a half-dozen little conversations that rarely intersect.
The tables closest to the DJ are populated with crooked-ball-cap-sporting hip-hop devotees, some of whom sway gently in their seats. I recognize DJ Kez, host of KBOO radio's long-running show "The Movement"; Rev. Shines, the DJ behind local hip-hop troupe Lifesavas; and Huy Pham, an outgoing promoter and b-boy who breaks for a crew called Moon Patrol. Missing is Ohmega Watts, who, along with Kez and Shines, rounds out the trio of DJs who have taken up residence here every Thursday since Nov. 2 for a night they call "The Fix."
After Pham's spirited introduction—in which he refers to both "wheels of steel" and "the ones and twos"—Rev. Shines takes control of the tables. He starts his set by saturating the mix with the sound of a buzzing air-raid siren, an endeavor lesser DJs would wreck like something out of a high-school driver's ed video. In Shines' hands it sounds slick, and it isn't long until he's playing with the tempo and throwing occasional chirps over the beats of bright throwback-soul and chorus-heavy hip-hop. Shines seems to know everyone who enters the club; he smiles and gives rocks just above the mixer, all while moving to the rhythm like he's hearing each track for the first time.
When Watts enters the club carrying a black canvas bag full of records around 1 am—fresh from headlining Dante's—all eyes trace him. Shines plays Sly and the Family Stone's "Trip to Your Heart," the sample behind LL Cool J's "Momma Said Knock You Out," and Watts takes the mic, clowning like he's gonna sing the verse. Then Watts spins a familiar Jake One beat that turns out to be "Get Up, Get Up" by Boom Bap Project, and an off-duty b-boy does some constrained up-rock in front of the tables.
DJ Kez—who laid down a hypnotic, beat-heavy set earlier in the night—says that all three regular DJs would probably take credit for the idea. "It's been a long time since there was anything in Portland with a really good vibe," he tells me out front while Watts puts the finishing touches on the night. "It feels really good."
—CASEY JARMAN.
The Fix takes place every Thursday at the Night Light Lounge. 9 pm. Free. 21+.
Go By Train Transportation (Alternative Jazz)
Go By Train upgrades to hovercraft on its detail-oriented sophomore effort.
[SPACE JAZZ] "At its least exciting, how exciting is it?" This is the question I ask myself when listening to jazz fusion, because I find that the quality of such an artist's default mode—the background and filler—is what separates the wankers from the Chick Coreas. There are some great moments on Go By Train's latest, Transportation, but during the non-moments, where the supporting roles and less-emotional, less-pointed solos and melodies could just be wasting your time, there's a distinct space-age mood being created—something akin to the quick, rounded world The Jetsons promised us as kids, and something that unmistakably distinguishes GBT from similarly minded acts like Minneapolis' Happy Apple or Dosh.
Guitarist Dan Balmer (my former guitar instructor at Lewis & Clark College and occasional partner in drinking till close at Jimmy Mak's) has a habit of backing keyboardist Clay Giberson's solos with a swirly-sounding strumming style so gentle that the sound never swells or diminishes much; you can only barely hear the strokes. Someday engines will sound this smooth, and actual trains will emulate "Embarkation," where Balmer matches quick staccato chords with Micah Kassell's crisp snare drum to create a pleading pulse. Another great non-moment is the near-rock refrain on the title track, which would get rather tired by the end if Giberson didn't subtly adjust his settings as he plays in unison with Balmer so that, by the end, he seems to envelop the guitar line rather than simply match it.
Similarly, Transportation as a whole slips into its moments with great ease, taking more risks than GBT's self-titled, 2004 debut. "Song for Elliot 2" begins in swirling-guitar-and-dreamy-keyboard-solo fashion, but by the end transforms into all-out prog madness with a clear, thin bassline (on keys) and fiery, choppy guitar licks that wouldn't sound out of place on a Mars Volta album. The closer, a cover of Radiohead's "High and Dry," puts GBT's ability to craft a melody into focus: It could pass for an original following the sweet "Song for Elliot 1" and alternately hopeful and mournful "Sink Like a Stone," which at times reminds me of the guitar work on Ernest Ranglin's Below the Bassline. Perhaps the only misfire is the so-funky-it's-almost-silly "The Lunar Rover," which momentarily disrupts the elegant, lime green and ovular future that Transportation constructs.
—JASON SIMMS.
Go By Train celebrates the release of Transportation alongside the release of Dan Balmer's solo album, Thanksgiving, Saturday, Nov. 25, at Jimmy Mak's. 8 pm. $7. 21+ (after 9 pm).
John Callahan Purple Winos In The Rain (Boneclone)
Local funny man gets sad on his musical debut.
[ECLECTIC FOLK] Laughter is the best medicine, or so the ubiquitous "they" say. And, judging by how loudly John Callahan's cartoons (featured weekly in WW, see page 4) laugh at all sorts of often-taboo sociopolitical topics, it's easy to imagine that the 55-year-old quadriplegic subscribes to a similar philosophy. But, despite the knowing, breathy laugh that starts out Callahan's musical debut, Purple Winos in the Rain—on which he sings and plays harmonica and ukulele—most of the album's songs are both painfully honest and heartbreakingly sad.
From sing-alongs led by honky-tonk piano, winkingly clever country tunes and jazzy, piano- and flute-led ballads to blues-tinged, Tom Waitsian stingers and simple folk, Callahan's gentle tenor mostly tells stories of human struggle—many of which seem autobiographical. "Portland Girl" tells of a young friend who died, and, like many of Callahan's songs, takes its lyrical inspiration from his poetry. "Suicide in the Fall" describes a man who, in "the hoarseness of the voices as they call," finds the strength to carry on. Similar tracks, like "Touch Me Someplace I Can Feel," are almost unbearably sad, but the rough, lo-fi "documentary version"—replete with vocal misfires, background noise and a ukulele that sounds so tightly wound it could pop a string at any moment—is also so nakedly beautiful it's captivating.
Produced by acclaimed blues guitarist Terry Robb, who also plays on most of the tracks, Purple Winos feels a tad long at 19 tracks, but its rewards—the album's melancholy opening, "Lost in the City"; the harmonica-fueled, minute-long pop number "Yesler Street"; Callahan's poignant story of when a "Sinner Saves a Saint"; or his half-spoken, wicked account of how "there's something sacred 'bout an overdose"—demand an attentive ear. Callahan's voice, much like those its inflections are reminiscent of—Dylan, Waits (whose answering-machine rendition of Callahan's "Tears From the Rain" appears on the album), even Okkervil River's Will Sheff—isn't pitch-perfect, but what better voice to tell stories of uncensored humanity with?
—AMY MCCULLOUGH.
John Callahan celebrates the release of Purple Winos in the Rain Saturday, Nov. 25, at Music Millennium Northwest. 5 pm. Free. All ages.
Hurah Hurah, Junkface & more Nov. 18 at The Green House
Hurah Hurah puts the friendliest house in town to bed right.
[ROCK] Since last March, 27-year-old Randy Bemrose has hosted what I would term a "home show" every couple of months. Portland is a great town for music in basements—I knew of seven different house shows occurring last Saturday night alone—but only at Bemrose's homey Green House in Northeast do the touring bands, local supporting bands and anyone else who turns up early enjoy a pre-show, vegan-friendly dinner. The fantastic curry and hot wine prepared by Green House residents Giovani Knox and Kelsey Rauch confirmed that theirs is the friendliest house in town.
The set by Bemrose's band, Junkface, was equally welcoming. Following Californian folk bandle the Broads, the power-pop trio began with slower, older tunes that struck me as tonally tender and sonically clear compared to the fuzzy, art-punk assaults on their latest, Kill Them with Love. Saving those crunchier songs for last—which elicited some shoulder shakes from the first two rows of the 40 or so people filling the small, blue room—Junkface finished with a band-member wrestling match.
While Swallows set up, the time for Bemrose's toast (a Green House tradition) arrived. This time, he let others do the honors, which resulted in a lot of friendly shouting and back-patting. Swallows then played a set that was recorded in order to make a music video for "Flight (Take Off)," my favorite song off their latest, Me with Trees Towering. Though neither the duo nor the audience were quite as explosive as one would hope for such a production, Jon Miller's tom-heavy drumming was literally felt throughout the tiny room, and Em Brownlowe let out some rock yells, the likes of which I had not heard from her before (but wouldn't mind hearing again).
The police stopped by to ask Santa Cruz post-grunge trio Happy Meal to settle down just as the Green House residents were putting cookies in the oven (another tradition). The night's final performer, teenage Hurah Hurah, had to play acoustically—but in doing so, they stole the show. Adorably dressed in pajamas, Aviva Stampfer lent a lullabaic sense to the band's smart, sweet indie-pop with a high-pitched glockenspiel. And frontman Ezra Sandberg-Lewis—who sports a winning, crooked smile and sounds like Thom Yorke if he were joking—convincingly sold himself as Portland's next heartthrob. It would have been the perfect soundtrack to earlier in the night, when some sort of fire-spirit gypsy and I built a tower out of building blocks. Next time, I'll toast to toys, characters and Green House-pitality.
—JASON SIMMS.
WWeek 2015