THE BACK ROW - April 2009

Let’s Go Blazers (part III)

Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Apr 24, 2009 at 10:16AM 1 Comments

Trail Blazers-Rockets. Game 3. Tonight. 6:30.

And what better way to get in the mood than Jack, Loretta, and a pitcher of sloe-gin fizz to go?

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Mess With Texas

(and the rest of a weekend full of Houston hate)

Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Apr 22, 2009 at 10:54AM 1 Comments

Full disclosure: My sphincter didn’t actually unclench until the last languishing second ran off the clock.

And I assume that as the Trail Blazers continue to gut their way through this strange foreign land called “the playoffs,” this is the way that it will be. Inch by bloody, excruciating inch. But thanks to Brandon Roy going all Gladiator on the Rockets (42 points) and L.A.’s reemergence as a low post tough guy (not just 21 points, but 12 boards), Portland evened up their series with Houston at 1-1.

It was nice seeing Roy absolutely crush Ron Artest and Shane Battier, but there is a disturbing trend developing in this series: the lack of a third-weapon. Roy and Aldridge are our two best players, there is no disputing that. But throughout the season there has always been a third to step up…Travis Outlaw (the team’s third-leading scorer), Blake, Rudy. One always seemed to step up and carry the load when Roy or Aldridge had to head to the bench. (And that’s not counting random clutch performances from Serge and Oden.) That’s why coming into this series I thought the Blazers big advantage would be in bench play. We were deeper and better than the Rockets.

Or so I thought. When a strange-looking man with a faux hawk named Von Wafer (is he a Keebler elf?) can light us up, or when a garden gnome from Oregon (Aaron Brooks) nails three-pointer after three-pointer, something is horribly, horribly wrong.

As the series heads to Houston for Friday’s Game Three, I hope Nate McMillan is ripping a new orifice into his bench players. All he needs is one person to step up, to say “Hey, these shoulders are broad—hop on board,” and this Blazers team will have a chance to pull this thing out. L.A. and Roy can’t do it by themselves.

It’s one thing if Przybilla and Oden get outplayed by a 7-6 behemoth like Yao Ming (who apparently doesn’t ever commit a foul), I can live with that. But if our boys continue to get schooled by the Keebler Elf and the Argentine Frankenmullet, I may have to go on a three-state killing spree.

SATURDAY
“The Wild World of Batwoman”
This theatrical adaptation of a really, really, crummy movie from 1966 is par for the course for those smirking gravediggers at LastRites Productions. In the past they’ve staged productions based on equally bad-good B-movie fare such as “Manos: The Hands of Fate”, and “The Brain That Wouldn’t Die.” The story this time around revolves around a master criminal named Rat Fink, a mad scientist called Dr. Neon, and the Batgirls, a bunch of crime-fighting babes in goofy costumes. Fans of trash cinema and Mystery Science Theater 3000 should be duly enchanted. [Theater! Theater!/10:30 p.m./$10]

SUNDAY
“Grease”
Former American Idol Taylor Hicks has been dropped from his record label and his tourettes tics and cries of “Soul Patrol!” relegated to the cringe-worthy catchphrase hall of shame. So let’s just say he had time on his hands to sign on for the role of Teen Angel in this production of the famed hot rod and poodle skirts musical. You know the drill: Can a goody-two-shoes girl and a hoodlum find true love despite their glaring social differences? Tell me more, tell me more. Feel free to sing along with chestnuts such as “You’re the One That I Want,” “Grease Lightning,” and “Summer Nights.” [Keller Auditorium/1 and 6:30 p.m./$25.25-76-25]

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Remember Hickory High!

Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Apr 21, 2009 at 10:15AM 1 Comments

They’re probably still scrubbing the blood out the Rose Garden floor.

Three days after the historically brutal violation that many (namely, me) are comparing to a particularly unsavory scene from Oz, the Trail Blazers and their fans are having to recover from the pain of smashed expectations. It’s one thing to lose, but to be humiliated, beheaded, and have your head placed on a spit in front of a nationally televised audience? Well, there’s a reason why tonight’s Game Two has been relegated to the NBA Network for everyone outside of Oregon.

Did Portland get hosed by the refs (who apparently forgot that when Brandon Roy gets kneed in the back of the head it’s okay to blow the whistle)? Yes. But not 27-points worth. The Rockets were tougher, stronger, and just plain better. Earlier on that Saturday I heard one of the announcers, former Knicks coach Jeff Van Gundy, boldly declare that Houston would get past the Blazers in round one and would make it look easy in the process. I laughed. Now he’s looking like Nostradamus.

The good news: Houston can’t possibly stay as hot as they were Saturday night. Yao Ming will likely miss at least one shot tonight and Aaron Brooks will (hopefully) remember that he is, in fact, Aaron Brooks…not Isiah Thomas.

But the Trail Blazers can’t just rely on the Rockets returning to earth. L.A. needs to stop settling for fadeaway jumpers, put his shoulder down, and take that Frankenmullet Argentine to the rack. Oden needs to stop getting outrebounded by a 5-year-old man. And Roy, as superhuman as he is, MUST finish at the rim. He can’t just throw himself at the basket and hope to get the call. We already know he won’t.

There’s a sign hanging from my office window that I snagged from the pep rally last week. It says, “Just Do It, Portland.” And yes, I know that it’s a hackneyed Nike ad…but the thought is pure: Suck it up, Blazers. Strap on your jock strap extra tight. And let’s get ready for war.

Let’s go Blazers.

And while we’re waiting for tipoff, here’s a wonderful time waster and the best use of a bracket-type tournament since my college roommates and I ranked the top 64 hottest girls on our campus back in 1996. (Hey, it was a Christian college…we had time on our hands.)

It’s called the Name of the Year and it pits a surprising wealth of odd, funny, and scandalous names until one winner is declared. It’s down to the finals (though you should check out the archives) and you can still vote for the winner. My money is on Barkevious Mingo. (Yes…Barkevious!)

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My Heart Will Go On

Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Apr 16, 2009 at 10:29AM 4 Comments

Dear Trail Blazers…

Hi. How are you? I reckon ya’ll are probably a little hungover from last night’s season-ending victory celebration, huh? Hell, my head still hurts from the ladyfriend and I’s impromptu basement PBR shower.

Just wanted to say thanks for an awesome regular season. Over that past few months I’ve screamed and yelled and cussed and jumped up and down and shouted unprintable things at my television. I (as must most of Portland) feel like I’ve watched some sort of super-baby serum take hold in this team. You started out as a bundle of promising joy, but now you’re all grown. You blow people out. You don’t back down. And you’re even mean sometimes.

We all knew Brandon Roy was a stud. But we also knew that for this season to be a success, the rest of the team would have to step it up. And they did. LaMarcus Aldridge made the leap into All-Star territory. Rudy Fernandez was as enigmatic as advertised. Sergio Rodriguez has tamed his wild passes (mostly) and become a great second team point guard. Joel Przybilla has morphed into some rebound-swallowing Bill Laimbeer badass. Greg Oden is…well, Greg still needs another year. And if anybody actually thought Nic Batum would turn into a shutdown defender and biggest hustler outside of Przybilla, I’ll call you a liar.

But here’s the thing. Last night, with the win over Denver in the bag I had a sickening realization: I have officially given my heart to the Portland Trail Blazers. This is not a small thing. For all of my life I have bled the cardinal red of the Arkansas Razorbacks. I have broken bones kicking things. I have done about a million “hog calls.” I have cried many tears. I once peed on a man’s car (don’t ask). And as much as I continue to love my Razorbacks, the fact is, it’s a fandom I was born into. I never had a choice.

By choosing to align myself so loyally to the Trail Blazers, I am offering up my jock-strap heart for more gut-wrenching and tears and frustration. (And yes, joy and relief and sports ecstasy.) I have been cheering for the guys since I arrived in town nearly three years ago. But as we head into the playoffs, the fandom has become so much more real. Now the situation is more serious: win and advance, lose or go home. The tickly, head-fizzing thrill of victory or the hollow, soul-crushing suck of defeat. There is no middle ground.

I’m ready. But I’m nervous. Houston…I’ve always hated you. Now I finally have a reason.

So, Brandon, Serge, Joel, Rudy, Travis, Greg, and all the rest…I’m asking you: be gentle. It’s not fitting for a grown man to cry.

Good Luck.

Your pal,

Bart

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Spin the Black Circle

Portland celebrates national Record Store Day

Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Apr 15, 2009 at 10:42AM 0 Comments

If you ever come to my house (and why shouldn’t you, you’re all invited), the first thing you’ll notice as you walk through the front door and into the living room is the lack of a television. Now, this isn’t some snooty stab at being high brow by shunning the TV for books on philosophy and women’s studies. To answer Jules from Pulp Fiction, yes I’m aware that there’s an invention called television, and on this invention they show shows.

It’s just that when it came down to decorating the ladyfriend and I’s abode, my records won out over reruns. To borrow a phrase from Pearl Jam, I like to “spin the black circle.”

The walls of the living room are covered in wooden boxes stuffed full of vinyl. Beautiful, beautiful vinyl. All leading like landing lights to my beloved record player. I love music, but more importantly (and more fetishistic, if you like) I love hearing it played through the old-school crackle and hiss of real live vinyl.

So as you can imagine I’m quite stoked about this Saturday’s national celebration of Record Store Day.

All across the country, indie record stores will host in-store concerts and stock their shelves with mostly exclusive content not available at the ginormo-dome retailers. Best of all, a lot of it will come in the form of seven-inch vinyl singles: just like God intended.

Portland being a hub for indie rock, there’s lots of local goodness going down.

Jackpot’s downtown location will host performances by the Shaky Hands and Loch Lomond, while Music Millennium will have Queensryche on hand to sign copies of their latest album. And there’s a ton of great tunes from our beloved bands: a split seven-inch from the Thermals and Thao With the Get Down Stay Down, a new song from Blitzen Trapper called “War is Placebo,” as well as unreleased demos from the Decemberists.

There’s plenty of national and international acts getting in on the indie act, too: The Smiths, Wilco, Pavement, Sonic Youth, Beck, Magnolia Electric Co., My Morning Jacket, Guided by Voices, Iron and Wine, Flaming Lips, Tom Waits, the Stooges, Queen, the Boss, Dylan, Jane’s Addiction.

For more complete information, head to the official site of Record Store Day.
And also, below I’ve posted a partial list of local record stores (with links where available) worth your time. And money.

Enjoy your weekend.

Jackpot Records
Multiple Locations

Music Millenium
3158 E Burnside

Vinyl Resting Place
8332 N Lombard St
vinylrestingplaceusa.com

Timbuktunes
4726 SE Hawthorne
timbuktunes.com/cd/cd-front.php

Second Avenue Records
400 SW 2nd

Q is for Choir
2510 SE Clinton

Green Noise Records
2615 SE Clinton
greennoiserecords.com

Everyday Music
Multiple locations
everydaymusic.com

Crossroads Music
3130-B SE Hawthorne
xro.com

Brickwall Records
704 NE Deckum
brickwallrecords.com

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Keri and Wendy and Lucy

Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Apr 14, 2009 at 10:41AM 5 Comments

Did anybody else see Keri Russell this weekend?

Yep. Just strolling along Alberta with her kid strapped onto her back. Nobody bugging her. Nobody noticing. In fact, I wouldn’t have noticed if not for the highly honed celeb-spotting skills of the ladyfriend. Her eyes bugged behind her sunglasses and she did an oh-so-subtle nod in the general direction of the actress. “That’s her son,” she whispered. “River.” And then, almost ashamed: “I have no idea how I know that.”

For the record we were on Alberta for business. In a craft store called Collage which is really quite awesome but that I legally have to refer to as I like to call it, the fiery scrotum of Satan himself. Because I’m tough, you know. Laugh. Go ahead. I did. But there was a higher purpose to our visitation: the wedding. In an effort to cut cost (did you know that CERTAIN PEARL DISTRICT PAPER SHOPS CHARGE 300 BUCKS FOR, LIKE, A PACK OF 10 CARDS?!), the ladyfriend has decided to make her own giant stamp to put on our invitations. And despite never having done this kind of thing before, she’s doing quite well. She carved out a rustic little cabin which looks pretty great and is now just playing with colors. This being a late August shindig, we’re thinking something a little fall-ish.

Any crafty wunderkinds out there, feel free to offer up advice.

I’ll repay you on the front end by urging you to check out the screening of Wendy and Lucy tonight at 7:30 at the Laurelhurst. First off, there’s Michelle Williams, whom the Back Row has a ladyfriend-approved (though slightly confused) crush on. But mainly you should see it because it’s based on a short story by my next-door neighbor, Jon Raymond (who also wrote 2006’s Old Joy). He’s a rad guy (and writer) who doesn’t mind the fact that my dogs bark too much and the flimsy fence separating our property is about to fall apart. Oh, and it was filmed partially in the Walgreens parking lot near my house.

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Voices Carry

Flash Choir delivers depth

Posted by: Katy Davidson on Apr 09, 2009 at 02:20PM 2 Comments

Flash Choir tackles Caesar’s Gate, at Mississippi Studios.

Things happened last weekend. Things beyond getting a sunburn.

One of the most inspired moments occurred indoors. At Mississippi Studios on Saturday afternoon, the unique and scrappy Flash Choir performed Caesar’s Gate, local musician Sarah Dougher’s hour-long composition inspired by poet Robert Duncan’s book of the same name.

Some background: Dougher has been writing, teaching, and making music in Portland for more than a decade. She’s had a venerable career as a solo artist (releasing records on K, Mr. Lady, and her own label Cherchez La Femme) and has also played in the Lookers, Cadallaca, and the Crabs. Her lyrics are cunning and her melodies are catchy, her style simultaneously intellectual and full of heart. Flash Choir is an ever-evolving group of mostly untrained singers led by Dougher and Live Wire! gal Pat Janowski. Since it started in 2007, the choir has steadily gained notoriety, performing as part of PICA’s Time-Based Art Festival, PDX Pop Now, and more recently at 24/7. Dougher was commissioned last year by Reed College to adapt Robert Duncan’s poetry into the libretto for Caesar’s Gate. Duncan is a pre-Stonewall gay poet who was famously partnered with Jess Collins, aka Jess, a renowned collage artist whose work was on display at Reed College last year. (Whew.)

Popular musical entertainment rarely offers depth or multidimensionality. More often it relies on posturing and cliché. Dougher and the Flash Choir delivered much of the former to the elegant Mississippi Studios space on Saturday. Over Marisa Anderson’s suspended electric guitar chord progressions, thirty-plus singers belted out lyrics like “How intense and troubled/This boundary becomes/As it marks the outline/Of our true selves.” The melodies looped around themselves and often evolved into rounds. It sounded like pop music melted into choral music, like the trio the Roches with ten times the voices.

Choir member Jason Mitchell’s solo on “To Run With the Hare and Hunt With the Hound” pretty much killed me. His wavering voice evoked the best of British folk, and Dougher’s occasional harmonies complemented Mitchell’s airy tones with weight and strength.

It was incredible to see Dougher’s ambition embodied so tangibly in this performance. Though there is a good possibility Flash Choir will not perform Caesar’s Gate in its entirety again, the Saturday performance was recorded, and perhaps someday will be made available. In the meantime, keep your ear to the ground for more Flash Choir shows. One of its next projects involves an autumn performance of songs inspired by the poetry of William Stafford. I’ll be waiting.

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Hell on Wheels

Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Apr 08, 2009 at 10:24AM 1 Comments

Jon Stewart’s pin-point dismantling of the wackos on the far right has absolutely nothing to do with my rant about bus drivers, but it got my day off to a great start. So, uhm, there.

Now, to the topic at hand: bus drivers. We all have them. They are, mostly, pretty workmanlike. Opening and closing doors, pumping the brakes gently, stopping for pedestrians. They do honorable work.

Mine is “Sal.” That’s not his real name, but he is MY bus driver after all, so I get to name him. Sal is burly, with a graying handlebar mustache and a Yankees cap permanently affixed to his head. He always greets me with a gruff “Morning” and sends me on my way with a “Have a good day.” And I appreciate it. It’s not much, but this early in the morning anything helps.

Anyway, I’m not here to gripe about Sal. I’m here to gripe about another driver whose name I don’t know. He is a runty little man who reminds of the Wormtounge character in Lord of the Rings (geek alert! geek alert!). I first became aware of him when, as a passenger, he demanded the driver stop the bus when a gang of hooligan teens began talking trash to him. Now, I’m all for putting a boot to any hormonal douche-bags who can’t treat the rest of the passengers with a modicum of respect. But if all they’re doing to being punk-ish (and you are a veteran bus driver) then why not just get up, move to the front of the bus, and let these idiots fester in their own idiocy.

But no. Captain Pissy Pants demands that the driver stop the bus and call the police. So we sit there for 15 minutes, all of us on our way home, waiting for the cops. CPP just sat there, reading his paper while 20 pairs of eyes stared bullets. Or course, the police never show (I’m sure they had, like, real crimes to investigate). But in the meantime, all the kids who had been bugging CPP disembark. Naturally, CPP then told the driver that he could start driving again…like he was a personal valet of some sort.

The next morning Pissy Pants, again as a passenger, was on my inbound bus. Naturally he was re-telling his adventure of the previous day in gigantic arcs of run-on sentences. “Sal” said nothing. Just stared hard into the middle distance. In CPP’s version of events he could’ve taken these kids “if they’d been man enough to step off the bus.” In his version of events, these idiot kids were shadowy creatures who were no doubt armed. He was merely being a model citizen. In CPP’s version of events, he wasn’t the moron he apparently is in real life.

But it’s what came next, in full ear-shot of the entire bus (since CPP tends to yell, not talk), that really got under my saddle. He began to refer to all passengers as some sort of angry mob, worthless chattel never more than a few minutes from a mass riot. If not for he, the iron-fisted driver, there’s no telling what the streets of Portland would look like. He began to talk about refusing to pick up a rider who had a seeing-eye dog because the rider didn’t have the proper paper work or pass. And he began to refer to certain routes and the people on those routes that run through certain parts of town in derogatory tones that skirted the edge of good taste.

To his credit, “Sal” never even looked like he was listening. And as we lurched ever closer to downtown I began to fantasize (since, because of CPP’s volume I was unable to read) that he would suddenly slam on the brakes and plant Pissy Pants into the windshield.

On to the weekend:
FRIDAY
More than 40 top breweries—mostly regional players with a few special guests—and a dozen wineries will provide abundant liquid refreshment at the 15th annual Spring Beer and Wine Fest. Reps from major beer players such as Widmer, Rogue, and Sierra Nevada will pour alongside scrappy small breweries like Ninkasi, Calapooia and the intriguingly named Panty Dropper. Remember to stretch first! [Oregon Convention Center/Noon/$5]

SATURDAY
The film “Silent Light,” a Cannes Jury Prize winner and Mexico’s 2008 submission for Best Foreign Language Film Oscar, comes to the NW Film Center. Directed by Carlos Reygadas, it tells the story of adultery and spiritual crisis in an isolated, modern-day German-Mennonite community in Northern Mexico when husband and father falls in love with another woman against the law of god. [Northwest Film Center/4 and 7 p.m./$8]

SUNDAY
The Chairman of the Board, Dino, and Sammy are no longer with us, and your chances of getting them to show up at your next seance are not good. So it might be a smart idea to check out The Rat Pack: Live at the Sands. It’s another entry in the Fred Meyer Broadway Across America Series, one that puts incredible simulations of these legendary showmen in front of a 15-piece band to make some ring-a-ding-ding Vegas-style. [Keller Auditorium/1 p.m. & 6:30 p.m./$28.50–68.50]

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Shiny Happy People

(Your Youtube link of the day)

Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Apr 07, 2009 at 10:06AM 2 Comments

Guerilla artists in Antwerp stage a mass recreation of the Sound of Music’s “Do Re Mi” in the middle of the city’s train station. And really, who couldn’t use a little Julie Andrews right now?

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Shooting Stars

Puppets, pianos, and Przybilla!

Posted by: Bart Blasengame on Apr 01, 2009 at 03:07PM 1 Comments

Photo by Garrett Milojevich

What was your favorite moment of Tuesday’s 125-104 blowout win over Utah?

LaMarcus Aldridge continuing his torrid streak with 26 points, a few of which came on back-breaking dunks? Brandon Roy throwing up a painterly 25 and 11 assists? Young Nicolas Batum starting for the injured Rudy and contributing 17 points? Greg Oden looking like he’s rounding back into shape with a late surge?

Personally, my favorite moment was Joel Przybilla once again going nose-to-nose with an overinflated ego (this timeit was Utah’s Carlos Boozer), showing that the fresh-faced Blazers aren’t as soft as you think. Because for all the highlight reel moments and buzzer-to-buzzer domination it was Przybilla’s flexing, his Twisted Sister “We’re Not Gonna Take It” trash-talk that says all you really need to know about what lies ahead for Portland.

The Blazers are two wins away from clinching a playoff spot. That will happen. But with the Western Conference playoff race a jumble for spots two through eight, every game from here on out still counts. Snatching away the second-seed (and the Northwest Division title) from Denver is not out of the question. Portland trails the Nuggets by just 2.5 games; if they keep playing like they have, it could happen. Of course, conversely, current number eight seed Dallas lingers just three games back of the Blazers.

The difference is having to play the Lakers or Spurs in the first round, or playing a winnable series against the likes of the Rockets, Nuggets, or Hornets.

So in essence, these last few weeks of the season are a playoff dress rehearsal. Friday begins a four-game road swing that will take the Blazers through Houston and San Antonio (as well as stops in Oklahoma City and Memphis). Playing away form Portland hasn’t been the team’s strong suit, but if they can stay hot these next few games could be the beginning of a historical surge for the franchise… where the Blazers stop being a “promising young team” and become a legitimate playoff contender.

SATURDAY
Evil puppets! Creepy music! Legitimate fear! No children anywhere in sight! We’re SO there. Night Shade, a collective of recently relocated New York artists, puts a new and sometimes horrifying spin on puppetry with a trio of spine-chilling tales: “Haunted Projectile,” “Order of the Wolf,” and “Carrion.” The shows blend illustration, masks, music, and more than four hundred intricate cutouts to create an experience that’s nothing like the Muppets of your youth. There’s a reason the PG-13 rule is strictly enforced. [Disjecta/8 p.m./$10-12]

SUNDAY
It’s not easy to tackle a piece by the fleet-fingered Frédéric Chopin, but considering Portland Piano International’s twenty-eight-year reputation, his work couldn’t be in better hands. Much-beloved Argentine pianist Ingrid Fliter is the fifth artist to have ever received the Gilmore Artist Award, extended to ivory ticklers with widely international audiences. Fliter will also perform works by Bach and Schumann. [Newmark Theatre/4 p.m./$25-40]

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