CULTUREPHILE: PORTLAND ARTS

TBA 2011: Andrew Dinwiddie

Five Questions with Brian Rogers, artistic director of the Chocolate Factory

Posted by: Claudia La Rocco on Sep 11, 2011 at 09:00AM 0 Comments

First came the record, courtesy of Jimmy Swaggart, circa 1971. And then came the theatrical reinvention, in 2010, courtesy of the creator and performer Andrew Dinwiddie: directed by Jeff Larson, “Get Mad at Sin!” was a sold-out hit when it debuted at the fabulous New York theater the Chocolate Factory last year. It deserved a longer life than the typical measly run given to new work. And now it has one.

Hooray to TBA for bringing it here. And hooray to Brian Rogers, the artistic director of the Chocolate Factory, for supporting the premiere run of “Get Mad.” Brian was gracious enough to answer a few questions about the show, his theater and the broader arts scene:

Can you talk a bit about the experience of seeing this show at the Chocolate Factory?

This will sound really cheesy, but the Chocolate Factory show reminded me of certain old Russian folks like Vakhtangov and Meyerhold—artists whose work I read about in college but (obviously) never got to see. Jeff & Andrew do not specifically reference that tradition (I have no idea if they are even familiar with those guys) but there is, for me, a really strong link in terms of the incongruous but totally compelling combination of sort of high concept theatricality (pink carpet!) and a really focused verisimilitude in the performance itself. Watching the show, you’re never not aware that it’s a performance with a capital P, but even so, at a certain point you start to really listen to & almost believe what he (Swaggart) is saying. A kind of conversion starts to happen, which—considering how offensive some of the material sounds to contemporary ears—is sort of magical.

Andrew is influenced by a really specific dance and theater tradition in New York—do you see the echoes of artists like David Neumann and Annie-B Parson in his work? How do they manifest?

Well there’s a great tradition in downtown experimental theater of a certain kind of tour de force wrangling with a text or piece of material. And Big Dance has definitely done a lot of work in that vein; so I guess you could draw a strong connection there. Also, the ability to step in and out of the material….But Andrew’s show is much much more than a technical tour de force—there’s something about it that feels incredibly sincere, which I think sets it somewhat apart…

Your theater has such a marvelously specific energy to it. What is the experience like of seeing pieces that have been made for your space in other theaters? I’m thinking it must be something like seeing the movie after reading the book…

Yeah I’m really biased in this regard. I mean, I’m really proud & happy that a few works that started here are getting opportunities to tour; but I always develop an inflated kind of sentimental attachment that makes it hard for me watch in a different setting. That said, one of the things I love about my job is that I get to watch artists fight with and respond to our very particular architecture; so it’s kind of fun to watch that process continue in a different space.

Here’s a really big and vague and irritating topic: trends in contemporary performance … what are your thoughts on any fashions or patterns you’re seeing today, and how does “Get Mad at Sin!” fit in (or not)?

I do think that old is new again. And Andrew’s piece definitely comes out of an affection for the old vinyl record and what I take to be a kind of romanticization of the 60s & 70s. He also paid a lot of attention to the social aspect of experiencing the show. These are maybe not trends in performance so much as they are trends in the culture at large….you know, the speakeasy cocktail craze, hipstamatic—the fetishization of the pre-digital.

Catch, the series that Andrew and Jeff curate, is coming to Portland—what should audiences expect?

Something fun and all over the place and remarkably unpretentious. And a very short video from yours truly.

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Tags: performance, 5 questions, five questions, tba2011

TBA 2011: ©ardiff

How David Eckard’s “carnival barker” character, and TBA lookie-loos, got their mettle sorely tested by a drunk bystander.

Posted by: Anne Adams on Sep 10, 2011 at 01:00PM 11 Comments

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

From the get-go, David Eckard’s demeanor was more “Okey dokey” than “Step right up!”

He’d gotten a late start setting up his mobile podium, so all eyes were already following his every move as he unfurled banners, popped panels, and generally transformed what had looked like a rolling refrigerator into a beguiling little circus spectacle. Each revelation begged him to eye the audience, to flourish and mime—but he didn’t. The performance hadn’t “started,” so instead he deadpanned, evaded eyes, and tried to act as his own roadie. Hence the desired “Ladies and gentlemen,” turned into an unspoken “Just a moment, folks,” already weakening the command his character could have taken. In other words, if this medicine man had rolled into my town square, he’d have already given us pause to mistrust him.

“Cut the guy a break,” you may say. And we did. But the patience of an arts festival audience isn’t something a carnival barker can bank on—as Eckard would soon learn.

Finally getting into character, Eckard dipped behind a banner and dramatically tipped back a bottle of brown liquid, inspiring a few laughs. Straightening his natty plaid suit and his rakish bowler, he took to his podium. A little too quietly and with a few discrediting hitches and stammers, he began reciting an ornately verbose introduction. “He’s not being big enough,” I scribbled in my notebook, then tuned back in. Having dispensed his intro, Eckard launched into a story that seemed to be about a sleeping giant. This was too great a temptation for Fate to forebear.

I should mention that a few of us were already aware of a real “sleeping giant” in our midst: a man who had been passed out drunk on the grass throughout Eckard’s aforementioned machinations. Four or five minutes into the speech, this man awoke with a start. “All you gotta-do…is just STAND in a woodenBOX and start talking, and people gather?” marveled the waking wonderer. Eckard ignored him, nattering his next lines: “…borne, by chance…”

“I was born by CHANCE!” chimed the drunk.

“…to upstate New York…”

“Upstate New York? You’re a long WAY from THERE! If I hadta pay to hear this, I tellya whut: I’d want my MONEY back.”

Though the drunk man was beating Eckard at the loudness game by half, both forged forward. Several in the crowd cleared their throats, or shifted onto their other buttock, but no one yet addressed the awakened threat.

After several more shouted retorts, acknowledgment became unavoidable. “Did JUDAS go to heaven?” heckled the drunk. Eckard’s eye brightened. “That’ll be chapter seven, Sir,” he replied before returning to his script, which offered up this uncanny next line:

“Who is he, and how did he end up here?” Seizing the moment, Eckard leveled these word directly at his challenger.

A slight woman in a beige dress steeled her nerves, got up, and approached the man, who was now standing. “Come over here,” she murmured sweetly, moving to the outskirts of the crowd. When he stood firm and loudly refused, she looked stunned, as though she had spent her entire life up to this moment luring any person to any place, simply by asking nicely.

“You’re spoiling the show for everyone!” shouted a plucky Englishwoman.

“Why?” screamed the drunk. “Why can he talk and I can’t?”

“He’s performing,” said several.

“I’m PERFORMING!” yelled the drunk (in all fairness, making a bloody good point).

A middle-aged, fit man in a pumpkin-colored polo shirt got up and squared his broad shoulders at the stranger, saying something inaudible.

“You’re in the MOOD for a FIGHT? Is that what you just said?” the drunk outed him, and—caught—he nodded. “Hit me. Hit me right here in front of all these people!”

Polo Shirt changed tactics: “You like your hat?” he asked (insinuating he might take it).

“It belonged to my brother David,” said the drunk.

Now Polo Shirt launched the lowest blow, which spun the drunk into a whirlwind of incomprehensible preaching and yelling that didn’t abate til the rent-a-cops came. “Is your brother dead?” he intoned—not compassionately, but coolly. Challenging, smooth, and smug, he seemed to imply: Vagrants like you happen on hard times. Some of them die. Ha. The well-heeled for the win.

As you might imagine, the presentation called ©ardiff had long since drifted into insignificance. Despite trying to tune back in, it couldn’t be farther from anyone’s mind. The new questions were plentiful and pressing:

What qualifies as “performance?”

Whence our entitlement to curate our own “entertainment” in a public space?

How comfortable have “performance artists” gotten, and how far have they drifted from comedians, musicians, orators, mimes—and, yes, carnival barkers —all of whom are used to having to fight for the floor?

How many minutes of provocation can you as a private citizen withstand, before you show your ugliest side?

Now, don’t get me wrong: This drunk was no hero. He was a worn-down, uncouth specimen, and he was, in legal parlance, “disturbing the peace.” But like a hurricane, he blew through and toppled a structure that had already evidently been unsound.

What’s next for Eckard, who was quick to remind the crowd that he’d scheduled several more performances? We have some suggestions for weatherproofing:

For a start, pour some real booze in that brown bottle and offer an honest swig to would-be interrupters. (Liquor control can’t have been that strict in the 1860’s—and if you’d thought of it this time, you’d have made an instant friend.) And be louder. If you have to, yell through the bell of an old gramophone. Next, know that any salesman worth his snake-oil is “on” the moment he rolls up—and use the time it takes to set up your bells and whistles, to also build suspense and crowd rapport (Perhaps take a private lesson or two from Vockah Redu ). And most importantly, be prepared to dart swiftly off of your script to slash detractors with your rapier wit. This is a life-or-death racket you’re running. Toughen up so the next town drunk won’t see you tarred and feathered.

Meanwhile, fellow onlookers, we’d be remiss to dismiss this performance as “ruined.” It offered as much spontaneity, philosophy, politics and pith as anything we’re likely to see at this year’s TBA.

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Tags: Art, Theater, performance, TBA, circus, tba2011

TBA 2011: Taylor Mac

The Art of Authentic Failure

Posted by: Claudia La Rocco on Sep 10, 2011 at 12:15PM 2 Comments

Taylor Mac’s “authentic failure”

My first marathon day at TBA ended at Clyde Common with a bunch of other folks who’ve flown in for the festival, rehashing the night’s odd-couple doubleheader: the classically trained Indian dancer Shantala Shivalingappa and the queer theater and performance art chanteuse Taylor Mac.

I don’t have that much to say about Shivalingappa’s show Namasya , an American premiere which means “reverence” in Sanskrit and features four short solos: two by Shivalingappa’s mother, Savitry Nair, and one each by two of Shivalingappa’s mentors, Sankai Juku’s Ushio Amagatsu and the great German choreographer Pina Bausch. Shivalingappa is a gorgeous mover, and I have adored her classical work. But this East-meets-West tribute program felt like something of a vanity program; it was slight on choreography (Nair offered the most substantial phrase-making), heavy on piped-in music that ran the gamut from sensuous to mysterious (not in a good way) and entirely too packaged a presentation of uncomplicated beauty. You could only bathe in this beauty. There was nothing to disagree with, to make you sit up and think about. I need to work a certain amount as an audience member (even if that work is entirely pleasurable), or I lose interest.

Enter Taylor Mac. “You’re all working this evening. It doesn’t matter that I’m the only one getting paid,” he announced at some point in his 90-minute cabaret show, Comparison Is Violence or The Ziggy Stardust Meets Tiny Tim Songbook.

It’s true; this is always true in the theater. It just depends how much we, as watchers, are willing to work, and how much the artists are willing to ask of us. Mac talked about “authentic failure” being his favorite thing on stage. It’s the same, I think, for those of us in the seats. I always want to give everything, to be asked everything—even if it means I fail. Otherwise, why are we all there?

“Comparison is Violence” doesn’t ask everything of its audience (and at least one artistic director at the Clyde Common table felt that it didn’t ask, or give, nearly enough; his crankiness wasn’t helped by the venue … ummmm …. an overheated school auditorium ain’t the best place for a messy-by-design cabaret show, just as Lincoln Hall was waaaaaay too big for the delicate precision of Shivalingappa. Oh the perils of architecture in the performing arts!). But you can see Mac’s mind working throughout the show, as he tangles with form and tradition—and he is mining a tradition, just as much as Shivalingappa is. Seeing this work, seeing where it succeeds and, especially, where it fails, begs a certain activation and investment from any truly engaged observer.

“How is this person telling the story? Right now, in the present moment,” Mac asks. He proposes one set of possible answers. The others are up to us.

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Tags: tba2011

TBA 2011: Namasya

Shantala Shivalingappa’s dream-weaving, described.

Posted by: Anne Adams on Sep 10, 2011 at 08:15AM 2 Comments

Photo: Nicholas Boudier

First
In flowing white blouse and trousers, she awakes to the moaning flute and whispering rain. She arises, and follows her own arms as they bend like wisps of wheat, sometimes pointing her finger as though acknowledging a new discovery from a long way off. A startle, a self-embrace. Sparkly harps and chimes. A light from heaven, a skyward gaze. Then searching, digging, uncovering. She’s found something. A blooming lotus in a pond? She lifts it up and sets it into sudden birdlike flight, her hands releasing from a petaled moudra and fluttering free. (Maybe it’s Stravinsky’s firebird. It’s familiar, it’s pastoral, but it’s not of this world.) The light progresses: dawn, noon, dusk.

Second
She lies down for a dream, and as she melts into the blackness a larger specter of self emerges on a screen: not a girl but a woman—a traditional Indian woman in violet and crimson, forehead bearing the bindi (marriage, the third eye). Though rendered in slow motion, her movements are traditional too: fluid arms, coy eyes, head almost sassy in its horizontal oscillations, back and forth, as if detached from the body. This mature character knows what she’s got and where she comes from.

Third
Bongo drums and guitar set a contemporary casual, almost Latin vacation mood as she reappears in a flowing black dress, swooping and swaying, deeply bending her knees so her legs open wide. Passionate, sudden flurries punctuate her samba sway. She cradles her face, outstretches her arms, swirls like a Turkish dervish, tastes her hand. Change, flow, dynamism, drama, all in their feminine form, ensconced in a big black swirling skirt. Room to move—yet, heavy.

Fourth
Another traditional sequence haunts the screens. The music has darkened and the forms have multiplied. Now two screens fixate on bits of slo-mo movement, zeroing in on close-ups of stomping feet, gestures of head and hand. Stops them, reverses them, doubles and repeats them. Examines the Indian woman from every angle while the music drones on, repetitive and trancelike.

Fifth
Now there are only drums. There is only a sharp slice of white light, and she’s crouched low, ninja-like, creeping across it. No naivete now. Calculated catlike maneuvers in the dark, in a black pantsuit. At any moment, this soldier of fortune might draw a weapon and strike.

Sixth
Now even the drums fall silent. She begins to dance a regular rhythm in the perfect silence, creating an anticipatable cadence, an imaginable song, with her body. The music resumes, hearkening back to the first crimson Indian dream. She gazes at her hand like a mirror, twists sharply away, looks again, then lets the mirror fall, gracefully letting go. Turning over objects in her hand, then stepping forward, parting curtains in the still air.

Seventh
She crouches with her back is to us, letting the lights lend her silhouette a silver lining. The music drones and her “snake arms” slither sensually. She curls up, covers her eyes, and retreats back into the dream darkness from which she sprang.

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Tags: Dance, contemporary, tba2011, India

TBA 2011: Vockah Redu

Posted by: Anne Adams on Sep 09, 2011 at 01:00PM 0 Comments

Photo: Isabel Theriot

“They say, ‘Donte, he’s sissybounce, he preach, he’s Andre 3000, he’s Jimi Hendrix….’ But you can’t put a label on art!” exclaims Donte Brown from front-and-center stage, flanked on both sides by dancers in silver boots. “You put Versace on me, and it’s not Versace anymore—it’s me. Can’t nobody rock a party like I do!”

Vockah Redu’s frontman is not modest, nor should he be, judging by his crew’s ability to overtake a room. Representing for the burgeoning “bounce” genre, the group booty-shook and swaggered through their opening-night set with a haughty ghetto flair that Portland rarely gets to see—and we imagine the crowd’s wild delight was due as much to the novelty of it all, as to the actual bumpin’ beats. At the set’s zenith, some audience members erupted into ecstatic fits of krumping, seeming to surprise even themselves.

Last year, few musical moments were made the most of. Extreme Animals seemed like B-grade versions of the white-guy ironic snark that Portland already does best, and the half-hearted machinations of Wonderlust failed to deliver their promised Eastern-Bloc exoticism. (Meanwhile, great acts like Tender Forever and the Art Party lineup played half-empty rooms.) But with Redu’s packed crowd and inimitable energy, and novel new sound kicking off 2011, it looks like we might get more satisfaction.

For more about Portland arts events, visit PoMo’s Arts & Entertainment Calendar, stream content with an RSS feed, or sign up for our weekly On The Town Newsletter!

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Tags: Dance, music, TBA, tba2011, concert

TBA 2011: Don’t Worry We’ll Fix It

Anna Gray & Ryan Wilson Paulson explore the fallibility of record-keeping and attack Mack McFarland’s inflammatory rants with their exactos.

Posted by: Anne Adams on Sep 09, 2011 at 12:00PM 0 Comments

That ought to hold it.

Comically oversized rolodex cards, a shelf full of books that have been charred beyond recognition, a file drawer too elongated to be confined to its cabinet, and other select errata combine to make Anna Gray and Ryan Wilson Paulson’s point: We can’t necessarily trust ourselves to properly preserve and interpret the written word.

Acknowledging these low stakes, why not make a publication?

Stacked against the walls of the funhouse library are copies of September, a broadside the pair are publishing daily for the duration of TBA. The debut issue, smattered with ironic “redactions” (actual text appeared to have been manually exacto-knifed out in little rectangles) features a “manifessay” by Mack McFarland (who also curated last year’s Sorted Books exhibit). McFarland riffs at length on a perpendicular point to Gray and Paulson’s: he contends that a “free speech” climate can only be proven as such, by inflammatory speech. In other words, you don’t know that you’re allowed to speak freely, until you say the most insane/obscene thing you can think of—and get away with it.

If you think about it, this is true. Nevertheless, if you try to demonstrate this principle, an angry mob generally heaps you with hot coals of retribution while legislators scramble to rein in your rants and PR people rush into “damage control” mode. McFarland offers recent examples of public figures whose candor incurred great cost, including Newt Gingrich and Tracy Morgan, but closes with a call to action: Go and do likewise. Not because you have terrible thoughts that need venting—but because the system has strictures that need stretching.

A provocative first thought from what will hopefully be a week’s worth of artfully besmirched light reading.

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Tags: tba2011

TBA 2011: Claudia La Rocco Returns!

Posted by: Claudia La Rocco on Sep 09, 2011 at 11:00AM 0 Comments

Hey y’all.

Not sure if it will be a triumphant return or not. But whatever, I’m back. Hooray!

And now I have to leave.

The Portland Monthly offices, that is. Because, you know, this tba schedule is insane. My brain hurts just thinking about it. (And also maybe because I am jet-lagged and sleep-deprived and, generally, in the perfect state to ingest an abnormal amount of contemporary art.)

I’ll be here for the duration of the festival, blogging and tweeting and schmoozing and drinking…. First stop, in about a half hour, the Noontime Chat.

Come say hi.

clr

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Tags: tba2011

TBA 2011: Pre-Func

Posted by: Anne Adams on Sep 08, 2011 at 03:00PM 0 Comments

Photo: Nial Walker

At this very moment, Taylor Mac is probably sifting his sequins for the big show.

It’s that time again. In fact, as you read this, we are zero-some-hundred minutes or less from the opening of PICA’s Time-Based Art Festival, aka TBA .
Overnight, a giant banner was unfurled on the West-facing facade of Washington High School (aka “The Works”) and all afternoon, high-caliber cars have been vying for primo parking with the usual southeast neighborhood station wagons. Presumably, artists are even now hoisting their bags from airport conveyor belts and hailing cabs. Volunteers are preening and straightening sculptures and paintings. And our New York Times guest blogger Claudia LaRocco is likely settling into her Portland suite, highlighting her guidebook for the coming week.

This is the ninth year the fest has happened, and it won’t be the last. And of course, once the events start popping off, the last thing you’ll want to do is languish in the past. HOWEVER: as you freshen your haircut, or buy your bus ticket, or savor some happy hour canapes, you might also add the following light reading to your pre-party prep:

~ An interview with PICA’s new artistic director
~ A prior interview with the aforementioned Claudia Larocco
~ The inside scoop on monologuist Mike Daisey’s personal life and his 2010 TBA monologue
~ A riveting slide show and review of Offsite Dance’s 2010 TBA piece
~ A detailed description of tEEth’s Home Made from before it went big-time
~ A rundown of last year’s Ten Tiny Dances

For more about Portland arts events, visit PoMo’s Arts & Entertainment Calendar, stream content with an RSS feed, or sign up for our weekly On The Town Newsletter!

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MusicFestNW: The Name Game

Sprinkle a bevvy of buzzwords over a wealth of bands, and you end up with more than a few samey names.

Posted by: The Culturegang on Sep 07, 2011 at 11:00AM 0 Comments

See anything you like? Name your band after it! Many already have.

Buffalo. Horse. Arrow. Kill. Sun. Is it just us, or do current band names read more like captions for ancient cave-paintings than lists of 21st-century talent? Regardless, you’ll have to know who’s who if you want to make the most of your wristband at Musicfest Northwest —which starts tonight.

Don’t sweat it; we’re here to help. Read the following disambiguations, lovingly compiled by our culture crew, and in no time you’ll be expertly navigating the redundant fray.

1. AgesandAges | AND AND AND

Both are local, popular, multi-instrumental and high-energy. AgesandAges have three more beards and two women, and their lyrics tend to affirm where AND AND AND’s tend to condemn. In other words, if the band’s singing about how we’re all together, it’s probably Ages. If they’re berating you for being uncool, they’re likely AND.

2. White Arrows | Pierced Arrows | Archers | Archers of Loaf

Two thirds of Pierced Arrows, Toody and Fred Cole, are as ancient as the pyramids and are properly worshipped as timeless totems of rough-hewn Northwest rock. White Arrows are a nearly-funky combo of whippersnappers from Los Angeles who have a cool song called “Everything Scares Me,” which, with a proper PR push, could be the Beck anthem of our times. While both “Archers” seem to take the noisy noodly approach to rock, it wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination to think that North Carolina’s Archers of Loaf are the helicopter parents of Portland’s younger, louder and snottier Archers.

3. Avi Buffalo | Young Buffalo

The boys and girls in Avi Buffalo are young and sugary sweet. They wear cardigan sweaters and make the kind of music that you covertly love but keep on the down-low because you’re afraid that your older brother will give you a dead arm for listening to it: earnest and catchy, but gloriously precious.

Young Buffalo is an all-dude trio that kind of look like those brainy outcasts from your high school that formed a band and were really into Pavement and Built to Spill.

4. Dirty Mittens | Dirty Beaches | Dirty Ghosts

How to tell them apart: Dirty Mittens is a much-loved local quintet fronted by a spunky punky gal who has recently converted to soul music.
Dirty Beaches is Alex Zhang Hungtai: a rockabilly-influenced Taiwanese Elvis-esque crooner. So, an excess of pomade & a white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up is the uniform.
Dirty Ghosts is a guy on bass, a girl guitarist who sings, and an indie rapper/producer (Aesop Rock) handling the drum programming.

5.Band of Horses | Horse Feathers

While both of these bands have bearded lead guitarists (nothing new to the NW), there are a few easy distinctions to draw:
Band of Horses are heart-on-sleeve southern rockers, one part Neil Young, one part Wayne Coyne. Horse Feathers will be the band making dirgey music with the occasional weepy musical saw. “Band’s” Jim James also has a bigger beard than "Feathers’"Justin Ringle.

6. YACHT | BOAT

YACHT, or Young Americans Challenging High Technology (though we’re still not really sure what that means) are a Portland duo that create bubbly, bright, and buoyant synth pop that is without a doubt recognizable and infectious. They reportedly stole the show last week at Bumbershoot.

If the lyrics to the songs you are hearing involve comic books, video games, prehistoric animals, sports cards, and are named things like “Elephant Ears” and “(I’m A) Donkey for your Love” you are listening to BOAT. Please note: Neither band covers Kenny Loggins or Christopher Cross.

7. You Am I | UME | EMA

You Am I are from Australia and look like a rock n’ roll band the same way The Strokes, The Stones and even that mediocre band your girlfriend makes you listen to do.
UME is an Austin trio that is fronted by a writhing, head-banging blonde with bangs. Erika M. Anderson (EMA) is from South Dakota. She kind of looks like Courtney Love and she doesn’t like California.

8. Soft Kill | The Kills | Sweet Teen Killing Machine | Gaslamp Killer

We think the singer of Soft Kill (a band that makes gothy pop in the vein of The Cure and Cold Cave) sounds like Ian Curtis and that’s a good thing; a barren, depressingly awesome good thing.

The Kills are every vaguely depressed and semi-fashionable girl’s favorite band. So their show will be filled with girls in tight ripped black jeans, teased hair, oversized band shirts, and dudes that are pretending to know more than “Tape Song” and “Black Balloon”. If Kate Moss is there looking bored and vacant (but still gorgeous) it’s probably the Kills. Local horror-rock ensemble Sweet Teen Killing Machine’s scary song titles like “Curse of the Bloodwolf,” and “City of the Shrieking Dead” sound like a Bauhaus/Misfits mash-up. Gaslamp Killer is a DJ that makes eclectic beat-driven music that sounds like it was made with a hash pipe within arms reach.

9. Black Cobra | Black Prairie

Black Cobra is a ripping duo that make music best consumed while shot-gunning cheap beer, ripping the sleeves off of your Motorhead shirt and blowing stuff up: heavy, fast, and loud.

If Black Prairie look kind of like the Decemberists, it’s because the bands contain three members in common: Chris Funk, Nate Query, and Jenny Conlee. Prairie’s music tends to be more rural and atmospheric than the eloquent pirate prog-pop on which these familiar members cut their teeth.

10. Breakfast Mountain > Witch Mountain > Wizard Rifle > New York Rifles

Breakfast Mountain looks like your twentysomething neighbors that leave their recycling bin at the curb all week, always smell like pot, and throw really awesome basement parties that you’ve never had the guts to crash. They also make manic sample-driven dance music that could inspire movement, but Witch Mountain is a churning, viscous, female- fronted psych/sludge outfit from Portland that features writer, metal curator, and man-about-town Nathan Carson on drums. Wizard Rifle are a two-man blast of drum-and-guitar noise-rock punishment, while the New York Rifles are coed throwbacks from a vaguely velvet underground.

11. Suuns | Sun Angle | Sleepy Sun

Suuns, who apparently ignored spellcheck when naming the group, are from Canada and are really quite a catchy little collective of darkness. My friend Lalo calls them “progressive,” which means they probably took lessons at some point. Sun Angle are a newish ambient pop group with the joint forces of Charlie Salas-Humara, formerly of Panther, and Marius Libman of Copy. Sleepy Sun are six psych-rockers from Frisco who seem to have spent their impressionable youth doused in a steady diet of heavy 70s rock. Their cover of Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain” is cathartic and inspirational.

For more about Portland arts events, visit PoMo’s Arts & Entertainment Calendar, stream content with an RSS feed, or sign up for our weekly On The Town Newsletter!

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Jared & Brianne Mees

Extra notes and quotes from our fall arts edition’s music couple.

Posted by: Anne Adams on Sep 01, 2011 at 06:10AM 0 Comments

Jared and Brianne Mees moved to Portland to build their own empire out of cardboard, indie-rock, and love. And how did that pipe dream pan out? For four years and counting—absolutely fine. In a two-storey space on 10th and Ash, Tender Loving Empire, or “TLE,” as it’s affectionately known, has become a hub for visual and aural indie-rock aesthetics, peddling tee shirts, trinkets, and, of course, whatever music moves the Meeses. "Where most labels are behind the scenes on the internet, the worldwide web, we have this place where people can interact. Our excitement about an album comes through because we’re right there handing it over the counter,” gushes Brianne. Adds Jared: “I think a lot of our music buyers are people who come in to look at the crafts, but have never heard any of TLE’s bands before at all. They walk in and look around and go, ‘What is this place?’ And then while they’re looking at crafts, we can play albums for them on the spot, and they can decide if they like it.”

And how does TLE decide what they like?

“Well, there’s always a poppy hook..” says Brianne, “but the songs also always have something to say, a message that’s moved us, that we feel is important to share. We’re definitely looking for something different, quirky, off-kilter, but we also look for something that’s gonna be translatable to the layman.”

“—Without trying to appeal to the lowest common denominator,” Jared quickly interjects. “I think that’s a tough thing. It’s like the holy grail of the record industry: being able to appeal to a big group of people with a band, and not alienate the snobs and go for the lowest common denominator. If you can find a band that can do that, I think you will generally sell a lot of records. If you can translate to a bunch of different people, but maintain high artistic value, you’ll probably do pretty well.”

Brianne typically holds the retail reins and does the accounting (“I think I drew the short straw there,” she says, admitting that bookkeeping bores her). Meanwhile, Jared holes up in the store’s upstairs office, brokering increasingly big deals. For instance, TLE recently booked arena-folk act Typhoon on Late Night with David Letterman, and was reportedly offered carte blanche on bookings at Portland’s upcoming concert juggernaut, Musicfest Northwest. With the contracts and the stakes at an all-time high, the couple has to make a conscious effort not to let work overtake them. To that end, they staged a summer escape, returning to Oxford—the place they met as students 10 years ago—then roaming around Amsterdam and Paris, and paying a visit to Brianne’s aunt’s bed and breakfast in the countryside of France.

“None of that had to do with work,” Brianne declares.
We’ve been trying to do things for our marriage, that in turn affect the store, and the way we work—rather than the other way around," Jared explains, “because otherwise we’d just end up with, like, the leftovers in the marriage. And we moved our computers out of the house, so we wouldn’t have that constant distraction.”

“But I’ve been cheating!” Brianne whispers playfully, “Sometimes I bring my laptop home.”

Overall, the pair are just happy that business has picked up enough to sustain them, citing prior times when they could barely pay their bills and had to pep-talk each other through the doldrums. But like the upside-down cardboard cityscape that adorns the TLE ceiling, the Mees’s Empire has proven uncannily sturdy. “It used to fall down all the time,” says Jared, “and then one day it just stopped falling.”

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Brian & Nikki Weaver

Extra notes and quotes from our fall arts edition’s theater couple.

Posted by: Anne Adams on Sep 01, 2011 at 06:00AM 0 Comments

“I love her very much even though she makes out with other guys,” jokes Portland Playhouse artistic director Brian Weaver, casting a mischeivous glance at his actress wife Nikki as the two recount how some of the taut, modern plays that their company favors have required Nikki to get pretty personal with her costars. While playing a social-climbing Hollywood party girl in last season’s The Scene, Nikki pounced on actor Leif Norby, brastraps akimbo, while Brian toughed it out from the control room. “The stage manager could start and stop the makeout sessions with cue lights,” he explains. “He was taunting me, going, ‘Should I stop her now? How about now? Just a little bit longer!’” But it would seem the Weavers are no strangers to leaps of faith.

In 2007, the pair was living in Boston, Mass. While chopping Christmas firewood with Brian’s brother Michael, they began to hatch a plan to move all three Weavers to a new town. “We liked Boston,” says Nikki, “and Michael was living in Virginia working for the family business, making good money—but we just started to agree that we all wanted more, wanted to work with people who were passionate about what they were doing. We had this house, and a whole bunch of stuff, but we said, ‘You know, let’s all quit our jobs! And sell everything!’ ‘And then we’ll figure out where we want to move.’ We had talked about Seattle, Portland, or San Francisco, and Portland just seemed like a really nice hub between the two other cities, where we could bring artists from other areas if we wanted to, but where we could also afford to create something.”

That “something” was Portland Playhouse, a small but serious theater company that the Weavers set up in a former church on Prescott and 6th, still fitted with old pews and a large stained-glass window. Initially, Nikki admits, it was hard to find their footing. “The first play we did, only one person showed up. After that show we were like, ‘Wow, what are we gonna do?’ Everybody’s an artist here; everybody’s some kind of creative. So it was nervewracking, especially during that first year. You know, you’re trying to figure out, Do I need to get a part-time job, or can I make a living doing this….?” To strengthen bonds with the local theater community, Nikki began acting with other companies in Portland—and to sustain her stamina and cash flow, she got a few gigs teaching yoga. Meanwhile, Brian put in 60-hour workweeks at the church as Portland Playhouse’s creative director, poring over scripts, applying for grants, and helping manage the house day to day. With the help of executive director Michael, the pair’s efforts paid off, and their audience gradually grew to almost 100 each night.

The key, says Brian, is putting their audience on the spot. “We’re trying to really step away from the ‘consumer’ mentality of art that we’re barraged with in our regular lives—to ask the question, ‘who do we want our audience to be?’ Not just ‘who can we get to come to plays,’ but who are our audience, people we want to interact with? And the answer for me is, people who have an interest in being active participants in a question, an event, a story, a reaction to the story. It sort of just happened this way, but I believe in synchronicity…that our building used to be a church, and it’s still an open community space. It’s not a traditional theater, and so people have a different experience when they come to see a play here. When we put the audience on two sides, they’re seeing and hearing the play, but they’re also seeing and hearing each other. I think that increases the awareness that you’re an active participant in the event.” Challenging content like last season’s Iraq-vet drama Dying City and this season’s slave-trade odyssey Gem of the Ocean, also leaves audiences with plenty to chew over after the performance. “We find that after a show people like to hang out and talk,” says Brian. “We welcome that engagement.” (As if on cue, while they sit in the pews, a stranger wanders into the church foyer. “Can we help you?” Nikki asks. “Nah,” the man responds, “Just coolin’ off.”)

Unfortunately, as they enter their fourth season, audience interactions may be harder to host. In July, the Playhouse was suddenly (and they hope temporarily) asked to move its fall offerings offsite due to zoning concerns. Still, the Weavers are confident that their plan to produce six plays, mentor nine acting apprentices, and guide eight high schools through performances of Shakespeare’s Hamlet will go forward without a hitch. (“_Hamlet_ is a great fit for high school; all high schoolers feel like Hamlet,” Nikki half-jokes.) October’s Gem of the Ocean and December’s Angels in America will be performed at the World Trade Center. For other updates, the Portland Playhouse Website will keep us posted.

Meanwhile, the pair maintains a united front, even as their individual roles (like Nikki’s onstage necking) require them to divide and conquer. “I think in a relationship you’re supposed to think of lots of ways to keep the romance fresh,” Brian says, “so we try to use our work as artists to do that.”

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Charles Noble & Heather Blackburn

Extra notes and quotes from our fall arts edition’s classical couple.

Posted by: Anne Adams on Sep 01, 2011 at 05:55AM 0 Comments

“A lot of our neighbors ask us to rehearse with the windows open,” says Heather Blackburn, as she and husband Charles Noble share a post-practice snack of coffee and peach-blueberry pie. Indeed, one can only imagine that this couple, who adorn their front door with a bust of Tchaikovsky and regularly fill the noon air with symphony-quality song, make quite a welcome addition to their Raleigh Hills row house. Charles is a full-time violist with the Oregon Symphony, while Heather, a cellist, is a contractor who prefers another term: “I’m at large,” she says with a wink, confessing that between part-time teaching at the Community Center and the occasional gig with the Symphony or Pink Martini, “sometimes I stay home and watch bad TV.”

More often, the couple forms half of the Arnica String Quartet, which they jokingly describe as “a four-way marriage.” Alongside violinists Shin Young Kwon and Fumino Ando, they’re sprucing up selections from Benjamin Britten and Daniel Ott for a special in-town performance and a few dates in the Gorge and Astoria. For Charles and Heather, the quartet provides an escape—from the city limits, but also from the orchestral box. “Unlike the symphony, in the quartet it’s really up to us to decide what we want to say with a piece, and how we want to execute that musicianship,” says Charles.

“Heather is the brain of the quartet,” reports violinist Kwon, and Charles concurs: “She can hear, better than I can, how a piece is put together. And she just really lays down the bassline on the cello.” As her husband sings her praises, Heather jokingly throws up a devil-horns “rock on” symbol, but there’s more to the story: Heather’s intuitions in the quartet follow Charles to his day job at the symphony. “Your level of listening, and responding to what’s going on around you has to be so high in the quartet that…it makes you a better player in the orchestra as well, when you bring that experience to it. I think the best orchestras play kind of like giant chamber ensembles. I mean, there is a conductor—but if the conductor keeled over, most great orchestras could keep going and turn out a pretty good performance of whatever they’re doing, even if it was a really huge piece with lots of parts. Heather specifically will make me think twice about a piece, listen more carefully and appreciate it more. And even when I’m feeling jaded from putting in the hours at the symphony, she’s like, ‘Let’s read some chamber music!’ and it gets me back in the spirit.”

“Here’s your money,” Heather interjects, miming a conspicuous handoff while clearing the table.

“But seriously, she’s just so passionate about string quartet,” Charles adds. “That’s her reason for being.”

“True,” allows Heather, “I could survive by string quartet alone.”

Luckily, there’s also peach-blueberry pie.

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Tags: symphony