It’s been a pretty crazy couple of days. So crazy, in fact, that we’re going to dig right in here without too much pomp and circumstance. Contributors for these MFNW diaries include Casey Jarman, Michael Mannheimer, Aaron Mesh, Mark Stock, Jenny Booth, Rebecca Raber, Matthew Korfhage and AP Kryza.

MFNW Day 1: Wednesday 16th

8.45 pm @ 6th Avenue
Walking over to the opening MFNW show and the Roseland Grill is blaring out Fleet Foxes. I like to think they’re gearing everyone up for a night of instrumentals and harmonious singer/songwriters, does the city breathe Music Fest? JB

9 pm @ Rogue Brew Pub
Monsoon rains have cut power to many NW watering holes hence a lengthy walk to beer mecca. Festival goers wear their bands like friendship bracelets, showing off what appears to be a different weave or color specific to their own. If there is a god, Berbati’s has power. MS

Fences by Kyle Johnson

9 pm @ Berbati’s Pan
Not seen Portland Cello Project before and quite excited. They get their classical shiz on before breaking out Outkast’s “Hey Ya”, and it’s everything I’d hoped for. JB

Two main observations for the evening;
1) Girl Talk have been established as THE buzz band, the name being mentioned once every eleven seconds in the Berbati’s crowd, and the primary talk of the girls’ bathroom. Might be worth getting to the Roseland show in good time Thursday.
2) Will Kanye and Taylor Swift provide the fall-back stage banter for the whole fest? PCP and Damien Jurado get kudos for getting there first, though when Douglas Jenkins proclaimed, “no offence to Taylor Swift, but this is the best MFNW show ever!” I hear the woman behind me musing, “oh is Taylor Swift playing tonight? Cool I wonder where”. The tally begins. JB

Portland Cello Project by Ro Tam

9:23 pm @ Berbati’s
Why is no one drinking during yet?? Will keep an eye on this situation. PCP cover Norfolk & Western, Justin Powell pops up for singing duties, and the drumming numbers provide a great bit of pace. Opting for the high energy finish, the players go out on Britney Spears “Toxic”, approached in all due seriousness of course. JB

9.45 pm @ Berbati’s
Damien Jurado is tuning up, and I wonder what I meant when scrawling “miss u time ever” in my phone. Hm. At 9.50 pm could this be the first, and last, MFNW show to start early?? Jurado sits alone bathed in red light, sporting a focused scowl and some big Converse. I realize I must be so judgmental – did not expect such a burly man to come out with sensitive music. One girl in the front knows every single word and is grinning inanely, but for those of us not obsessive fans, it’s a tad hard to hear what he’s singing in that David Gray croon. The track I assume is “Over and Over” is awesome regardless. JB

Damien Jurado by Kyle Johnson

11 pm @ Berbati’s
Will Sheff ambles on stage and teaches us all a thing or two about how to engage an audience. Looking perfectly at home, he gets attention with a “ssh” and a sterling voice, despite the 23 hour journey he just took to get here. I manage to stick around for favorite “Unless It Kicks” before sneaking off, will be a hardcore weekend after all.
And yep, there’s already spew outside on the sidewalk. Day 1 complete. JB

Will Sheff

11:15 pm @ Berbati’s
Will Sheff is right, it’s a sweat lodge in here. I can taste the person next to me. Sheff’s up to his old, solitary self, playing a heartbroken rendition of “A Stone” and a piano-powered version of “For Real.” Sounds morbid, but it’s endearing to see him suffer. MS

12 am @ Berbati’s
I notice Portland Cello Project warming up backstage en route to the Pan’s bathroom. Sheff has already referenced one hilarious note he read off the stall years ago, one that lacked the ink to finish the job: “I F-ed your mother, now I’m a moth.” MS

MFNW Day 2: Thursday 17th
10:30 am @ Doug Fir
The Pains of Being Pure at Heart take the stage for their KEXP session to a surprisingly hearty early morning crowd. There are easily four times more people in this audience than at the last Tuesday night show I saw here, which either proves that these Brooklyn twee/noise-pop revivalists are draw enough for people to call in sick or we really do have an unemployment problem here in Oregon. RR

The Pains of Being Pure at Heart by Ro Tam

5:50 pm @ Wonder Ballroom:
Even though MFNW is notoriously well timed, Dr. Dog is twenty minutes late to take the stage. Their timing couldn’t have been better, however, as the crowd in the wonder has been slowly growing over the last half hour both in number and impatience. By the time the first chords of “Worst Trip” blare from the sound system, and the crowd suddenly presented with the very gift they have been denied, the energy level of the room raises to near epic levels.

Dr. Dog proceeds to put on a spirited hour long set, and the audience is eating up every minute of it. One can’t help but be completely grabbed by Dr. Dog with their high octane pop jams combined with harmonies that are at concurrently melodic and slightly discordant. The band is as tight and any group of musicians could possibly hope for, highlighting what is lacking in some of Portland’s own country-tinged pop bands. IR

6:55 pm @ Wonder Ballroom
Only in Portland does one struggle to find a parking spot for his bicycle. I’m three blocks from the entrance, where the members of Dr. Dog are sipping beer and not parking their bikes. If I sprint over, I’m a clingy, desperate fan. If I walk by casually, I’m playing it too cool. I’ll jog. MS

7:15 pm @ Wonder Ballroom
Hanging out in the VIP tent makes me feel special, though the free booze makes me feel even more special. IR

7:30 pm @ Wonder Ballroom
Apparently you need an AARP card to run security at a Musicfest pre-party. Greyhaired men checked VIP passes in polyester suits, and greyhaired men stood soberly by looking like everybody’s disappointed grandfather, scowling behind their mustaches. At the sponsored bar the tequila ran out first, then the whiskey, then the vodka, then the beer, and then we all drank wine that tasted like old underwear. Also, the tacos were Korean. Go figure. MK

8:20 @ Wonder Ballroom
I wander back into the venue to check out a couple of Helio Sequence songs. I am expecting the worst but just as I walk into the crowd, the boys launch into my favorite song, “(Square) Bubbles,” and the energy is in high gear. For a second I am 18 again listening to my favorite band, and all recent sins are forgiven. I leave after this one-song opus knowing it could get no better than what I just saw. Despite sub-par new release, that one song perfectly encapsulated the Helio Sequence of yore.

8:55 pm @ Doug Fir
Where is everyone? Mint Chicks are on in five minutes and this place is deserted. I wonder if this ever happens to them in New Zealand. There’s a drum set standing defiantly in the middle of the dancefloor, and the air con is icy cool. Oh here they come… JB

9:20 pm @ Doug Fir
Well Mint Chicks were pretty awesome, short, sharp and severe, but is that it? Twenty minutes? Any latecomers got a pretty bum deal. Most in awe of Paul Roper, who thrashed his drums like a ninja, while fending off hovering photographers left, right and centre. JB

9:22 pm @ Holocene
Local Natives’ five bandmates take turns on the two drum kits, hitting the beats in perfect synchronization. They sound like Fleet Foxes trying coke for the first time. AM

9:45 pm @ Burnside Bridge
Just passed the MFNW fun bus. I don’t think there was a single person on it. Kinda weird. CJ

Explosions in the Sky by Ro Tam

10 pm @ Captain Ankeny’s
We all were supposed to be elsewhere watching something or other, but there were patio tables and we could all smoke and drink at the same time and we couldn’t resist. MK

10 pm @ Doug Fir
Cymbals Eat Guitars take to the stage, one member sporting a jaunty green pixie hat. It’s an odd gig experience, as they lull you with faint melodies before smashing your head into a wall of noise. Relentlessly. My extensive research (talking to two people) yields that everyone is in agreement, lead man Joseph Ferocious pulls the most unfortunate faces as his guitar parts, err, climax. It’s quite distracting. We also notice that keyboardist Brian Hamilton has one arm in a sling, what a trouper. Unfortunately for CEG, in comparison to Mint Chicks this set seems to go on and on. I’m heading over to Girl Talk. JB

10:05 @ Ash Street Saloon
The Black Whales are perfect, and that is all that needs to be said. They are a great example of how one can clean up the garage rock sound while keeping the energy and spirit of the garage tradition. If I could bottle the sound of the Black Whales set on some magical spinning disc, I would take for it a cross-country road trip. IR

Cymbals Eat Guitars by Nick Albertson

Tu Fawning by Vivian Johnson

10:37 pm @ Dante’s
I’m standing in line outside the venue since they are already at capacity for We Were Promised Jetpacks. It’s just as well because from the doorway I can see frontman Adam Thompson strutting and fretting his hour upon the stage and, given the unusually tall crowd, this is the last thing I will actually “see” of their set. RR

Brother Reade by Arian Stevens

10:45 pm @ Crystal Ballroom
Explosions in the Sky has a very sexual formula to its songs. Start slow and melodic, teasing with intricate melodies, then build into a kinetic climax before closing the deal. The band’s audience follows suit, starting each song with rhythmic swaying before launching into a syncopated bouts of fist-pumping lunacy. When each song ends, everyone looks slightly decimated and in need of a cigarette. APK

10:55 pm @ Roseland
OMG it’s a military operation getting into this place! Been searched and harassed ten times now and made it upstairs to the bustling dancefloor. There’s a lot of lycra and neon, and anticipation. JB

10:58 pm @ Dante’s
Finally inside. The guy behind me remarks that Darren Lackie is “playing the shit outta those drums” during WWPJ’s best song “Keeping Warm.” With the band and the audience drenched in sweat, both the sentiment and the song couldn’t be truer. RR

11 pm @ Roseland
Girl Talk begins with a silent video of him being awesome on some really big festival stage. I’m skeptical – does he need evidence to confirm he’s any good? But I’m proved wrong as he amps up the excitement to breaking point, before throwing in a massive baseline and a carefully prepared stage invasion. We’re off. Toilet roll is strewn into the air in ribbons with some kind of genius hand-held device, weaving in and out of glittering confetti and a heaving mass of bounding bodies. There are too many cuts to name, spliced and diced in a way that would give iphone app Shazam a run for its money. Girl Talk knows how to tease the ripest fruit from any song before impatiently shooting off to something new. JB

Girl Talk clip by Justin Kent

Girl Talk by Kyle Johnson

11 pm @ Roseland
You ever been to Heldenplatz, in Vienna, in 1939, when Hitler rolled in to celebrate his annexation of Austria? This was like that, except it was more 1980’s white populist rock mashed with hip hop beats. I swear, if Girl Talk ever decides he hates somebody, they’re all gonna die, because these people would do whatever he wants. The mob was happy, not angry, but it was still somehow super violent. Watch out. MK

Girl Talk by Arian Stevens

11:36 pm @ Dante’s
Even though it is a million stifling degrees inside, two members of the Twilight Sad take the stage in cardigans. And isn’t that exactly what you want from your Scottish indie rockers? RR

11:38 @ Roseland
Taking a leak downstairs and the bathroom is shaking. I swear the ceiling is going to cave in on me. A funneled sea of sweaty, half-dressed party kids from the booming Girl Talk show above is going to crumble in; a screaming pile of day-glo and bodies will crush me before I can leave this urinal. CJ

11:45 pm @ Berbati’s Pan
Apologized to Joe for missing his excellent band Tu Fawning while shotgunning gin and tonics at Ankeny’s. I learned about opportunity cost already in Economics 101 in college, but still, I always hate to be reminded. MK

11:47 pm @ Dante’s
As if Twilight Sad needs any more rhythmic intensity, singer James Graham is now kneeling on the floor bashing away at Mark Devine’s cymbals with head-nodding abandon. People lump all these Scottish FatCat signees together, but seeing them play head-to-head like this highlights their differences. The Twilight Sad is definitely the loudest of the group and is much more expansive than their labelmates, creating silvery beds of noise for their spacious anthems. Or, in the words of my concert-going companion, “They are way more into pedals and noise and shit.” RR

11:48 pm @ Dante’s
Yeah, cry because you didn’t bring earplugs, you baby. Do you realize who the Twilight Sad is? I’ve been to hundreds—I think I tweeted thousands, but that might be pushing it—of shows over the years, and the only ones that were louder were Mogwai at the Crystal in, what, 2001 (got stranded next to the amp and actually thought my ears were bleeding) and My Bloody Valentine, obviously. And though my buddy Rob hinted at a possible mind-fuck noise jam at the end that never materialized, the Twilight Sad still blew my fucking mind. Seriously, these Scots killed it, taking U2’s anthemic push-and-pull and drowning it in a haze of swirling distortion and cheap booze. MM

11:49 pm @ Roseland
Girl Talk’s going heavy on the dubstep and it’s so like a grimy club night in Bristol, UK. Except there would be a riot if any night there was shutdown before 1 am. The energy of the young, lithe crowd is infectious, and I get the chance to dance to guilty pleasure Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It) at last. Also manage to avoid getting too much of everyone’s sweat on me, until it comes to herding through the doors at the end. Now I’m covered. JB

Derby by Jeff Walls

11:53 pm @ Roseland
Inside the Girl Talk show, Gregg Gillis’ jumbotron is displaying the concert highlights of Gregg Gillis. Outside the Girl Talk show, a thin guy in an Alabama shirt has been muscled out of the venue and pinned to the Burnside sidewalk by three security guards. His skinny jeans have somehow fallen to his ankles, and his modesty is only preserved by a pair of blue boxers. Within five minutes he’s back up, and loitering by the front doors. He admits to a reporter that he caused a ruckus onstage, and was promptly strongarmed outside. “You’ve already got me for everything I have,” he recalls thinking. “Now my pants are off.” AM

12 am @ Berbati’s Pan
Years and years since I last saw Dirty Three, and Jesus Christ, they’re still almost painfully intense. Warren didn’t hit the floor with the violin for his normal prostrate pyrotechnics, Jim White looked less suave than he did like a dirty old uncle, but damn, I almost cried. You know that one stoic tear Frodo cried when Gandalf went down with the Balrog? It was like that, but manly. I swear, I could feel the oldest of the old country deep in my chest. It’s rare, these days, to see anybody mean what they do as much as the Dirty Three do, and still find yourself so willing to believe instead of condescend. Once this is all over I’m dusting off my Horse Stories CD and putting the damn thing on repeat until I exorcise this ghost. MK

12:15 pm @ Holocene
My girlfriend has her first experience with Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes. Her impression of the shirtless hippie guru: “He looks like Michael Franti … if Michael Franti was a popular kid in high school.” APK

12: 25 am @ Voodoo Donut
Two drunk dudes, two drunk girls. “What’s the girliest, frutiest donut you have,” dude number one asks. “Probably this one. It’s called the gay bar,” server replies. “Hey, hey guys, I’m getting a donut called the gay bar!” dude explains to his drunken compatriots. Seems like the cock and balls would have been a better fit. CJ

12:36 am @ Berbati’s
Talkdemonic’s Kevin Robinson leans over mid-Dirty Three song. “God bless instrumental bands,” he says. “Especially the ones with strings,” I reply. CJ

12:37 pm @ Berbati’s Pan
“We’re all going to fucking heaven!” shouts Warren Ellis. The Dirty Three frontman is one quotable Aussie. “We’re Led Zeppelin without the lead singer,” he explains, attempting to justify the Three’s gratuitous violins. “This is a song about taking so much crystal meth that your brain feels like a shriveled-up testicle.” AM

12:40 am @ Dante’s
We are but one song into Frightened Rabbit’s energetic set—nice job opening with “The Modern Leper,” btw—and already some jackass in the crowd is calling for “Freebird.” FR frontman Scott Hutchison is good-natured about this terribly American concert-going rite of passage though. “Oh no,” he says. “Who is the ‘Freebird’ guy? He comes to all the shows.” RR

12.45 am @ Dante’s
Yay there’s another gig after Girl Talk, bring on Frightened Rabbit. Dante’s is packed to the rafters and the Scottish indie-rockers are on fine form. The gin haze is descending now though, and given I can see Messers Mannheimer, Mesh and Jarman all twittering away in a row, I feel pretty confident they’ve got you covered, over and out. JB

12:48 am @ Dante’s
Scott Hutchison tells a story of a woman who wrote him on Frightened Rabbit’s MySpace page to tell him that her boyfriend had played one of their songs for her and then proposed. He then dedicates “Old, Old Fashioned” to the couple, who happen to be in tonight’s audience, and adds that it is the only song in the band’s mostly bitter repertoire appropriate for people in love. RR

12:50 am @ Holocene
Edward Sharpe, prancing maniacally and shirtlessly to a packed crowd at Holocene, loves to preach the gospel of “Love Thy Neighbor” over a spaghetti western soundtrack. But the fraternity hippie standing near the doorway doesn’t seem to register the good will. The crowd is surging and swaying, and each time somebody bumps me into his dance space, he accuses me of intentionally harshing his mellow. His trash talk quickly turns from passive to aggressive to “what the fuck, bro?” Exacerbating the situation, I counteract the hostility by making orgasmic noises each time somebody bumps me into him and telling him I love going to shows and copping feels off strangers. He gets increasingly abrasive before being frightened off by a five-feet, one-inch of fury: my girlfriend, whose annoyed “are you kidding me” tirade results in a handshake and a peace treaty. APK

Five minutes later, during a particularly rousing song, he turns to the guy to his left and accuses him of intentionally bumping into him. APK

12:56 am @ Dante’s
No wonder Scott Hutchison looks so wan and sweaty. He apparently discovered how lackluster our Chinatown is and ate “some weird Chinese” before the show that he admits is making him sick. He says he’s worried his meal may “revisit” him during Frightened Rabbit’s set. RR

1 am @ China Town, walking home
The hunger for corn dog nuggets kicks in hardcore, and I know where to get them. But I don’t like going to strip clubs by myself. Really wishing MFNW had a Magic Gardens stage. CJ

1:30 am @ Dante’s
After three hours of non-stop Scottish bands I’m starting to get the hang of deciphering these brogues. Frightened Rabbit are called back onstage for an encore of “Keep Yourself Warm.” Who knew that lines like, “You won’t find love in a hole/ It takes more than fucking someone to keep yourself warm,” would be the fist-pumping audience sing-a-longs of the evening? I guess a lot of folks don’t want to go home alone tonight. RR

2 am @ the wide world
Met the first bachelorette of any bachelorette party, ever, who got angry upon being congratulated, and who frankly would rather have not been reminded. MK

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