I can’t say I was disappointed by the Builders’ performance. Although there were no outdoor antics, singer Ryan Sollee sounds just as warbly and expressive live as he does on the band’s self-titled album, and the band pulled a few stunts, like throwing maracas into the audience. It didn’t hurt, Portland, that you adored the band’s performance. I overheard one show-goer whisper in awe to another: “Did you know they can all play like 12 instruments?” You sang along to every song, paying especially close attention to “The Night, pt. 1.” When Sollee called out the song’s chorus, you responded back in kind, singing the lyrics “When the night!/Oh, the night!” as loud as you could.

And maybe it was your fault that the Walkmen seemed dull by comparison. Even though the out-of-town band is more successful (having performed on the O.C and sold a few songs for use in TV commercials), you, Portland, were not as excited as these indie-rockers as you were by the funeral-rock of the Builders. Even though Walkmen lead singer Hamilton Leithauser is kind of a dreamboat, you weren’t wooed or seduced by his throaty vocals. You seemed unimpressed by the band’s polished-but-distorted sound.

The funny thing is, Portland, I walked away from the show loving the Builders more than I loved the Walkmen—even though I didn’t feel that way before the show started, and even though, in all honesty, the Walkmen are a tighter-sounding band when it comes to live performances. An example: A few times during his performance, Sollee from the Builders’ lifted a megaphone to his mic and sang through it, hoping to create the same hollow, echo-y effect he pulls off on the album, but the megaphone failed to alter his voice at all. The Walkmen had no noticeable hiccups: The live songs were symphony-inspired, with no holes or gaps in their structure. The band shifted seamlessly between tracks, sounding like a complete unit, rather than five musicians just messing around on stage.

But no one noticed the Walkmen’s expertise that night, Portland. If crowd responses were record sales, the Builders were certified platinum and the Walkmen tanked. You nearly worshiped the Builders, dancing during each song and hollering afterward. The Walkmen’s crowd—although tighter-packed in the Doug Fir basement—stood still, offering only applause in appreciation. I couldn’t help but the love Builders more: How could anyone question the success and skill of a band that so many people cheered for, sang along with, and danced to?

That’s one lesson you’ve undoubtedly taught me, Portland: Love thy musical neighbor. It’s what I’ll miss most about you when I leave you this weekend, moving north to a small town on the Washington coast for a reporting job on a weekly paper. If you asked me today, I’d unquestionably tell you that your music is the best music in the country—that no city beats Portland when it comes producing new bands. But honestly, that statement is influenced by knowing those musicians personally—some of them as friends, some as co-workers, some I’ve interviewed—and by the crowds that fill this city’s clubs and bars every weeknight. In the past five years I’ve lived here, Portland, I know that you would rather see your hometown heroes play at the Doug Fir than a big-name touring band at the Roseland.

So this will be my last letter to you, at least for now. I’m terrible at goodbyes, so I’d rather just put the Builders and the Butchers album in my car stereo and drive north on 1-5, with memories of that last show still ringing in my ears.

Picture taken with my camera phone at the Builders and the Butchers show at the Doug Fir on Nov. 15.

Links:
The Builders and the Butchers at MySpace
The Walkmen at MySpace

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1. The Sixth Man The Builde
2. The Builders and the Butchers Hit NPR, Shoot a Video, Etc. The folks
3. PDX Pop Now Adds James Mercer To Benefit Show Big news o

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It’s a question I can’t really answer myself, because I have to admit that, until yesterday, I’d never sold CDs in this town. In the past five years, I’ve only accumulated more and more CDs without getting rid of any. I would say I had about 200 CDs in my collection when I first moved here, and as of yesterday I had somewhere in the area of 350.

I’m not bragging, Portland; if anything, I’m a little embarrassed by my musical stock. For one, I started that collection when I was 16 and living in southern California. This means most of my music doesn’t fit with this town’s whole musical paradigm: Very little of it is local, since I only started collecting Portland-area music earlier this year. Most of my music is nostalgic for the time I spent working in a record store during my late teens. Back then, Portland, I was a voracious collector: Anything within the punk/emo/hardcore genres was fair game, since I often got free promotional copies of CDs and I could buy whatever I wanted at a 40% discount.

So, when I dragged myself to Everyday Music to sell 60 of my least-favorite discs, I was not expecting much, Portland. I assumed I might sell 20 or 30 of them, maybe get $2 each, and walk out with $50. Needless to say, I was surprised when the girl behind the counter offered to take them all—but for the low, low price of $33. (My math isn’t great, but I figure that’s about 50 cents per CD.)

I don’t blame Everyday Music for my less-than-exceptional profits. From what I’ve heard, that store is the best place in town to sell music; they will buy pretty much anything and everything. This means, Portland, that I have only you to blame. Apparently, there’s just no market in this town for my former musical tastes.

Honestly, Portland, is the emo, hardcore and punk music I once loved that worthless to you? I understand that local music—something my for-sale collection was admittedly lacking—is a big thing here. In fact, it’s something I greatly admire and respect about you, Portland: You love and nurture your artists. But does that mean there’s no music from outside this fair city you’d pay a least one dollar for? Yes, admittedly, my non-Portland music wasn’t anything special. I can name a few CDs that weren’t worth much: San Diego emocore band A Beautiful Mistake’s debut album Light a Match, For I Deserve to Burn; Boston hardcore outfit Reach the Sky’s 1999 release So Far From Home; or even Madonna’s Immaculate Collection, Vol. 1.

But there were other CDs I thought you would appreciate, Portland. What about riot grrl bands like Bangs or Bratmobile, who were both once signed to Olympia’s Kill Rock Stars? What about some of my punk staples like …And Out Come the Wolves by Rancid? And I know not all of my emo CDs were worthless, Portland, as only two hours later, while selling most of my wardrobe at Buffalo Exchange, I spied an employee wearing a Saves the Day pin on his T-shirt. This proves I’m not the only Portlander who once loved (or in this Buffalo Exchange employee’s case, still loves) New Jersey’s punk-meets-emo heroes.

Yes, I am grateful for my $33, Portland. It’s more money than I had before I left the house yesterday. But I’d be happier to know that there was room in this town for my teenage musical taste. We may have a great music scene now, Portland, but everyone has to got to start somewhere (and we can’t always credit Elliott Smith or Dead Moon or even Sleater-Kinney for inspiring every good band we’ve seen in the last few years). Everythone out there owns embarrassing music, be it a John Denver record or a Reel Big Fish CD or a Blink-182 cassette. Sometimes we’ll try to make a few bucks off our poor taste, but it’s important to remember where we came from–even if it’s southern California.

Random internet image taken from here.

Links:
All about emo
Everyday Music

Related posts:

1. Photo Review: Andrew Bird and Loney Dear, Saturday, Feb. 21 @ Roseland Andrew Bir
2. Reviews: James Low And Dear Nora James Low
3. Strangers Die Everyday, “Bicycle,” Aperture For Departure (This Generation Tapes) Not too lo

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It seemed like I couldn’t get away from you, Dan, no matter who in the Portland scene I talked to. But I managed to put you out of mind temporarily—that is, until I found a CD of yours here at the Willamette Week office.

At first, Dan, I thought this copy of Dan deVriend and His Fabulous Playboys I stumbled across was a new release. I was excited to see you were making new music, because I’d heard so much about you. I was even more excited once I put the album in my stereo—I immediately loved it. Imagine my disappointment, Dan, when I googled the album name: I learned from the Jealous Butcher Records website it was not only an old album (released around 2000) but was out of print.

I started searching for any other music you’d made, Dan, hoping you were still alive and well in the Portland scene. I learned you played in melodic punk band Bisybackson, and then in the emo-esque Made For Tv Movie until 2003.

Then I tried to hunt you down, Dan, by using that great social networking website that is MySpace. I sent a message to Bisybackson’s MySpace page looking for you, who told me this:

Hi Paige,
Bisybackson has indeed broken up. Made for… was Dan’s project after that, but they too broke up in or around ‘03. If you need info on or music by either band I can help you.
Take care.

This provided me with nothing I did not already know, Dan. I then looked through Bisybackson’s friends, where I found what I believed to be your MySpace page. I then sent you a message, to see if you were who I thought you were, and you sent me this back:

Hi Paige, I have moved to LA, but am thinking about moving back to portland every day… I am making a little bit of stuff by myself.

And then you linked me to Giant Baby, the last band you played in before leaving Portland in 2005. This may be my favorite of all your bands: Giant Baby ranges from distorted 90’s-inspired indie rock songs (in the vein of Jawbreaker and other Bay Area bands) like “Pasqual” to hardcore-punk songs (in the vein of 7 Seconds) like “Last Guy in the Knife Store.”

I’m sorry that I had to track you down, Dan, but you were stuck in my head like the lyrics to Pearl Jam’s Yellow Ledbetter: I couldn’t quite figure out what was going on, but I was going to keep thinking about you until I figured it out. When it comes your music—especially your solo album And His Fabulous Playboys—it all sounds so new, so fresh, even though it was released years ago. I’m glad to see your new solo work in L.A. is like the first album of yours I discovered: Enticing songs with ambient music and haunting vocals.

So good luck in L.A, Dan, and keep making music. But Portland—or at least I—am looking forward to your return.

Image from Dan’s Myspace page.

Links:
Bisybackson at MySpace
Dan deVriend at Myspace
Jealous Butcher records
One of the only things on the internet I could find with information about Made for TV Movie
Giant Baby at MySpace

Related posts:

1. Photo Review: Andrew Bird and Loney Dear, Saturday, Feb. 21 @ Roseland Andrew Bir
2. Reviews: James Low And Dear Nora James Low
3. Inside Voices, “It Happened Without Expectation,” Unreleased After hear

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On October 10, 2007 The Gossip sent Siren Nation an email via their manager stating their intent to cancel their contracted performance at Siren Nation in order to perform in Europe.

There was one benefit to your decision, Beth: Queercore icons Team Dresch stepped in to take the Gossip’s place, giving Portland a rare chance to see the recently-reunited hometown band. But the costs of your decision were greater than the benefits. For one, the Siren Nation fliers were printed and hung before you pulled out, meaning that the Gossip was incorrectly listed as the headlining band in storefront windows and on telephone poles all across town. This also means Team Dresch did not get all the publicity they deserved as the headlining band.

But what’s most upsetting, Beth, is the message you sent to your fans. By pulling out of Siren Nation, you made it seem like playing a hometown show at a women-centered festival just wasn’t that important to you.

You might wonder, Beth, why I’m focusing my disappointment on you, and not on your bandmates, guitarist-bassist Brace Paine and drummer Hannah Billie. There are two reasons: First, Siren Nation celebrates female-fronted bands, meaning that without your presence at the festival, the Gossip would not be permitted to perform. Second—and most importantly—you’re the mouthpiece for the Gossip, in more ways than one. Not only do your trademark throaty vocals make your band stand out in a sea of three-piece punk bands, but you’re constantly touting your feminist beliefs and expressing pride in being a strong, lesbian woman. According to CNN, you’ve even described yourself as a “fat, feminist lesbian.”

Beth, whenever you’re interviewed you make it clear that your political stance is as important to you as your music. You showed Pop Matters the power of female-fronted bands when you rhetorically asked, “How many indie rock bands aren’t straight white boys? And what do they have to be pissed about in this country? Nothing. And that’s the truth.” People who have followed your career recognize your impact, too. Deputy Editor of NME Krissi Murison told the Guardian: “The refreshing thing about Beth is that she actually stands for something…She’s one of the first really talented lesbian musicians that we’ve seen for some time.”

What kind of message do you think it sends, Beth, when you pull out a festival that claims its mission “is to inspire and empower women and girls through art and education”—especially when that festival is held in the city you now call home? It’s confusing to your fans that you won’t play in-store concerts at British clothing chain Topshop because they don’t make clothes in your size, but you’ll tour Europe instead of playing a feminist event in Portland. It not only contradicts your message, but it makes it seem like your hometown fans come second.

And yes, Beth, I understand you’re new to Portland, so maybe you don’t feel connected to this place yet. You rarely mention Portland in interviews, instead focusing on your experiences growing up in Arkansas and living in Olympia, Wash. (I am glad to see that the Gossip’s MySpace and Wikipedia pages name Portland as your place of residence.) But Siren Nation didn’t only feature Portland bands—it focused on female-fronted from the Pacific Northwest. While the Gossip formed in Arkansas, you’ve repped Olympia on number occasions. You told Pop Matters: “Gossip is becoming the band that people look up to like I looked up to Sleater-Kinney when I moved to Olympia. Not that they’re so old, but they’re so prestigious…You can’t be from Olympia and not be into Sleater-Kinney.”

While I was upset you would shirk your female PacNW fans to tour Europe, the icing on the hypocritical cake for me was reading this sentence on your MySpace page: “We have played festivals infront of thousands and basement shows for five people (the latter being our personal favorite).” If this is really how you feel, Beth—if this is really what the Gossip is all about—then why bail on a smaller show in Portland at the Wonder Ballroom to play several shows in Europe, where your band is more well-known and potentially draws a larger crowd?

I can’t answer that question for you, Beth. I can’t figure out why you’d forfeit headlining a festival that advocates the political messages–like female empowerment and transgender equality–that you’ve so strongly announced your support for.

But I can tell you this: Actions speak louder than words.

Links:
The Gossip at MySpace
The Gossip’s official website (which is based in the UK)
PopMatters interview with Beth from last year
PopMatters interview with Beth from this year
Guardian article about Beth

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Event: Rererato Halloween Party
“At Dusk + Please Step Out of the Vehicle + Bodhi + Dr. Something & The Poppin’ Fresh Love Engines”
Host: Rererato
What: Holiday Party
When: Wednesday, October 31 at 7:00pm

[Picture is copyrighted material used by permission from American Apparel.]

I was all set to attend the At Dusk show until I read the last line of the invitation: “Wednesday, October 31.” Portland, you will probably call me a killjoy for writing this, but Oct. 31 is the one day of the year when I don’t socialize. That night, I’d rather sit at home than see live music, drink alcohol or hang out with my friends.

The truth is, Portland, I don’t do Halloween.

This statement must seem like an anathema to you, because Halloween is a big deal in this city. There are haunted houses—ones where people have to pay to be scared. There are Halloween-themed concerts, like the At Dusk show. There was even a group of twentysomethings decked out in costumes walking around downtown on Friday night, five days before Halloween. There was almost no one at Putter’s, a neighborhood bar on SE Woodstock Blvd., where I was drinking on Saturday night. The bartender informed me that such slow business is typical the weekend before Halloween, when Portlanders are at parties. When the bar did start to fill up around at half past midnight, most of patrons were in costume.

Maybe it was all that drinking at Putter’s, but I thought I’d give Halloween another chance this year. At first I thought I’d go simple, maybe just paint some fake blood on myself, draw dark circles around my eyes and tell people I was a zombie. Honestly, Portland, I’ve never been creative with Halloween costumes: The last time I dressed up was six years ago, when I wore a white sheet and told people I was a ghost.

So I tried to get inventive by taking the zombie thing one step further. The best idea I could come up with was to wear my tightest black pants, an old ripped white t-shirt with my favorite Clash pin tacked over my heart, and a pair of long-ago retired blue Chuck Taylors. I’d throw on 20 bracelets and slap on too much eyeliner; then I’d paint myself with fake blood and bruises. The finishing touch: A sign hanging around my neck that read “1977.” When people asked what I was dressed as, I’d say, “I’m the death of punk rock.”

A terrible idea, Portland, I know, which is why I’ll shy away from Halloween again this year. But I don’t like Oct. 31 for two other reasons: First, it’s the anniversary of the day I got braces at age 13, rendering me unable to eat candy for virtually all of the eighth grade; and second, I am admittedly offended that nearly every Halloween costume for women has replaced the element of horror with “whore.”

But frankly, Portland, my distaste for Halloween is tied to my distaste for dressing up. I realized when I was inventing my “Punk is Dead” attire that I had basically re-created the same outfit I wore for several years, back when I fancied myself punk rock. Everyday in high school I dressed myself to the nines: The most ridiculous fashion statement I made was wearing very tight pants with no belt loops but insisting on hanging two studded belts around my hips anyway.

I’m tired of costumes all together, whether it’s getting dressed in the morning or once a year for Halloween. I gave my last pair of plaid pants to Goodwill some four years ago, right around the same time I decided to stop dying my hair jet black and putting band patches on the messenger bag I’d purchased from an army surplus store. But I get the feeling, Portland, that you don’t feel the same way. Everyday you are dressed up with no holiday in sight. I see hipsters in unconscionably tight pants and ripped up Chuck Taylors that can’t possibly keep out the rain. I pass by crust punks panhandling in camouflage pants and studded belts, their Napalm Death t-shirts strategically ripped and smelly. I’ve even spotted hippies with perfectly-sized and -maintained dreadlocks, so neat and clean that they must have been styled by a trained professional, not grown for several years as a symbol of protest.

I’m sure, Portland, that some of you wear faded Dead Moons t-shirts because you really love the band, and I’d like to think that I maintained my punk rock costume for so many years because I felt more comfortable dressing that way or because I was making some statement by wearing my musical tastes like a suit of armor. But sometimes I know I got all decked out just to be accepted within a sub-culture, even when I was tired of the uniform.

And I suspect, Portland, that someday you will tire of dressing up, too. So here’s my crazy idea for Halloween: Go as yourself. Don’t worry if you’ve slicked the perfect Bumble and bumble wax in your fashion mullet. Try wearing some underwear with those used and ripped Dolce & Gabbana jeans. You might just like how it feels.

Picture taken from the American Apparel Costume Builder. I think it’s supposed to be Shaggy from the Scooby-Doo cartoons.

Links:
American Apparel costume builder
At Dusk at MySpace

Related posts:

1. At Dusk Thursday, July 2 Pulling a
2. Reviews: James Low And Dear Nora James Low
3. Photo Review: Andrew Bird and Loney Dear, Saturday, Feb. 21 @ Roseland Andrew Bir

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Portland, did I somehow miss the Elliott Smith tribute show this week? Maybe it surprises you that I’m asking this question. Maybe you are thinking, “Why should there be a tribute show? Any special reason?” Maybe a great show did happen, where Portland musicians sang songs off Roman Candle and remembered the man who wrote his best songs in (and about) our city—and I just didn’t know it was going on. Maybe, Portland, you didn’t know about it, either. Hopefully, we were all just oblivious to an event that actually happened.

I started wondering about this a week ago, when I learned that Spokane was having a tribute show and I couldn’t quite figure out why. This turned out to be a highly coincidental discovery, Portland, as on Saturday morning the CD player in my car broke, making it impossible for me to eject the most recent CD I’d put in. It was Smith’s Either/Or, and I listened to it four times before I had to turn off my stereo. Later that day, I did some googling, and I learned that Walla Walla, Wash., was also holding a tribute show. I was informed of this by a comment on a MySpace page devoted to Smith’s memory:

Oct 12, 2007 11:27 AM
Subject: elliott smith tribute/ benefit show!!
Body: Oct 10, 2007 4:20 PM
Subject: Elliott Smith 3rd annual tribute show
Body: Hey there friends! I’m doing an Elliott Smith tribute nite in Walla Walla.

When? October 20th 8:pm till late.

Where? Grapefields 4 E. main st. Walla Walla, Wa

What? Elliott Smith tribute show with all proceeds going to the outside/in foundation in Portland Oregon.

Are you surprised that you forgot all about Oct. 21, too? I’m being presumptuous, Portland; I apologize. Maybe you didn’t forget. It’s possible that you remembered, even felt a little sad about it, but you probably didn’t talk about it with anyone. You probably just thought of Sunday as one more day, marking more one more year since Smith died. And I know, Portland, that you’ve done so much to keep his memory alive, from helping to release two posthumous albums (From A Basement on A Hill and New Moon) and installing a plaque at Smith’s high school, Lincoln High. I realize that LocalCut and Willamette Week have written many things about his memory—the most recent being just five months ago.

But I think, Portland, we should all feel a little bit little guilty that Walla Walla and Spokane brought musicians together to pay their respects but we—the city where Smith cut his musical teeth—just let the day go by. It’s a big month for Smith’s memory, too: Just last week, pitchfork.com reported that Smith’s former live-in girlfriend, Jennifer Chiba, lost a court case that would have given her 15% of Smith’s earnings as his “manager.” Later this month, a photo book compiled by Autumn De Wilde will be released through Chronicle Books. And we’ve let it pass without much reaction.

I’d like to feel, Portland, that Smith is so much a part of us—sneaking his influence into our songwriters, his rarely-smiling face still pictured driving up and down SE Division Street—that we don’t need a tribute to remember him. But as sad as I am that Smith is gone, I’m a little more heartbroken that it feels like this city is slowly letting him go.

Links:
Pitchfork story about Chiba
Pre-order the new photo book at Powell’s
One of many “Elliott Smith” MySpace pages

Related posts:

1. Elliott Smith Died Six Years Ago Today I hate to
2. Photo Review: Andrew Bird and Loney Dear, Saturday, Feb. 21 @ Roseland Andrew Bir
3. Boy Eats Drum Machine: How To Miss a Deer (Spokane, WA to Bozeman, MT) Every once

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My relationship with dance is a long and sordid one that began nearly two decades ago in a southern California elementary school. (If you could have seen me then, Portland, you would understand why your moves intimidate me so.) Dressed in parachute pants and a puffy-painted shift, I danced in the first-grade talent show to MC Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This.” My running-man and Roger Rabbit were dead on, but since then, I can’t say I’ve learned much more in the art of dance.

Growing up in Orange County, California, I drew my next set of moves from the circle pit, learning how to shove people and wave my fist in the air. Later, I built my movement repertoire from the straight-edge hardcore scene. Between the RAAHHHHHS and ROOOOOOS of tattooed, make-up wearing bands, I learned the Posi-Stomp (which involves an unattractive squat, alternately stomping your feet, and punching the air in front of you), and Picking Up Change (bending over and rhythmically grabbing at invisible quarters). I spent my Sunday nights dancing at an 18-and-over club in Hollywood unimaginatively named “Beat It,” which—you guessed it, Portland—played 80’s tunes. I stole my moves from that scene in The Breakfast Club where a stoned Molly Ringwald spastically dances on a staircase landing.

Unfortunately for me, Portland, my moves don’t fit in here. See, the moves I learned in California were about getting noticed: Stomping meant I was the most hardcore; standing on stage, gyrating to “Cradle of Love” in front of other sweaty, under-age kids meant I was accepted and part of the scene.

So why don’t I dance here, Portland? Why have I never braved Lola’s Room or the Fez Ballroom, willing to–I believe the phrase is–”shake what my mama gave me”? Well, I quickly learned that dancing here is not about being seen (or scene): It’s about the music and how it moves you. The first time I saw you shake it was four years ago, at the Les Savy Fav and the Faint show at the Crystal Ballroom. You were jumping around, rubbing against people you didn’t know—and, to be honest, Portland, you weren’t a very good dancer. You didn’t care if you were off-beat or soaked in sweat, your black shaggy hair plastered to the side of your face and your white v-neck clinging to your jiggly beer belly. You liked the music, damn it—and even if I was staring in disbelief, you were still going to dance.

Since then, I’ve watched you get down when simple pop band Sounds Like Fun played at Voodoo Donuts and at a house show in NoPo, where the Shaky Hands jingle-jangled. Your moves are always the same—there’s a lot of shaking, a little skip in your Chuck Taylors and sometimes your head is down, watching your feet. But you’re always into it—if you’re dancing, Portland, it’s a conscious effort. There’s no blank-faced, spiritless movements here.

And when I saw you dancing at the Maritime show Saturday night at the Towne Lounge, you were in full swing. With only 20 people in the audience, you were completely uninhibited, shaking everything you had in some startling combination of the pogo and the Monkey. You weren’t trying to be cool, Portland; I think it probably hurts your moves if you’re too interested in impressing. Even Maritime lead singer Davey Von Bohlen was awkward, standing pigeon-toed while he shook his legs.

Portland, on Saturday, you inspired me to dance like you do. It wasn’t much too look at—I still had a camera in one hand and a purse in the other, but I stood in one place, bobbing my head, tapping my feet and even moving my shoulders to the music. It was relief to dance how I wanted to, and not because I knew someone was watching. What I’m really trying to do here, Portland, is thank you. Maybe next time, I’ll be brave enough to let loose, put down my camera and purse, and actually dance. Just promise me you won’t watch.

(Here’s the Molly Ringwald dance I so often attempt to replicate. Watch the boots.)

Click here to view the embedded video.

Picture of Davey Von Bohlen’s dancing feet by Paige Richmond.

Links:
Definition of “Hipster Dancing”
How to dance like a hardcore kid

Related posts:

1. Live Review: David Byrne, Tuesday, June 23 @ the Schnitz After near
2. The New Beat Portland
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I also know that cigarettes smell bad and that irresponsible people litter the gutters and streets outside the Towne Lounge and Dante’s with their cigarette butts. For these and countless other reasons, Oregon, I understand why you decreed that I can no longer smoke in your bars come January 2009.

But I think you are wrong, Oregon, and Portland’s live music is going to suffer for your mistake.

Before I tell you why, I must confess that I have been less than faithful to you lately. Forgive me, but I attended a live music show in Seattle last week. It wasn’t very good, even though a Portland-affiliated musician—one-time violinist for the Decemberists, Petra Hayden—played the show. She performed with Greg Dulli, former singer-guitarist of Afghan Whigs and current singer-songwriter of the Twilight Singers. The show was filled with Dulli’s silver-tongued lyrics and tortured guitar, but it lacked one important element: A cigarette dangling from Dulli’s lips.

What is Greg Dulli without the gratuitous cigarette breaks that color his live performances? Still a great songwriter, still a troubled soul—but his performance lacked something in that smoke-free, terribly clean Seattle venue, something that I can only describe as a real connection to his audience. But I do blame Dulli for this, Oregon? No, I blame Seattle, Wash., for banning smoking in bars, restaurants and venues.

Oregon, you must learn from Seattle’s fate before it becomes your own. Has the no-smoking policy at the Doug Fir, Someday Lounge or even Berbati’s taught you nothing? I’m no expert on concert demographics, Oregon, but there’s a difference between the show-goers at the Doug Fir and those at the Towne Lounge (and it’s not just the tightness of their pants). Non-smokers who brave smoke-filled venues are die-hard music fans are willing to risk life and lung to see a band they love. Once a venue goes smoke-free, non-smokers with no interest in what bands are playing will happily saunter into the venue’s clean air for drinks or dates.

The crowd at the Doug Fir—older, cleaner, and better-dressed than the nicotine-addicted twentysomethings at the Towne Lounge—will be the crowd everywhere. Oregon, I am predicting that because of your ban, Portland’s music lovers will be unable to enjoy their whiskey and Starfucker without overhearing some good-smelling couple talking about the latest episode of CBS’s emmy-winning drama Brothers and Sisters. Now that their clothes, hair and lungs will be smoke-free, nothing will keep these people away from our beloved musical havens.

Oregon, I hate to contend that music and smoking go hand in hand, but some songs just aren’t the same without a cigarette. Tell me you don’t feel compelled to smoke when Dolorean’s Al James sings anything off their latest album You Can’t Win. Would beloved Portland bands like The Shaky Hands, Modernstate, or Dead Moon sound the same without the musical fuel that tobacco provides?

Believe me, Oregon, I am not proposing that we all should form a pack-a-day habit to encourage musical creativity. But I when I think of Portland’s bars going smoke-free, I am reminded of a show I saw four years ago at Berbati’s, back before the bar jumped on the smokeless bandwagon. Brooklyn-based emo-rock band Jets to Brazil came through town for the first time in years, and I was front and center for the show. The last song of the night was “Sweet Avenue,” and frontman Blake Schwarzenbach sang, “This cigarette it could seduce/ a nation with it smoke/ crawling down my tired throat/ scratches part of me that’s purring/ softly stirring.” Standing there in a hazy, smoke-filled Berbati’s, taking a drag off my own Camel, I knew exactly what those lyrics meant.

It wouldn’t have been the same without that smoke, Oregon. And neither will you.

Image by Chad Crowe.

Links
More info on Oregon’s smoking ban
The aforementioned ANTM episode
List of famous smokers

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Wikipedia, you know nothing about Portland’s music scene. I mean, I understand you are not the expert source on pop culture that I like to believe you are, since pretty much anyone can edit you and pay no consequences for falsifying information. But something needs to be done about your understanding of Portland music.

Let’s just start with what you know about Oregon’s music in general. Here are the first two sentences from your article about the “Music of Oregon,” since you clearly have not read them yourself:

Oregon’s music scene is most active in Portland, Roseburg, and the college town of Eugene. Popular music genres in Oregon range from hardcore punk to disco music.

Even if I overlook your mention of Roseburg and disco as “active” and “popular” in Oregon’s music scene, I cannot overlook you overlooking independent music in the article. You don’t even mention Portland’s scene, instead focusing on Salem (!!) and Eugene.

And what do I find when I search you for “Portland Music?” Nothing. You don’t even have an article about Portland’s music scene. And in your article about Portland itself, you don’t even have a section about music. But you offer this as consolation:

Portland is also considered a haven for punk, hardcore, and anarchist movements and subgenres, including the self-reliant DIY culture movement that has been part of the aforementioned subcultures.

It has produced many artists of significant impact within their respective fields, including musicians and musical groups Poison Idea, The Dandy Warhols, Everclear, Pink Martini, The Shins, Viva Voce, Elliott Smith, Lifesavas, and The Decemberists; animator Matt Groening; filmmaker Gus Van Sant; and authors Beverly Cleary, Katherine Dunn, Ursula K. Le Guin, and Chuck Palahniuk.

Shame on you, Wikipedia, for lumping Portland’s musicians in with our authors and filmmakers. Yes, our arts scene is burgeoning and diverse, but our music scene deserves some recognition separate from all other art. We’ve got some of the best new songwriters in the country, like Laura Gibson—wait, what’s that? Laura Gibson doesn’t have a Wikipedia page? And the article on the Gossip’s Beth Ditto doesn’t even mention she lives here? And the article on Kyle Field’s band Little Wings—who just released an album on Marriage Records imprint Rad Records—is only one line long?

Maybe I am being to hard on you, Wikipedia. Your page on The Decemberists’ Colin Meloy seems accurate, albeit brief. So, maybe you are not to blame. Maybe Portland music fans are resting on their laurels, hoping that some other indie-rocker will update the article on husband-and-wife team Viva Voce (which currently has no references and is one long, rambling paragraph).

So, I have decided to do you a favor, Wikipedia. I am asking anyone proud of the Portland scene (myself and all other Portland music critics included) to create an article about us. Even Denver, Colo. has one; why don’t we? I’m urging those same people to update the articles about their favorite bands, or create new articles for the local bands that deserve but don’t have them yet.

We’ll show you, Wikipedia: Portland is a musical force to be reckoned with. Just you wait and see.

Links (to Wikipedia pages in need of improvement):
Music of Oregon
Portland, Oregon
Beth Ditto
Little Wings
Viva Voce

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