It must be frustrating for bands that are bigger over seas than in the States. That come down (I imagine) is hard. YOTS has the same problem. Once we get out of the gutter, things get ignorant. We all have our place, whether we understand it or not. Band of Skulls opens up for The Black Keys in Europe and we get them in ultra-small Dante’s.

In a pathetic and vain stab at credibility….we’ve been to all 5 Band of Skulls shows in Portland. Yes, even the free one with like 15 people at Lola’s room where that one old kooky lady babbled nonsense at me incessantly. God damn she was nuts. One of those people who drop first names of people like you know them personally. I still regret missing my opportunity to ask her how it feels to be batshit crazy in a peasant dress. No doubt, she wasn’t wearing underwear.

Here’s what’s up.

The PDX Band of Skulls crowd is getting way weirder. Eclectic. But not in a crazy lady in screwy fashion way. More like. One the slow come up. Last time we saw them at Dante’s, we walked up to the front row cause we were the only ones there. Now? Show’s sold out. But….we’re still close to the rail.

Where this band is getting traction from is obvious. The demographic is people with a certain amount of cash and a scattershot aesthetic and age demographic. Daylight suit and tie-rs to 80′s big hair comb over (in any lighting) type rockers. We saw a MFNW hard core there. One of those show people you recognize by sight but never talked to in the real. So the show junkies are catching on. Crowd is all over the map.

One thing is dead certain. The crowd is skewed more older than the usual rock and roll club ride. For a band two albums in, especially.

None of this is bad re: BoS. I firmly believe in this day and age that any rock band that can draw a diverse crowd will win the day…while everyone plays to the niche. And Band of Skulls is destined to headline arena sized crowds. On some continent. In the US, the death of any kind of “hard rock” format is no doubt hurting them. That crowd would word-of-mouth this act like crazy. On indie format? Harder. The indie snob cool checklist is too incomplete. In a way they are building a fan base. To put in stock terms, they are building up a point of resistance for themselves.

Enough. Let’s do this.

Set list:
Sweet Sour
Lies
Patterns
Fires
Bruises
Wanderluster
Cold Fame
Bomb
Blood
Lay My Head Down
Hollywood Bowl
I Know What I Am
You’re Not Pretty But You Got It Goin’ On
Light Of The Morning
Death By Diamonds And Pearls
—–Encore
The Devil Takes Care Of His Own
Impossible
This band is getting serious. Matt Hayward’s fills are getting more and more unexpected and cool. “Lies” blew me away. I just grooved the rhythm the whole song. Love. Live mix blew the recording away.

Emma (bass) and Russell’s melodies are dead on. And Russell’s openings, solos, and distortion choices are rolling the kind of showmanship that’s a hallmark of real playing. Practice. Live roadwork. Not just flash. His selection of Gretsch guitars would draw envy in any crowd. Voice. Harmonies. Showmanship. Rhythm. Timing? All rock and roll. Coke and tonic, dirty countertop aftershock type shit.

In uptempo blues-riff-rock terms? The setlist is jammed. Sweat it out. “Sweet Sour”, “The Devil Takes Care Of His Own”, “You’re Not Pretty But You Got It Goin’ On”, “Light Of The Morning”, “Death By Diamonds And Pearls”, “I Know What I Am”, “Patterns”, and “Hollywood Bowl” are all there. As a setlist goes, this was just crack. Couldn’t ask for anything more, really.

I know the show went clean on ticket sales, but this place is way too small to hold this type of rock. Demands a bigger stage. And trust me, we don’t root for that. Almost ever. As wanker as it sounds, I’d love to see them open for Aersomith.

The world is not a reflection of any person’s personal taste. And it is sheer folly to think this blog moves anyone. If a typical YOTS reader finds $500 in $20 bills wrapped in a rubber band at a store? Promptly march to lost and found and turn in the rubber band. We get it. We’re all pretty on the inside, though. And really want this band to click. Because they are really fun live.

This isn’t a normal show. And won’t last at this level of emotional cool and size. It’s all good for right now. And that’s really all that matters.

The monkeyhouse is always the best part of the zoo.

It has alot going on.

Some zoos recognize that da house is an orgy of insane primate behavior and limit the population of actors in a single area. Totally useless. Monkeys always get over. Make an impression. New standards of radical public sexual expression. Death defying stunts. And, of course, wild experimentation in the use and abuse of feces and urine.

The bathroom stuff isn’t my deal, but with all joys there is a price to pay. I still remember on one Seattle zoo trip asking my Dad what two monkeys were doing (one was rimming another).

“Filthy things.”

Truly, a priceless father-son moment.

I’m not going to lie. Part of what I love about the monkeyhouse is the crowd reaction. Some poor squares with kids in tow…unwittingly stepping into the monkeyhouse shitshow is pure cane goodness. To move the fun along I like to ask questions aloud to myself during the performance.

“What do you think that mandrill is doing?”

On this particular trip to the PDX zoo, that mandrill was banging his goofy looking erection against a tree branch. Looked like a walking stick with a super-ball at the end. Whap, Whap, Whap.

Grouplove opened up for Young The Giant at the Roseland. Friday night. Last night of a 2 day appearance. Downtown Portland. Gotta love it. Never a boring hang if you open yourself up to the monkeyhouse. Enough intoxicants? Become an actor in the show. I advise not banging your penis against inanimate objects in public, but it’s a free country. People do in the metaphorical sense. For sure.

Last time we saw Grouplove was at the smaller bar area of the Roseland. About 50-75 people. Wasn’t much to say that time around. Fun night out, good young live act on the come up. Strong songs. Put care into doing a good live show. Could smell some money behind them. Given the other monied factors, and the solid music…figured we’d see them around again.

Bingo. House is juiced/clean/soldout. The combination of Grouplove and Young The Giant has sold out The Roseland two nights in a row.

Grouplove Setlist:
Lovely Cup
Itchin On A Photograph
Naked Kids no mask
Gold Coast
Love Will Save Your Soul. Ha!
Chloe
Slow
Tongue Tied / I Wanna Dance With Somebody (W Houston Cover)
Coulours

With five performers on stage, Grouplove gives a party vibe. Music for people who are beautiful on the inside and fun loving on the out. Which everyone is. It is obvious later that the crowd was in the bag for Young The Giant, but on songs like “Tongue Tied” and “Colours” the pit was full on pogo for about 5 rows deep.

Songs like “Tongue Tied”, abundant with harmonies, hook laden guitar, memorable bass tag, and danceable beat feel like summer celebrations. The first day of a long vacation. The first moments of a spontaneous conga line before the shameful breakup of the line. Good music without the top 40 guilt. Substance in the performance past the WWE style fakery and theatrics manufactured for more gullible arena audiences.

The opening track was my favorite. “Lovely Cup”.

“You’re such a lovely cup”
Why don’t you fill me up?”

With that bass. The dancing of Sean Gadd becomes totally explainable. I’d thrown down if I had bass tags like that in my arsenal, too. “Chloe” with the rhythm driving, the hand-clapped foundation of “Itchin On A Photograph”, and the joyous “ha”‘s of “Love Will Save Your Soul” remind me of what Kanye West explains about his hits. He tries to turn everything into a hook. For Grouplove it all works. It all has the possibility to grab your ear, feet, or musical heart.

Alot of paths for their music to evolve down if they want. Fun to see a band in the outer regions like Portland on their way up. Seeing them live is a party. And with a short set like that left me wanting more. Will be fun seeing where they take it. Dropping the rock snob in myself feels good.

No mask on “Naked Kids” and no art, though? Bring it back.

Young The Giant. “Cough Syrup” brought the floor to a riot I haven’t seen in a long time. All rows bouncing on the floor. Like the place had anhydrous cocaine piped in. Amazing as a spectacle. I couldn’t get with this act though. Only booze flowing in the mezz where I’m swing around on a vine.

Grouplove blew YTG off the stage and my intoxication is approaching transcendent levels by mid-set. I was heckling with gibberish so stupid I couldn’t even comprehend it. Whap, whap, whap. Young The Giant was good, just too professional. Needed the monkeyhouse.

Downtown provided.

ChrisT asking directions from a good natured homeless dude and then not coughing up a buck. What an ass! I shamed him into tipping.

“I just don’t understand why I have to pay for directions.”

This whole convo was going down when a dude with jeans tucked into nice looking cowboy boots full on sprinted across both directions of West Burnside traffic. Death defying stunts. Carl Lewis full style sprint. Real Olympic form there. I thought he probably was being chased by a store owner after shoplifting. Nothing was going to stop him.

“You’re crazy bitch!”

This over the shoulder cry was the only clue as to what would happen next.

“Derrick! Come back! I love you.”
In the patois….
“Dayyyyyrick. Come bayyyyyckkkkk. I lyyyyyuuuuuuvvvvv yooooooooo.”
Over and over, until a very large man with a blonde curl wig carefully picked his way across the street. Dude looks like Adorable Adrian Adonis, the wrestler, after he came out of the closet. The “fashion show” he and Jimmy “The Mouth Of The South” put on still haunts me to this very day.

Derrick was just a speck in the horizon and getting smaller at this point.

As we approached curly top he informed me that Derrick had an issue:
“He’s drunk.”
“It happens”

I’m thinking, though. (In hindsight, on the street I was trying to not laugh in Adorable Adrian’s face) Maybe Dayyyyyrick just sobered up? Made a discovery about what he wanted in life. Also, I learned that my new favorite catchphrase of “Derick, I love you” has ramifications. Especially when that is the name of the hotel desk man of your hotel for the evening.

Whap, whap, whap.

At The Roxy getting food. The woman beside us was sharing her woes. She wants to be friends with women and date these same women at the same time. ChrisT and Michelle are loudly defining what a slut is. And I’m fighting the urge to crawl under the tables around us to see what flavor and colors of gum are stuck underneath.

Perfect level of monkeyhouse for Friday night. I know it could be more wild. But with no heavy drugs involved, this is a totally pleasing night.

And why rock shows are still important. Even if they aren’t dead center perfect. Keep the valet and VIP segregation from the other monkeys. Ride a tire swing and throw some shit. Won’t hurt. Pinky swear. Whap, whap, whap.

Just spent a long weekend in Seattle.

Different than college years. A better bed. People are nicer. Less self-impressed and strung out. And….couldn’t find a rock show to save my life. One national act was there, but I wouldn’t go to that if I had a rare disease and the antidote was on stage for the taking. Putting my nose in the air on that. Rock. Music. Snob.

But yeah. Hit a club I’ve never been to. But that’s for the secret society. Not here.

Tourist highlight was the Nirvana exhibit at the Experience Music Project. I didn’t learn much new about the band. I’ve soaked that in already. The perspective though was interesting. Hearing punk rock dissected intellectually is always a treat. No sarcasm. Real talk.

Hearing people of my approximate age talking about how Seattle broke was a little eye opening. Some truth rolled out. Seattle was obviously a cocoon from the LA (hair band) and NYC (jack assery) scenes of the day. It grew up mainly self-supporting, DIY, and with a identifiable sound and aesthetic.

That’s not unusal.

Think that could happen today?

I don’t.

Portland, Austin, and Brooklyn all tried. It didn’t take.

Carpetbaggers. Internet. Heterogeneous sound like the IPOD playlists we all show off like we are uniquely cut diamonds of the music universe. Wearing a winter hat in the summer and looking like a beat poet reject isn’t going to take the nation by storm either as a look.

My IPOD just shuffled Slayer followed by Lykke Li!

Tiresome shit.

And cuffing jeans up to mid shin is worse than tiresome. Should qualify for a public flogging at this point. I seriously am at the point if I see that shit this summer with one of those fucked up 50′s hats I’m going to start asking people which parent sexually abused them with a potato ricer because there is no other excuse.

Anyways.

Nirvana.

The other take away point from Punk Rock 101 is that people still yearn for the days of monoculture. When a band or sound could unite across generational and musical taste. And create a cultural revolution.

Blah. Some would argue that the electronic and DJ scene is there.

I would say original lyrics are necessary.

People differ.

Some people like to cuff their jeans, wear horn rimmed glasses, and a stupid fucking hat.

I want to throw those glasses in their face and beat them over the head with that hat while Lupe Fiasco plays.

Worse ways to spend the time waiting for the next sound. Because I think the wait is gonna be long. Too many niches. Diversions. People chasing their own e-fame and cool. Alot of things have to die and fertilize the culture landscape before the re-birth.

We can all fight it in our own ways. Or find good enough stuff to keep us interested along the way. Either way? Who gives a shit. Time is finite. Things move with or without us. We’ll know it when we hear it. And if that monoculture is what is desired? It isn’t hear/here yet.

All lyrics from “Words I Never Said” from Lasers.
First song of the set.

I really think the war on terror is just a bunch of bullshit

There are two qualities in people I admire. A)People who simply don’t give a fuck. B)Those who do A) with true confidence. Combined with the ability to time it right and the bravery to shine on stage? Gets me lifted.

Talking A.

I’m not referring to crack addicts blowing strangers or people rocking a tranny burn victim look. Or swastika swag. That is low rent shit. I’m talking about people who say and do what they feel. Without apology.

Lupe called Obama a terrorist.

Then defends it to Bill O’Reilly of all people:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eqtkdSM1CJk&feature=related

If you turn on TV all you see’s a bunch of “what the fucks”

Fuck Bill O’Reilly. This is about music.

Lupe Fiasco’s latest album is “Lasers”. I see alot of reviews/fans saying it is too political.

Compared to Lupe Fiasco’s Food and Liquor? Or Lupe Fiasco’s The Cool. Maybe. Does it matter?

Live on March 23rd in Portland, Oregon? It doesn’t. Show is certified heat. The kind of rush I don’t get at many rock shows any more. Bass is perfect. My usual bitch with hip hop shows is the low frequency is just churning a mud puddle with an egg beater. Not tonight.

One of those shows words can’t do justice. Feels like a fail to try. Can’t even mail it in with jokes about suplexing a zebra or amusing anecdotes about coked up lames dry humping the rail. Crowd was totally into it and everyone was ultra-cool.

Some news was broken. Lupe stated he wouldn’t put out any more mixtapes. Ever. And that Food and Liquor 2 was in the can waiting on a record release decision. 2 discs or one.

Alot of material played. Everything was fun. Lupe rolled around the stage with a backing band and DJ. Rockstar life type shit. Songs: “Kick, Push”, “Daydreamin’”, “Words I Never Said”, “Touch The Sky”, “Superstar”, “Go Go Gadget Flow”, “All Black Everything”, and “The Show Goes On”. All fly by. Crazy show.

“The Show Goes On” was the last song. Three false starts for Lupe to rip on the Portland Trailblazers. Name check Derrick Rose as the best player and himself as the best rapper. Admonish his DJ for saying nice things about the Blazers to play to the hometown. “You don’t have to do that.”

Lotta give and take with Lupe. Some may consider “The Show Goes On” a sellout, but at a show it has the feel of becoming a live anthem. No encore. The catalog is big enough that some cuts I wanted to hear weren’t played. Good reason to keep going.

All in all a show that was engaging on a lot of levels. Smart performer. Confident. Doing his own thing. Dub step DJ Bassnectar and Lupe recently collaborated on a track–”Vava Voom’. Predictably, some people like it, some don’t. How it will always be.

Fear is such a weak emotion that’s why I despise it

pic=ChrisT

Yes, we are hitting a Pack ad show again. At least we are musically loyal. pack on pack on pack. 2 shows in 2 months.

The crowd is comprised mostly of females…who appear to enjoy same-sex company. And. Males who don’t like droplets of beer flying on them when the music gets rowdy.

Conversations like this do not happen:

A bird got into a sack of garbage I put in the bed of my trunk and made a hell of a mess.
Coulda been a racoon, they are pretty smart.
They can’t jump. A cat can jump higher than a racoon.
I dunno, racoons are pretty smart.
Then how do you explain the bird shit, genius?

However:

Why doesn’t anyone recognize the true value of that group next to us? They are dying to blur the edges of where commerce meets art!

There are parallels. How do you explain the birdshit? And alot of people have the same haircut. Disconcerting.

Raccoons can only hop. Cats can jump.

We’ve reviewed the Pack ad here twice before. No new ground to be broken.

The new album, Unpersons, is crack. The band has toured to the point where the live show is a shouldn’t miss. Hop or jump.

Floor should be one giant beer spill next time. Please? This show deserves it.

Revolution.

The music business is cooked. Seriously. Laughable the shit you can read online. Fluffery passing as commentary.

No one has the answers. Those professing to have ‘em. BWHAHHAHAHAAAAA.

Sheer deomgraphics says that white bread rock is on the wane. So. Grammys post up Bruno Mars and Chris Brown. Wow.

Looking at how Chris Brown ran the press after the Grammy’s with that beach shoot? In Miami? With those. Wow. I can’t even type it. Blue Royal Retro X Jordan’s? BWHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Thanks for posing them with the logo on the back in case I was mildly epileptic or stupid.

I’m going to shows. The ones I like. This shit can’t be real. One thing is for sure. I respect no one saying what is going down. All on the take. And make.

And that Nike Foamposite Galaxy release that will leave at least one person dead on the street. That’s hype. That is Who-Cincinnati type shit. Music business couldn’t mount that kind of buzz now if their lives depended on it. Just like some old bitch rocking an album implying a drug reference 99.9% of her audience will never get.

Revolution.

From somewhere else.

And it isn’t here yet. So boring. Music…we’re waiting. But it is still a long ways out. Isn’t it?

At an age…

Stuck. Between a river of boomers going out with a whimper and millenials coming in with a whine. Thank Jehovah for the internet. Made it all interesting. Nobody knows what the fuck is going on. Those that perpetrate to do? Liars. Unless you have a shit ton of money. Kinda money that makes Jay-Z look like a train riding hobo.

I gotta lot to say today. And goddamn. My site hosting is paid up.

Grammys. What a piss down your leg opportunity this year was. I’m not even going to say the obvious. Who gets a bounce. Who doesn’t. I know the type of scalper scum that read this site. Let’s get smarter. And everything is a market. Must feel bad not seeing the obvious like Mumford last year. Huh.

The biggest star in youth culture right now is Kanye West. And he wasn’t there. Whomever made that happen should be kicked in the career-groin. End of comment.

Adele. Not as big as you think. Never will be. They will pimp her to venues out of her league and the truth will be out there. Just ask The Black Keys. And a long line before them. Or Lupe Fiasco. Motherfucker canceled his PDX gig and I was looking forward to that shit. Even got my shoe game correct for it. Fucking jerks with greed. Booking a fucking arena. Donkeys.

Beach Boys? Jesus fucking christ Grammys. I know 60 year olds still believe in brick and mortar. But fucking hell in the liberty bell.

The world has changed. And most of the people in the front row of the Grammy’s with a colostomy bag or Depends don’t get it. Or the lames playing to that. The demographics combined with economics mean that there is no where to hide for bad work. In advertising. Music. Commentary. Fashion. Food. The whining is from the losers, posers, and dick riding fanboys. Agendas are obvious. Free tickets. Shoe hookups. Christ knows what.

Remember that.

Just look at the lames in the NBA dunk contest this year. People are afraid to fail. Ask Lebron James. Ain’t that just like Dwayne Wade?

Filter appropriately.

Life is fun afterwards.

For those of you not in PDX “December To Remember” is a string of holiday shows put on by local indie rock station 94.7FM. As much as I loathe terrestrial radio, I’ll say this. These shows are always well put together. Sure, it is ready-made Kool-aid. But, I’m too old and apathetic for a hard core scene where everyone wears an ice grill. And, of course, pretends to not know each other. At like 100 people gigs.

We went to Mumford and Sons, Death Cab For Cutie, and this show. As well as a Cave Singers show the weekend prior. By the end of that string? I was ready for a nap and a heavy regimen of stimulants.

Mumford and Sons was good. That bandwagon is crowded enough. Enough people driving that, hanging off, and rolling off to puke in the gutters. Even in an arena, they brought it. One of the few certain stars left in pop/rock.

Death Cab For Cutie. I dunno. Crowd shot. There was this older guy. Silver hair. Totally gripped in a midlife crisis. Righteously coked up. Fucking guy, wanted to chat us up. Give us the show resume.

“I went to Young The Giant and was pogoing!” Cool, man–you’re my hero.
“I pogo every morning.” Doubt it, but fucking A Ray.
GuesshowoldIam? Too old to be talking like this fuck-o.
Blah to the fucking blah. With some bitch that was trying to amuse him. She was giving Chris the up and down look. Her eyes said save me. My feet said…your problem.

As an aside, I’ve been hitting Chris with some real wackjobs lately. At a show not to be named, someone dropped the fact that they massage dogs. Yes. Dawg masseur. How do you even do that? And, why? Anyways, I made sure to act supremely impressed and then drop that fact on ChrisT. You know, just to put him in an awkward social situation. Noting better than seeing a split second yougottabefuckingkidding face followed by the quick cover up of polite interest.

All this bullshit has a point.

Outside of small club shows at the Doug Fir, much of the entertainment out and about is of our own making. At shows. And that is a god damn shame. We’re too old for dubstep. I’m not about to go to a rave. Jesus, I’d be laughed outta the building. Or warehouse. Or rat-trap. Rock has ceased to be dangerous. I’m gonna hit a rap show just to get the blood flowing. At least I’ll see some security. Hell, maybe even be threatened. I’ll rock my Retro Jordan XI Concords. Live dangerously. Go home in my socks.

Better than massaging a fucking stranger’s pooch.

Or pogoing in my underwear.

This shit can’t be real.

A final aside, only in Portland can an NBA post game show be comprised of 4 hosts. One hottish piece, a dude with man-boobs, another cutter rocking a faux-hawk and all black, and a dude rocking more liver spots than entertaining facts. Post game or cable access? I’ll see them at my next show. Now THAT’S a high percentage shot. Huh? Rockstar life.

This is the third show from The Cave Singers that we’ve seen at The Doug Fir. This band’s popularity (or lack of) is still a little bit of a mystery to me. Pure economical standpoint? They’re a probably a little too real.

Our gain. The Doug Fir Lounge is a killer room and the sounds always brings it to a high level. Makes me wonder if it was equipped for an area twice the size. Every angle? Beautiful.

2011′s No Witch delivers a running side kick to the other recorded stuff I listened to last year. Distilling it down to hyphens is tiresome. Conventional wisdom on the internet is rolling with ‘folk’. No sale. This is music that makes me wanna drink. Moonshiner music. Outdoor weed cultivator music.

Live. The Cave Singers supported Fleet Foxes on their national tour last year. Still no general public heat. I guess that fan base can go suck a donkey dick through a pixie stick for all I care. Because this is heat.

The Cave Singers are three albums in and are building a live catalogue that smokes. No Witch is a little more…rawk…making things a little more hard. Rough. In a good way.

Set starts with “Faze Wave”. The most psychedelic live offering of the night. Not 1969, gobble some paper, sit in the corner shitting yourself while the wallpaper blooms and dies type pysch. Just beautiful.

Here’s one cat’s interpretation

Faze Wave

I’m worried if I tell you where to sit/stand at the show you’ll hustle it from us. But here you go. Side stage. Quirk’s side. That’s the Mrs. Buttersworth (before the makeover) side. All the heat. Quirk is an old soul comfortable with a crowd and himself. So work that.

“At The Cut” flies by super early in the set. Always bitter sweet when fire like that pops quick. Love it, cause you know, juiced enough to enjoy it if you are driving. But if you dork out on shit like this, starts the mind scramble on what is coming next. Lametastic. You know though. Real talk.

More linky: At The Cut

This type of shit makes me feel alive. Still.

So yeah. I don’t get why people aren’t on street corners flying cardboard signs and yelling at people through bullhorns about this band, but what the hell. Here’s more….Black Leaf. A quick google search says that this is a 6 percolator bong. Hmmmmm. Layered on top of the official video

Black Leaf

and that mix of info leaves me as confused as Chris Bosh. But living it live clears up alot….

Black Leaf Live

Last one. ‘Cuase if you are already on this band it is a love. If you aren’t by now. Return to the Fleet Foxes show or whatever the hell else floats your banana boat.

Props to whomever recorded this version of No Prosecution If We Bail. Casbah in SD. As anyone can tell, this is high octane corn whiskey right here. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Sounds this good? Recorded with this kind of resolution? Get the fuck out, right? Shit gives me chills. Damn. Makes me wanna go out and make babies. And I want that like I want herpes. Makes me wanna be kind to strangers. Be a better person. Adopt stray dogs, cats, and Republicans. I’m allergic to fucking cats. And allergic maybe to…ah never mind. Uhhhhhhh

NPIWB

Set ends with an encore of Dancing On Our Graves. Really is like a tent revival charlatan diddy bopping the masses to heal them. Only this shit is real.

Dancing On Our Graves

I’d discuss my fear of clowns and astronauts with complete strangers if some rich motherfucker bankrolled this group and got them lifted. They totally deserve it. Great show.

pics by ChrisT

Our aural fixation with the The Pack a.d. took a brief hiatus last year. If they hit PDX in support of 2010′s we kill computers, we missed it. This year’s recorded release, Unpersons, is straight up heat. The kind of hook laden garage-blues-punk-blahblah hybrid that one listen through made me jones for the live show. Glad we made it.

The Doug Fir. Always a quality hang. Set times are posted. Always nice. 10:30 for The Pack a.d. And the opening act is a band called Black Pussy. With that kid of name it has to be hot or flat out gong show. Anything in between would be a waste.

Frankly, the name Black Pussy combined with the appropriate amount of liquor and immaturity is a conversational goldmine.

“You ready to go down for Black Pussy?”
“I’m just here for Black Pussy”
And on it goes. You can imagine.

So. Black Pussy. Let’s get into it.

This band was hella fun. 6 band members that at first glance look like the smartest kid in my high school physics class, or the kids who dealt that kid weed. Songs like “Marijuana” don’t dissuade my initial impressions. All in all, I was pretty taken by Black Pussy (see, it never gets old for me). They were loud enough to pin my eyes in their sockets and left me telling ChrisT he can stay up front all he wants, I was going to hide in the back. Wicked fun. I’d go see them again. Hell, I’ve paid alot more for alot worse.

The Pack a.d. Here’s the deal. 3/4th’s of their recorded output get me crazy. I’m not sitting through this show with a notepad or hitting a set list into my phone like some kind of wanker. These are they type of shows I use to go back 20 years in age and shave a couple more years off of proper liver function.

As usual, Maya (drums) is engaging, funny, and just plain rock n roll. Becky Black (guitar/vocals) is always on it. I’d like to see her unwound on stage and getting violent. One can dream. In the end, my memories are mainly of my vision shaking and grainy as I enjoyed the show with the rest of the cool kids (cause if you were there, you are). I pretty much know what Boris Yeltsin felt like at vodka tasting, state dinners, and well after breakfast. But, here are some highlights from the new album

“Positronic”
“Haunt You”
“Sirens”
“Lights”
“Rid Of Me”

Totally hope The Pack a.d. catches a little heat. They make my life better.

The woman screaming for “Blackout” during the encore should run for mayor. As usual, that song live is fire. Soundtrack for bad decision making and failed drug tests.

Great. Two bands and a venue that brought it. Thanks.