[Portland, OR] In addition to Wanting to see music with
me, TootsiePop even came with her own venue suggestion – I was impressed.
TootsiePop’s name came to me in a flash on a run: hard on the outside, soft on
the inside – I can’t help that it’s cliché - it’s right. TootsiePop knows more
about gender politics than I can ever hope to know… and then her house is pink
with a white picket fence. Delightful. I picked the actual show we’d see at the
venue – TootsiePop seemed a little disappointed it was a novelty-sounding show
instead of a Solid Real show but pulled up a quote describing Arthur Moore as “one
of our city’s most versatile harmonica players.” How could we not? I arrived a
little early – I was avoiding Airbnb guests who had overstayed their welcome
and was generally bitter. A person I knew wouldn’t give me the attention I
wanted wasn’t giving me the attention I wanted. I yelled at my mother because
she was behaving like my mother … and her husband died all of 4 months ago. I
was feeling like an asshole. Fortunately, the bartender at this place was too –
she threw me all sorts of shade – it took me 15 minutes to get a beer, although
I was the only person attempting to order one at the bar – she fiddled with
receipts on the floor – handled some business in the room behind the bar –
chatted with a colleague. I got the feeling this was a locals-only sort of
place and I was not welcome. I warned TootsiePop about all of this when she
arrived and so of course the bartender beamed and served us immediately – I was
the asshole. There were random locals around the bar - although basically a
suburb at this point, Milwaulkie’s a tad bit more rural than Portland. The
tables and booths closer to the stage, which was awkwardly half hidden behind a
wall, was slowly filled by a steady trickle of aged-men. Aged men in various
states of bedraggle, in various states of blues-man-ness. First thing, I got
called out by Arthur Moore from the stage asking if I had ‘harps’ or was ‘packing’–
some sort of harmonica slang – I thought he was flirting or welcoming a new person
– but he was serious. This was not a one-man show – this was a
harmonicapalooza.
Every man there was packing: little leather cases with a wide
variety of harmonicas (why? what for? why for?). There were a few women in the
ranks but they were there to support their blowing-men—ToostiePop and I became
even more resolved to develop some skills. Before TootsiePop arrived, I got to
watch the very-composed white-haired Arthur Moore do his own soundcheck. He
stretched the mic past the stage into the table area, played some harmonica,
cocking his head to hear the sound, and then headed back – I doubted the
efficacy of these efforts. So, in showtime, Arthur sat in a chair on the stage
backed by a guy on an electric upright bass (this instrument was such a strange
mix of tradition and modernity) while each packer took his turn in succession
at one of the mics at the side of the stage – blowing the harp and shaking it
to clear the spit. Arthur Moore, a humble man. I couldn’t make sense of the
order of the thing – whether there was a plan—but it did become clear that when
Arthur said your name, it was time for you to give someone else a turn.
Nonetheless, the environment was all about encouragement and support. I was
very entertained by the ‘scene’ but the differences across harmonica players eh
– all a wash as far as I could tell. Although I was in enough of a state that
my notes are gibberish to me – and so a cautionary against love. TootsiePop,
fortunately, was capable of carrying on a conversation with me the entire time,
all the while determining her favorite players. I think one of them was the guy
with a beret and a little dog tucked into some sort of bag he had on his side. I
came back from the bathroom and TootsiePop whispered to me: “There’s been a
huge breach – that one’s name has been said and he’s not stopping.” Some
TootsiePops may be better at my job than I am.
[Portland, OR] In addition to Wanting to see music with
me, TootsiePop even came with her own venue suggestion – I was impressed.
TootsiePop’s name came to me in a flash on a run: hard on the outside, soft on
the inside – I can’t help that it’s cliché - it’s right. TootsiePop knows more
about gender politics than I can ever hope to know… and then her house is pink
with a white picket fence. Delightful. I picked the actual show we’d see at the
venue – TootsiePop seemed a little disappointed it was a novelty-sounding show
instead of a Solid Real show but pulled up a quote describing Arthur Moore as “one
of our city’s most versatile harmonica players.” How could we not? I arrived a
little early – I was avoiding Airbnb guests who had overstayed their welcome
and was generally bitter. A person I knew wouldn’t give me the attention I
wanted wasn’t giving me the attention I wanted. I yelled at my mother because
she was behaving like my mother … and her husband died all of 4 months ago. I
was feeling like an asshole. Fortunately, the bartender at this place was too –
she threw me all sorts of shade – it took me 15 minutes to get a beer, although
I was the only person attempting to order one at the bar – she fiddled with
receipts on the floor – handled some business in the room behind the bar –
chatted with a colleague. I got the feeling this was a locals-only sort of
place and I was not welcome. I warned TootsiePop about all of this when she
arrived and so of course the bartender beamed and served us immediately – I was
the asshole. There were random locals around the bar - although basically a
suburb at this point, Milwaulkie’s a tad bit more rural than Portland. The
tables and booths closer to the stage, which was awkwardly half hidden behind a
wall, was slowly filled by a steady trickle of aged-men. Aged men in various
states of bedraggle, in various states of blues-man-ness. First thing, I got
called out by Arthur Moore from the stage asking if I had ‘harps’ or was ‘packing’–
some sort of harmonica slang – I thought he was flirting or welcoming a new person
– but he was serious. This was not a one-man show – this was a
harmonicapalooza. 
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