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Scott H. Biram - Dante's, Portland OR - April 11, 2018
[Austin, TX] I’m a loyal faithful sort. But, one day, I happened to stand next to
Scott H. Biram at a bar ordering a drink. Rockboy (boyfriend at time) recounted
his experience watching this event immediately after event, sort of wide-eyed
and intrigued—telling me how he’d never seen more flirtatious body language
from me—something about hips swaying and nonsense—it was South by Southwest and
it was late. But it’s true, I had a passion for Scott H. Biram. He walked by my
very person last night and I noticed it too late. Headed up to the stage to
accompany Jesse Dayton on a song. He sure looked old—but he’s sort of been a
grumpy old man his whole life probably. But all of a sudden the stage came
alive with gothic gospel madness (watch Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus
immediately). Before the show, I was sort of nonchalant, thinking I’ve outgrown
him. I’m only exposed to his recorded music nowadays and it gets repetitive and
a little shticky. It’s mostly true, but he’s still sort of awesome: such a rowdy
punk, turning country music and religion on its head. He called out this guy
loitering outside the club, debating whether he ought to enter: “You crewcut
motherfucker!” He was telling stories about playing roulette the night before
and bad judgement. I was thinking he was really drunk, like the previous band,
but he might have been putting it on. Because then he did this lovely sweet
song called “Prairie Lee.” I’m just sort of amazed a one-man band is even known
outside of Austin and has made it—Music&Ducks says he’s a regular in
Portland & he’s seen him scores of times. Scott samples some
politically-questionable songs—consistent with his background &
inconsistent with his likely political orientation. This is part of his appeal
to me—the tension of life for lots of us. And it makes me think of this
terrible beautiful song “Southern Can” by Blind Willie McTell, covered by White
Stripes—how do we judge art when we discover the secret sins of artists or when
norms change over time? These rambling ways have far from set me free—I don’t
remember if it was the name of a song or if he just said it but wow. Like Janis said: Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.
[Austin, TX] I’m a loyal faithful sort. But, one day, I happened to stand next to
Scott H. Biram at a bar ordering a drink. Rockboy (boyfriend at time) recounted
his experience watching this event immediately after event, sort of wide-eyed
and intrigued—telling me how he’d never seen more flirtatious body language
from me—something about hips swaying and nonsense—it was South by Southwest and
it was late. But it’s true, I had a passion for Scott H. Biram. He walked by my
very person last night and I noticed it too late. Headed up to the stage to
accompany Jesse Dayton on a song. He sure looked old—but he’s sort of been a
grumpy old man his whole life probably. But all of a sudden the stage came
alive with gothic gospel madness (watch Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus
immediately). Before the show, I was sort of nonchalant, thinking I’ve outgrown
him. I’m only exposed to his recorded music nowadays and it gets repetitive and
a little shticky. It’s mostly true, but he’s still sort of awesome: such a rowdy
punk, turning country music and religion on its head. He called out this guy
loitering outside the club, debating whether he ought to enter: “You crewcut
motherfucker!” He was telling stories about playing roulette the night before
and bad judgement. I was thinking he was really drunk, like the previous band,
but he might have been putting it on. Because then he did this lovely sweet
song called “Prairie Lee.” I’m just sort of amazed a one-man band is even known
outside of Austin and has made it—Music&Ducks says he’s a regular in
Portland & he’s seen him scores of times. Scott samples some
politically-questionable songs—consistent with his background &
inconsistent with his likely political orientation. This is part of his appeal
to me—the tension of life for lots of us. And it makes me think of this
terrible beautiful song “Southern Can” by Blind Willie McTell, covered by White
Stripes—how do we judge art when we discover the secret sins of artists or when
norms change over time? These rambling ways have far from set me free—I don’t
remember if it was the name of a song or if he just said it but wow. Like Janis said: Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.
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