[from
Chandler, AZ via LA via Portland, OR] I don’t know why I ended up at this show.
Delusions of being a music connector. Delusions of being a supporter. Delusions.
I connected IHopTrains to the house concert circuit. I admired his pluck, just
a kid from Philadelphia trying to make it in the big mean city of Portland. Ja.
He, in kind, notified me he’d booked his first show. As it turned out, just
down the street from me. Wellll, turns out it was less a gig and more a
singer-songwriter open mic night. And turns out it was just two
singer-songwriters, one girlfriend, one soundman/bartender/cook, and me. So we
played pool waiting for the rabid fans to arrive. In the meantime, I watched a
regular, separate from my cast of characters, visit the ATM around ten times to
feed money into the gaming machines in the back. This is an entirely unhip dive
bar. The kind of bar that supports the surprisingly prevalence of gaming in
Oregon. I tried giving horrified eyes to my pool buddies but the couple from LA
was stoned, or so IHopTrains accused, and IHopTrains was working it, bouncing around
as his other pawns starting milling in. I’m not slurring. IHopTrains connects
people and makes stuff happen, an ability I sincerely admire. There was his
Black friend with a gold cross who does standup poetry at Sounds (?), a venue IHopTrains
clarified as a spot for people in recovery. My beer became a guilty beer. I
state his race because the crew was motley, and you can assume everyone else
was White, because Portland. Well, actually, this is East Portland and there was a lanky Black teen with basketball shorts and a backpack at a dark table, reading what looked like a textbook. I fretted that he was taking refuge from something in a bar. And then a rave girl with two fluorescent buns in
her hair showed up, origins unknown. The other singer/songwriter and his girlfriend
were unassuming at first glance but the more I studied them the more I saw
their traces of LA. Her ripped jeans were well-ripped. Her casual ponytail had
perfect tension. She was quiet but her smile was frequent and highlighted her
good bones. Her boyfriend, the focus of this review, was practically silent, a
polite country boy in jeans for all the unsuspecting could tell. So the poet
was my comic relief through the the first performer. A keyboardist (name
unrecorded) who did quirky wry smart tunes. He had a song about a caterpillar
looking at him. His songs, which he writes, were blatantly humorous, if that
makes sense. He told us about his DUI. He lives in the shadows of society,
maybe because of the DUI. Sociology, stop. He was not bad, at all, but I don’t
see his career going past the Eastside Bar & Grill. He doesn’t either.
IHopTrains seemed to be stalling getting on the stage. I was already one hour
past how long I wanted to be at this event. But, secretly, I was having a good time. And then a little bit of magic
happened. The silent country boy got on stage and the whole motley crue got
upgraded to a Grade A experience. He fingered his guitar, he slid his guitar,
he covered Sturgill Simpson, he sang original songs, his voice was amazing. I
couldn’t understand why he was at this event. I think his band Dead Wrens moved
from LA to Portland and he’s putting in some work. So, as a delusional music
connector, watch out, they’re going to be big. Notable lyrics: “If you want to
get yourself free you’re going to have to get your hands dirty,” “Lord forgive
me for how I survive,” “I know there’s a devil in me,” “I know I ain’t got no
future just want a little hallelujah.”
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