[from Seattle, WA] This was the opening band for the band I was
there to see: Trail of Dead. Their name was vaguely familiar to me, in the vein
of a 90s band that I have one song from in my deep libraries that doesn’t stay
in my head (this impression ends up being spot on). I was half thinking on
skipping this whole show entirely so I called beforehand hoping they’d tell me
the show was going to start at some ungodly late time, forcing me to stay home
and pet my cats… Unfortunately, they were chipper and un-annoyed with my
un-rock question, responding with a set start time and an early start time. What
could I do. This set to me to comparing Portland music venues. Wonder Ballroom
is a consistently annoying venue – vague start times, overambitious security,
ungainly dividing of the drinkers from the non-drinkers, poor effort at atmosphere
– but some of the best shows I’ve seen. Mississippi Studios – professional attitude,
proper casual rock environment – lots of average shows. I guess life isn’t fair
in venue land. I maneuvered through the crowd for a spot on the left wall –
best to have 180 degrees of vision and no one creeping up behind. A young man
next to me shuffled and seemed awkward when I staked my claim but person to
floor space ratio was relatively low at this point so I dismissed him as one
more awkward Portland person. Five minutes later, a woman threads her way to
him, obviously the girlfriend, and she’s pissed I took her spot. Use your words,
awkward Portland person! This band made me fear the next band. The whole vibe
was dated – very 90s Seattle. I liked Singles very much but I moved on. The
whole audience was glum – sad men in dark indescribable clothing. It was almost
enough to make me feel amenable towards the men folk. My aversion to people and
culture and life is such that I hardly listen to music anymore – dark times. One
band member was in corduroy pants with one of those baseball style shirts – I don’t
know how people call them. An older coworker wore one to our faculty meeting a
few weeks ago with some jewelry and looked cute and fresh. This guy looked
impossibly stuck in his adolescence. I guess life isn’t fair in fashion. On the
bright side, the bassist was a woman. I found the drummer endlessly amusing…
with his fluffy hair and fluffy attitude. I am not being metaphorical when I
say he’s the boyfriend in Shrill who no-showed because he had to host a pencil
breaking party. I am being metaphorical when I say he reminds me of my cat
Beans who does amzing leaps and back bends to catch his favorite toy, inspiring
me to delighted laughs, and pretends like he doesn’t keep doing it to impress
me. The drummer threw a metal Macarena behind his head because of the need to
get his hands elsewhere, he shook his fluffy hair, he grimaced his face, and
generally yucked things up in the mania of his drumming. This band is math
rock, post-grunge, psych garage jam. Blunted, repetitive. They all turned to
face the drummer, reminiscent of a favorite early Austin band, Tia Carrera, but,
unlike Tia Carrera, there was no emotional journey!!! Ultimately, they were repetitive
and dull enough that I had time to concentrate on keeping my knees slightly
bent so I didn’t pass out and slide down the wall. Not that that’s ever
happened to me.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v1S9J70QWhA
Tia Carerra: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2F5hthsl-Wk
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