[Portland,
OR but he’s rambled some and lived elsewhere]: Acoustic guitar and voice – a
singer/songwriter I suppose. A likeable person – intelligent – no posturing. Being
authentic might be boring but maybe it’s more brave? Or more indicative of
mental health. He was prettty White – talked in that folksy way that’s common
in the Pacific Northwest folk scene. His eyes were often closed. I was the only
woman in the entire bar. I always fancy this as the bar where other bands come
to see bands. I squinted over at the nazi-haired industrialists to see how they
receiving this sad sap. His influences according to him: John Prine, Gillian
Welch, Mountain Goats. I never got much into the first two but I did like The
Mountain Goats – and, live, they were one of the best shows I ever saw – there
was something magnetic and gripping about the lead singer that doesn’t come
across in their recorded materials – funny lyrics too (e.g., “Best Ever Death
Metal Band”). I think it was the same bartender I’d had a music sword fight with
on one of my previous visits – but his hair was a different color. It was
intermission – I heard music that was familiar but I couldn’t place the band’s
name. The bartender saw me Shazaming and said “Savages.” I eyed him: “I know.”
He eyed me: “I know you know.” I eyed him: “I know you know I know.” I turned
away. How dare he call out my Shazam. Savages is a band that’s a big slice of
goth punk cherry pie. But I like the randomness of this venue. And the sound
quality is amazing given the seemingly shoddy state of everything. This time, I
asked the bartender what genres they typically book – he said “Punk. Slow time
of year though.” I was sad, that on this day my birthday, the band wasn’t
punk or at least weird but at least Mikey liked it.
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