Local News & Reviews

[January 24th, 2007]

^Mattress Wednesday, Jan. 24

Mattress kills listeners loudly with his songs—in a good way.

[INDUSTRIAL BLUES] There are voices that kill: Maybe you've died a little bit listening to Xiu Xiu's Jamie Stewart or Ian Curtis (Joy Division). There are voices that romance: Perhaps you've swooned to Jamie Lidell or Jarvis Cocker. And there are voices that fall somewhere in between, voices that displace. Rex Marshall, the gentleman behind the Mattress moniker, has just such a voice.

Then there's music that borrows: Maybe you've never really touched blues, for instance, just heard snippets of old forms through the White Stripes, the Black Keys or something of the like. Everything, in some way, is a revival, a repetition or a sly acknowledgement. Put Mattress in the latter, if anywhere; it's in Marshall's voice—a dark, dust-encased old-bluesman baritone—that such acknowledgment exists. And it's more than an affectation: Even our brief telephone exchange sounded like it occurred over a span of 50 years and an entire continent.

This voice was originally part of a duo called the Coupons, a since abandoned blues-rock project. Yet, before its death, Marshall fired off a handwritten letter and demo CD to James Squeaky, the furry head behind Argumentix and its many collaborations as well as BelowPDX Records—a label that, until Mattress, existed primarily to release Squeaky's own music. Squeaky wasn't terribly interested, but offered the Coupons a gig. The Coupons were eventually forced to decline, Squeaky says, due to "something about the drummer being embarrassed about being in the band." But, the same night, Marshall gave Squeaky a demo by his other project, Wheelchair, which (out of respect to the wheelchaired) was later renamed Mattress.

Marshall's voice is hardly preparation for the music of Mattress, which is as alien as it is mechanical. His primary release, Eldorado—the other is a limited-availability, cassette-only recording—sounds like the lost soundtrack to the amnesia-ridden, desert-set film Paris, Texas. The metronomic, primitive beats, crude vocoders and synths seem to be at war with Marshall's vocals and reckless guitar.

But, as it turns out, the battle is a win for both sides. Marshall has a show booked nearly every week alongside his Portland experimental/noise peers. And, within that community, it's refreshing and rare to hear such a solid, clear voice, however displaced it may be.

—MICHAEL BYRNE.

Mattress plays with Mastema Wasp Trio, Argumentix and Joe von Appen Wednesday, Jan. 24, at Acme. 9 pm. Free. 21+.

^Blue Cranes Lift Music! Flown Music! (self-released)

Local jazz quartet shines brightest when playing others' songs.

[INDIEFIED JAZZ] On about the first three listens, Blue Cranes' Lift Music! Flown Music! is so disappointingly bland—white bread, hotel lobby, 106.7-FM bland—that I barely trundled on to find the wonderful little treats and subtleties that lie within this, the band's second album. Yes, its overriding style is a soft-edged brand of jazz fusion. But it could be so much worse.

The immediate kickers on the disc are its two cover tracks. The first is the Kingdom's "Polaris," in which the quartet manages to pull the song's original, abstract melody out and put the remainder into a jazz composition without compromising the piece or its penners. Basically, cut the tempo of the Kingdom's version and replace Chuck Westmoreland's vocals with the alto sax of Blue Cranes' massively talented and powerful Reed (yes, really) Wallsmith. I never felt much attraction to Westmoreland's vocals or the song's somewhat sweet but mostly inane lyrics (based on a snowmobile jacket of the Polaris variety), so the Cranes' abstraction is indeed welcome. Breaking formula with a fairly non-trad keyboard progression, the cover also rolls with a fair amount of unexpected drama.

Blue Cranes also takes on Elliott Smith's "Coming Up Roses." Bold move: One can easily imagine a Muzak-ish outcome, not to mention the ensuing street riots in Portland. But it's a good adaptation, with the Cranes cleverly condensing the chorus into a single measure. Beyond that, it maintains, nearly to a fault, a mournful, keyed-down vibe—that is, until the end, when the song climaxes (relatively speaking) in weighty drum hits that mimic those of the original. Its follow-up, "Dear Howard," veers off with an extensive spoken-word monologue/letter-reading over a drowsy bass line. Between letters, the song peaks in volume as a (presumably) red-faced Wallsmith belts out a sax line above a rolling floor tom.

I worry about the audience for this in Portland. Lift Music! Flown Music! seems to have little interest in the radicalness that courses through even the easiest of our city's pop canon, instead banking on the undeniable virtuosity of Wallsmith. Much of what's in between the above-mentioned cuts is lounge fare sometimes flecked with distinct South American sounds, but for a non-aficionado, it's primarily just really good dinner music.

—MICHAEL BYRNE.

Blue Cranes celebrates the release of Lift Music! Flown Music! with Bright Red Paper and Rollerball Wednesday, Jan. 24, at Holocene. 9 pm. $6. 21+.

^The Twitch Thursday, Jan. 25

The Twitch hides a prog labyrinth behind its deceiving pop shine.

[EMO MAZES] I listened to the Twitch's debut EP, Control, twice through without even noticing it had repeated—which is surprising considering that the Coheed and Cambria-esque vocal harmonies and guitar work sounded immediately familiar.

When I sat down for coffee with three of the almost-old-enough-to-play-bars five-piece, they admitted that Coheed, Thrice and Incubus are all pretty big influences, but when I asked them what makes the Twitch the Twitch, they paused for a moment. "That's intense," said vocalist/guitarist Lucas Woney, but after a little more silence, he added: "Structure, I'd say, because I write songs to confuse myself. Very few of the parts repeat themselves ever—they're literally mazes."

When I listened to Control again with this comment in mind, I realized it was no wonder I could hear the four songs twice without recognizing them: I counted 10 distinct sections in just the first minute of "The World Is an Ant Farm." But the tumbling guitar chugging into dead stops, the high-pitched looping melodies and the leapfrog played between the two guitars and bass—each dropping out as the another picks up—are congruent enough to sound natural on the radio.

Perhaps the Twitch's ability to pull off this complexity live (even in a basement, as I saw them last summer) is why the band's following doesn't get tired of seeing them perform. As an opening band, the Twitch consistently out-draws headliners, prompting Satyricon co-owner/booker Jeff Urquhart to call the quintet "one of the hardest-working bands in town" when he first recommended I check them out last spring. But, according to bassist Darren Jones, the Twitch doesn't have to go too far out of its way to draw 60 to 80 people to a show: "It just kind of happens," he says. "We don't really do all that much." Still, if you email the Twitch for an advance ticket, a member of the band will promptly deliver it right to your door.

Playing a style of music that's effectively hipster repellent, the Twitch is somewhat distanced from the local scene as a whole, the members shaking their heads when I ask if they listen to the Decemberists, Soul P., Clorox Girls or Solenoid. Finally, drummer Nick Wiltgen says, "I like the Dandys"—fittingly, another derivative yet creative and largely isolated Portland band.

—JASON SIMMS.

The Twitch plays with Shelter Red and Sleeping for Sorrow Thursday, Jan. 25, at Satyricon. 7:30 pm. $6. All ages.

^Patty "Heart" Townes Friday & Saturday, Jan. 26-27

Local songwriter sheds tears of a clown in tribute to two of folk's best.

[OFFBEAT TRIBUTE] To the accompaniment of a lone banjo player—whose shadow on the backdrop starts sprouting serpents—a clown dressed as what indie-folkie Holcombe Waller calls "this rattlesnake-charmer voodoo business guy" steps out. As viola and cello join in, said guy (who goes by Mihael Sagalovesky) then begins to sing a sly request laden with Southern gothic gloom: "Won't you lend your lungs to me/ Mine are collapsing." The song is doomed Texas bard Townes Van Zandt's classic, "Lungs," but clearly, this is not your ordinary Americana songwriter tribute. Even the concert's full title telegraphs that: "Holcombe Waller presents Mihael Sagalovesky and the Tragic Torments of Patty 'Heart' Townes."

That this gifted vocalist has undertaken a theatrical, multimedia presentation of other songwriters' work—even two as renowned as Patty Griffin and Van Zandt—is surprising at such an early point in his career, especially given the intricate lyrics and indelible melodies of his own songs. Waller moved here from San Francisco in 2004 with longtime musical comrade Ben Landsverk (the banjoist above) and recorded a brilliant, insular album, 2005's Troubled Times. And the material he's composed since promises another compelling collection in the works.

But while Waller was preparing Times' follow-up, his creative path led him instead to the theatrical stage: First, he took a prominent supporting role in Wade McCollum's acclaimed One, which was followed by a brief flirtation with agit-drag troupe Sissyboy and an appearance in meta-movement theater piece Tao Soup, directed by performance guru Scott Kellman. Those experiences have given Waller newfound magnetism onstage. Add a recent fascination with string arrangement, a painful breakup steeped in Griffin's desperate songs and the inspiration to call upon skills acquired during past artistic pursuits in video installation, and you have this weekend's daring performance.

Following the first act's half-dozen Van Zandt songs, Waller's clown Sagalovesky returns as a drunken, winged angel to perform six Griffin heartbreakers against more haunting projections, including a backdrop of sunlight filtering through an underwater scene and the closing image of a full moon. The latter image envelops Waller's body as his tender bell's-peal voice sings Griffin's "Top of the World," its melody repeatedly ascending while never quite transcending earthbound sadness. Such transcendence should occur, instead, in the hearts and minds of Waller's sure-to-be-enraptured audience.

—JEFF ROSENBERG.

Holcombe Waller's Mihael Sagalovesky and the Tragic Torments of Patty "Heart" Townes takes place at 9 pm Friday and 3 pm Saturday, Jan. 26-27, at Holocene. $10. 21+. Also see stage listing, page 48.

^Phantom Lights Jan. 20 at the Dutch House

The Hunches aren't breaking up...yet. But their bassist is a Phantom.

[GARAGE ROCK] Shouting with a slight lisp, "Am I gonna see you again?" (which I think are the only words to this particular song), Sarah Epstein led Phantom Lights to the peak of its set last Saturday at Northeast Portland's Dutch House. The all-female trio played to a crowd of 40 or 50 listeners as the opening act for the Vonneguts and Vertebrae by Vertebrae.

Two nights prior, however, Epstein played a different role, performing with the band for which she is best known, the Hunches. During a packed Dante's show, Epstein lowered her head, bounced her hair and kept the bass line steady through a drum set that nearly collapsed on every song, a frontman who periodically disappeared into the audience and deafening, noisy guitar coming from the other side of the stage. The balance of chaos and order made for the best show I've seen from the 5-year-old project, and, following six months of silence, it was rumored to be the Hunches' last.

Standing outside the Dutch House after Phantom Lights' set, Epstein assured me that the Hunches will play again, although she admits the end of the group is in sight. "We have a ton of new songs," she said, "and it would be stupid to quit without recording them." When I asked if Phantom Lights would become her new focus, her eyes lit up almost as if she hadn't thought of it yet: "I suppose so," she answered.

But the Phantom Lights is a whole different animal. Most of the movement onstage takes place as the members trade instruments between songs and take turns at lead vocals. While these rotations could be distracting, last Saturday they seemed as smooth as brief tuning breaks: Manisone Ratts' sultry voice was swapped for Epstein's shout (which she employed while playing both drums and bass) before the role was handed over to Amy Sabin. With a siren vibrato akin to that of Sleater-Kinney's Corin Tucker, Sabin cut through the sparse, tom-heavy drumming, low bass lines and plucked minor chords.

The audience (which included the rest of the Hunches) looked on without fear of being accosted or losing their hearing— unlike at a Hunches show, the emphasis was on delivery and songwriting rather than explosiveness. While Epstein says this approach makes her nervous—there's little in the way of a stage show to fall back on if the music falls flat—she also says it's exciting for the music to be the single focus. It's a notion I find exiting, too, regardless of how much I love a good, dionysian Hunches show.

—JASON SIMMS.