Encyclopedia
of Northwest Music,
edited by James Bush.
Sasquatch Books, Seattle. 340 pages. $21.95.
Contributors include former WW writers Dan DePrez
and Jackie McCarthy, as well as John Chandler,
the Portland editor of The Rocket.
Since frontier days, these misty climes have harbored their
share of hoary fireside rumor.
For example, take the oft-repeated early century tale of
the dead sailors sold as facedown drunks to a Shanghai-bound
merchant vessel after drinking formaldehyde in some off-the-grid
Portland basement; or, if your tastes run to the modern,
the secrecy-shrouded story of the drummer for a currently
popular local rock band who once choked Mark Arm
of Mudhoney nearly unconscious. You'd think, then,
that any chronicle of the Pac Nor'West's legendary (in its
own collective mind, at least) music scene would brim with
savory anecdotes, salacious details, sprawling complexity
and completism. And surely, if you're going to call such
a saga the Encyclopedia of Northwest Music,
you'll aim for a certain, ahem, encyclopedic air.
Right?
Sadly, this new, rambling tome is marred by omissions and
bizarre editorial choices--some simply annoying, some flat
boneheaded. The book offers watery prose that's pleasant
enough if you don't think about it too much, but fails in
its self-appointed task of documenting the teeming profusion
of sound coming from Oregon and Washington's saturated soil.
Seattle-based writers contributed most of the Encyclopedia's
capsule bios of significant rockers (and we are definitely
talking rock: Jet City bumpasaurus Sir Mix-A-Lot is
the only hip-hop artist mentioned; sections on jazz and
classical smell of tokenism; country and electronica evidently
do not exist 'round here). Thus, the book reads like an
extended celebration of that city's scene.
Crucial Portland bands like Dead Moon, Poison
Idea and Heatmiser receive decent treatment,
and the book's insights on long-gone exponents of the region's
unique '50s and '60s garage-rock scene are valuable. A close
reading, however, provokes numerous nagging bafflements.
Why is Quasi name-dropped several times but denied
a listing of its own, when roughly contemporary acts like
Modest Mouse are dissected at length? Who left Mel
Brown, Leroy Vinnegar and Thara Memory out of
the jazz section? How'd they manage to skip Olympia science-rock
smashers Unwound, one of the most prolific underground
bands of the '90s? What about high-profile outfits like
Richmond Fontaine, Team Dresch and Golden Delicious?
In the end, the Encyclopedia turns out to be a 'zine-ish
compendium of regional legend. You'll learn something from
its pages--but probably not what you wanted to learn.
HOMETOWN BLITZKRIEG!
As the Encyclopedia's
writers aim for a spot on history's shelves, Portland musicians
forge boldly toward Century 21--and I'm not talking real
estate.
The search for rock and roll's Grand Unified Theory continues
with Mechakucha's math-metal opus one million
safe hours (Frenetic). Vicious rhythms
of lumbar-crunching weight collide with guitar jolts as
dense as spoonfuls of the solar core. No vocals surface
to explain the dark furor of bizarre time signatures and
disconcerting chord changes. What Mechakucha does is secret.
Captain Vs. Crew--equally scientific, though less
hermetic--continues the all-lowercase obscurantism with
my body is a radio (Jealous Butcher). The
band's name suggests an old-fashioned HMS Bounty-type
situation, but this uprising plays out on the deck of a
starship, not a schooner. Indie-pop earnestness offsets
jarring late-century distortion reminiscent of Sonic
Youth.
Compare this stargazing mutiny with the ocean-bound rowdiness
of Captain Bogg & Salty, an ultra-odd offshoot
of Portland's most nautical seashantiers, Pirate Jenny.
It's hard to tell whether Bedtime Stories for Pirates
(self-released) is really the children's album it looks
like or its mix of clever rock and yo-ho-ho buccaneer chants
is just a high-concept gag for those with a taste for rum,
sodomy and the lash. They wore the red flag, they sang the
black one, I guess.
Back here in reality, unkempt garage rats the Goddamn
Gentlemen sweat out the whiskey on Chariots of
Fire Spitting Cobras (Last Chance). This bloody-minded
ode to greasy rawk isn't perfect--some of the songs cry
out for snappier hooks--but at its best it's like a long
night filled with broken glass and good-natured fist-fights.
The Gents' feral guitars pack a soul-satisfying, trouble-making
lash.
The Pinehurst Kids are a bit more circumspect. Crystal-clear
guitar figures sit atop straight-on rock drive on Viewmaster
(Four Alarm). Wide-eyed emotion rides crests of harnessed
energy--there's no taste for the jugular, but Viewmaster
bides its time, picks its battles and gets you there
in the end.
Flash
Update!
The Oregon Liquor Control Commission delayed a decision
on a controversial proposal to ban minors from music venues
serving alcohol until its January meeting. An OLCC spokesperson
says commissioners "wanted to have all the information"
before voting. Bravissimo.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Willamette Week | originally
published December 15,
1999
|
