Dear
Nora,
Kissing Book, Sarah Dougher
The Rusty Nail, Lewis & Clark College, sofa@lclark.edu
8 pm Wednesday, Feb. 9 Free.
Listen. Close. Closer still. Underneath the wail of Portland
bands dedicated to scum-rock and beer-vaulting, kids who used
to throw rocks at your bike and then offer a cube of Bazooka
gum as an apology are in their basements, making music.
The brainiacs from junior high form a pop underground people
make pilgrimages to experience. Web sites like indiepopradio.com
and www.indiepop.com
are sprouting up to spread the word.
This underground holds shows in houses and garages. In
between bands, old 45s spin for showgoer dancing. In Portland's
precious, precocious retro-pop scene, the frug is a dance
that never lost its charm, bop-bop-bah is the onomatopoeia
of choice and Ed Sullivan is still a pretty swell guy. It's
the perfect escapist getaway for collegiate retrophiles,
thrift-store regulars and po-mo cultural analysts.
Dear Nora, the sweetie wallflower of the kitsch-pop prom,
sits at the heart of Portland's squeaky-clean ooh-wah movement.
These academic balladeers pushed off as superstars of the
Lewis & Clark College music circuit; now, after a successful
tour of Northern California, they're ready to claim the
title of Most Likely to Succeed.
Riding grittily pure harmonies and tight, irreverently
catchy guitars reminiscent of the Shangri-Las and Shelley
Fabares, Dear Nora captures the smuttier end of pop and
morphs it into six-string sugar. The sassy, asymmetrical
vocals of guitarist Katy Davidson and drummer Marianna Ritchey
sweep crowds to a mythical time before music became industry,
when kids played just for fun.
Davidson, Ritchey, and bassist Ryan Wise keep untainted
time with an all-too-rare emphasis on melody and lyricism,
opting not to fuzz up their guitars. Their bursting harmonies
complement understated drums and meticulous guitars.
"We want to sound quiet, but not too quiet," Davidson says.
"We don't want anyone to get hearing damage from our shows.
Keeping that in mind, we want people to hear the vocals
and the lyrics."
Best friends and birthdays are recurring subjects for Dear
Nora. The veneer of simplicity is uncontrived and legitimate,
thanks to Davidson. "Everything comes from the heart," she
says. "The lyrics just come out when I write the melody.
So as far as the purity goes, I guess I just have a pure
heart and soul. Well, I don't know if it's pure, but it's
not dirty."
Ritchey, the reconciling pendulum to Davidson's metronomic
soprano, agrees. "It's such harmony- and songwriting-based
music," she says. "It's all based on melody, and if we played
any louder, the music would lose a lot."
Dear Nora's tunes are perfect for when the urge to dance
the holly-golly strikes. Down-home lyrical honesty comes
across as well, perhaps because the three have played together
for years.
"We're a band that practices in my basement and plays shows
in my living room," Davidson says. "Some of our best shows
have been in my living room."
Indeed, most of Portland's recent rewind-pop shows have
been held in the pristine, time-warp living room of the
so-called Magic Marker House, a comfy Southeast domicile
where Davidson, members of Kissing Book and one of the Magic
Marker Records commandants reside. By their very nature,
house shows are not exactly socially inclusive, but it's
hard not to have a good time, what with all the frugging.
This nostalgia-driven, relentlessly apolitical movement
won't change the world anytime soon; the pop the scene reveres
mostly dates from before Vietnam (and, more specifically,
pre-riot '60s Paris). If you're looking for social consciousness,
this ain't the forum. It is, however, a perfect holiday
from the grueling tinnitis you may be experiencing in more
raucous venues: a lot of happy music, shiny chords, heartfelt
lyrics.
Expect Dear Nora to emerge from its living-room cocoon
in the coming months. With a 7-inch due out this month on
Magic Marker, a full-length album in the works and a tour
of the West planned for March, they have graduated finishing
school. If American Bandstand were still around,
you can bet Dear Nora would be the first to represent Portland's
nostalgic bubblegum on Dick Clark's stage.
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Willamette Week | originally
published February 9,
2000
|
photo
by 
