Last Sunday concluded the largest cycle cross collection in the States or world, I can’t remember. But there were over 800 cyclists competing throughout the two month plus event.

Portland Cross Crusade is an annual event of bike riders with the opportunity to win a couple grand and receive medals if you are that good. The only rules are to enter with a helmet and a bike. I rode the Max out to the ‘burbs to catch the closure of the event.

Here I had the chance to catch my man J. Hall holding it down for team Yerba Buena. He didn’t finish in record time, but he did finish the 10 mile race more than respectfully after he consumed a very potent ganja cookie. Who the fuck else does this? No one, it is actually a team Yerba Buena standard. These crazy bastards somehow hold it together in a fucking race emitting serious physical exertion without finishing dead last or passed the fuck out. I fucking love it.

As for me? I kept to the tincture and sampled everything free from oatmeal to massages. The massage was especially niiice with a chiropractic adjustment. All while watching the cyclists push forward through severe mud and exhaustion. Love.

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This was an evening to put the past where it is. Raves are the reality shows of parties, an idea WAY past it’s time full of people who look like they’re about to try-out for American Idol on too many drugs.

But this is just the end of the night, there was plenty to cheer about which made the rave that much more pathetic. Starting the night with Swan Lewis and no plans, yet. We get the call and head down to the latest in night life at “The Bistro”.

After getting drinks, Avery (the coolest bartender) takes Swan and I on tour of the “speakeasy” in the basement. After climbing down wood stairs we end up in a cement basement. Wood benches along the wall with pillows and red lights along the edge. Seperate rooms that use the furniture from the old Bar Code. The place is dope, dark, dank and completely illegal. I’m down.

Back upstairs some mean ass Dubstep was being let loose on the crowd and BG scored 5 free tickets to Pase Rock @ Berbati’s, sweet. Off we go to Berbati’s. Do you know the scene in Star Wars where the crew of the Millenium Falcon are headed to the Death Star, Obi Won says “That’s no moon, that’s a space station.”? Then the tractor beam pulls them in? That’s what happened. The closer we got to the entrance the worse this place looked, until it was too late and we had no choice.

There are no pictures because I couldn’t even stand to be in the room with auditory vomit and the blandest looking people. It felt like some Corporate party at Sundance, where the place is filled with HORRIBLE House music pounding while some girls who were paid to dance on the stage and wear a weird costume dance like they were paid to. Everyone standing around watching some bored girls and an even more boring DJ. On top of all that was the lamest attempts to make Camel cigarettes cool with splashy graphics on convention display booths all over.

I immediately ran (almost literally) to the other side where DJ ATM was at. Thank fucking god! Continued next week

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Portland /// Daniel Gill

Later this week Talkdemonic will release its first video from Eyes at Half Mast, the Orie Weeks-directed “Duality of Deathening.”  The band is also wrapping up its Fall tour this week on the West Coast. The video follows a jovial robot who tries to learn about being human through a book called Understanding Man.  He gets a quick lesson in biology, chemistry and in Heaven vs. Hell.  Orie Weeks also directed the much-beloved video for Blitzen Trapper’s “Wild Mountain Nation.”

Give these tracks a listen

Shattered Into Dyes

March Movement

http://www.forcefieldpr.com/talkdemonicshatteredintodyes.mp3

For those unfamilar with Talkdemonic here’s some background.

Speakers everywhere are rejoicing with the arrival of Eyes at Half Mast, the third record from Talkdemonic, which was released Sept. 16 via Arena Rock. The Portland, Oregon duo of Kevin O’Connor and Lisa Molinaro have been playing together since 2003; she plays the viola and he plays everything else, including, but not limited to: drums, synths, and acoustic instruments.  The result is an intoxicating blend of symphonic strings, explosive percussion, and achingly beautiful music.

Eyes at Half Mast is the band’s high water mark.  The album has its moments of cathartic beauty, (especially on “Duality of Deathening” and “March Movement”) and of haunting elegies (as exemplified by “Tides in Their Grave” and “Dust and Heat”).  There are passages filled with raw dissonance on the record, such as the
release and tension offered by “Civilian.”  There is a sense of loss and memory running through many of these songs, but the tone of the record is ultimately one of hope.

Talkdemonic continue to expand the range of emotion that they are able to evoke without words.  The band is emerging in terms of composition, song structure and recording, and the sound crystallizes here. Talkdemonic is hitting a stride in songwriting with tunes like “March Movement” and “Duality of Deathening,” which feature complex arrangements, layers and harmonies.  It’s worth noting that O’Connor mixed eleven of the twelve songs from this set.

Talkdemonic is admired for their cathartic and bewitching live sets, with O’Connor’s rhythmic prowess and Molinaro’s ethereal sound co-mingling.  They have been playing these songs to swooning audiences for the past two years, and their sound comes together for Eyes at Half Mast.

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Portland /// Swan Lewis

Hi Friends! What do you all like to do on a Saturday night in a really, really dope city? Answers vary, I am sure. Yet I can almost guarantee that what I did this past Saturday night is something no one digs.

And now I get the questions like,” O.K. Swanny, stop exaggerating!” or,” Come on, and fucking tell us!”. Ha. No. I am NOT motherfucking exaggerating. And no, I am not going to fucking tell you.

Nah- of course I am playing. I mean I am writing an article here. So check it- I did something really, really wack. My intentions were pure as it was a birthday party of sorts and I was rolling with one of my aces, Stretch, and his Empress. I hadn’t seen them in awhile and my editor, Dan “Boss Man” Hagan, thought it was best for me to leave the comfy confines of the couch that I was currently holding down and represent.

So here it is…

Destination: East. I am embarrassed to even admit that and for those of you that have been there, you know what I mean. For those of you that haven’t been there, let me explain

Right from the jump I catch one of the weakest punks this wonderful city has to offer. A bad omen already, aside from the pumping house music. I am sure that you see him around, and if I laid out for you his uniform, I am sure that you would know exactly who the fuck I am talking about. Later this conversation with myself and this scenester girl actually happened with this exact non Renegade, Pony McSamehat:

Super Tits: Hey, this is the DJ!

Swan Lewis: Wow- that is REALLY exciting!

Super Tits: He is one of the best house DJ’s in Portland

Swan Lewis: What am I, holding a fucking glow stick and eating the candy necklace off a fourteen year old girl?!

Anyway we proceed, Stretch and I, to the bar to have our customary top notch whiskey on the rocks. However here, at this obvious style over substance spot, we get the world’s smallest glass filled to the top with ice. I mean, do I even have to go into the propers on consuming whiskey?! Especially at a spot down fucking town that really wants to be all that over all things else? So naturally Stretch pulls a beer for the second round. I make the same choice since I do live in Cascadia and one would think it nearly impossible to fuck up a draft in this particular part of the Milky Way.

So I get some local beer that I hadn’t sampled but I had to take that bitch back because it was awful. Honestly the first time in my life I had done something like that. I follow that up with a safe house I.P.A. that I consumed on a semi regular basis during this past summer. And what do you think happened next? Surprise, surprise- the fucking hop masterpiece was flat. And I am sure that you have pieced together the obvious- the other beer was flat as well. How in the love for the Sun can one bar be so fucked?!? Portland, Cascadia is hardly the place to send out a bar full of amateurs, yet East apparently finds it fully acceptable.

I mean, for sure, the bar dudes had catchy ink and hot mullets. But who the fuck cares when the crowded little space of this bar was filled with so much insecure sheep mentality I almost got caught up myself and strayed from the proper Cascadian perspective and started chanting for Obama.

The makings of a hot spot, no doubt, but is it with weak mixing from the DJ’s ‘bumping’ through the computer speakers? Ok, no need to go on. You get the point.

In fact, the next time some Renegades run up in this spot I have a feeling it will be in black hoodies and in numbers completely vaporized to liberate this primely located venue from its wasted present function and give it purpose, and make it much more habitable for the people of Portland, Cascadia, Left Coast.

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Last night was the showing of Fresh French Shorts at the NW Film Center, which is actually Whitsell Auditorium in the Portland Art Museum. Fucking crazy, I know, but at least the flics were good.

There were a total of ten films divided between two programs with a brief intermission. The price wasn’t bad and every one of these French shorties were quite entertaining. Each had an interesting social commentary on various human relationships with each other, our beliefs, stereotypes, and the natural world. Events like this are often plentiful here in Cascadia, and I most definitely highly recommend rolling with a Butterfly of your choice or becoming properly lifted for increasing your viewing pleasure.

Speaking of recommendations, I have one for the film people. Next time make sure that the ‘complimentary’ goodies go full circle and not just to the ‘me first’ heads in the herd. A basic elementary guideline, riiight?!

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Only ten minutes long.

renegade_13

Featuring in order:

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A troupe of the dandiest ladies and a lad. A female show full of frolic and humor. Naughty humor with songs and skits with bare… you get the idea.

Never boring or going into awkward ridiculous territory these ladies perform with all their hearts minds and magnificent bodies have to give. With a cast of rotating performers Evilyn Sin Claire, Georgia Myles, Dane Ballard, Ember Divine, Flora Felice, Valerie Veils and Inga Ingenue

Just because a woman has character certainly doesn’t mean she’s unattractive. It takes wit and guts to perform in front of strangers nearly naked. It also takes confidence and a good image of yourself.

As a part of the neo-burlesque movement SSB use more contemporary use of comedy and the emphasis on “tease”.WIth the lure of lust, attention is given to the ladies and ultimately the performance and the intellegence of the skits and humor. WIth SSB a weekly don’t take it for granted that cheap thirlls this good will be around.

The show is hosted Dane Ballard at the NOC NOC in Seattle on Thursdays.

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Fortunate for me, I stumbled out of the pad on a beautiful Sunday afternoon two weekends ago, and figured out what exactly this Portland Art Open was all about. I had envisioned, for some reason, a lot more of a boring corporate feel, I was quite wrong.

This Art Open was an open house of sorts of participating Portland artists. Seventy artists set up wine and snacks with their art in their homes. Each artist had their creations on display in their own space. This was exactly what organizer ‘Brad’ (who withheld his last name, pointing out it is about the artists and community and not him) had had envisioned from the jump. I can dig that.

I only hit up a few of the participants throughout N.E. Portland. It was cool to chat with the local artists in their spaces instead of the superficial feeling you get a lot of times in galleries. Jason Doize, Shannon Playford, Peter Shaver, Lawrence Morrell, Karen Silve, and Matthew Haggett were the local artists who I was fortunate to admire. Each had a unique way of presenting their art. Some interactive, and others more traditional. Most are represented in galleries either here, or in other states such as California.

Brad and the artists mentioned above were into this first year gig and looking forward to even more experimentation and growth equalling fun for next year. This is something definitely worth being aware of in the future. There are even some ideas about getting spoken word and other non traditional types of Portland artists into the mix for years forward. I can also dig that.

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Seattle /// Damion Hayes

BLVD is proud to present “Fanatic” a group show that explores the enthusiasm expressed in “Fan” art. The artists participating in this show were given the task of creating art that is in tribute to something that they are truly a fan of. It did not matter whether it was related to entertainment, though much of it is, or cultural pursuits but had to be straight from the heart. BLVD Gallery is fanatic about the vibrant talent here in Seattle so most of the artists involved are from the area and are showing with us for the first time. Intermixed with them are some veteranos like Pars and Ego, as well as a surprise installation from longtime gallery fixtures Zeta Mek.

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Portland /// Cecil Brown

Now, I get out once in awhile but almost never do I make to the Dunes. It’s that place just too far off for me. It always seems up hill and blah blah. But a favorite of mine from my days up in Seattle, Same DNA, was spinning on Friday there with a set by Colin Jones of Brokaw. Jones hadn’t been to Portland virtually all summer. Instead he’s been in Seattle playing at the Monkey Pub but mostly spending it making music. I asked the obvious question, “So you have a ton of music?” He just gives that look where, and this can only be done with glasses, you kinda lean down and look over your glasses and make a smile that says “you have no idea.”

So as I was there with Swan Lewis, we just cooled out and sipped drinks, yelled conversation. But much props to the other DJ who killed it with mixing everything from dubstep to 80’s dance tracks. But then out of no where march in about 10 black dudes and a guy dressed as a girl or more like done up like a girl. Then as they settled in, they took off their proverbial jackets and let loose. And I don’t mean the proverbial ‘let loose’. They jumped on the bar danced humped and sweated everywhere. One dude got on the barely turned on mic and then got on a table to let loose with gay rhymes and sass. Holy shit. It was like a bomb went off and out of it shot the gay Cosby show. Brothers in sweaters and collared white shirts booty bouncing and grinding. Yeah. When we had decided to let go of the night and get on with the gett’n, the bartender came out to throw away something. Swan asked her for a cigarette, more specifically an American Spirit. She, with complete disgust, said “I don’t smoke that hippy shit. If you want a smoke, here’s (I can’t remember). Hey you guys should stay around after hours. After we kick these guys out.” We look at each other, like is she serious? “Come on, It’ll be fun.” she waves to us.

So we stick around, drinking PBR and chatting and drinking. So by this time we were faded, but I was given permission to play with the fog machine control knob hanging from the ceiling.

You do the math.

That shit had better not be toxic, cause without a doubt it will kill us.

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