Last year, a few people in NE Portland got very upset indeed when organizers of the World Naked Bike Ride announced it was starting off at nearby Normandale Park. The previous two years, the ride had begun in less-residential settings—on the Central Eastside and in front of the Portland Art Museum.
This year? The mammoth flesh-fest is headed back to a city park, though one more accustomed to this sort of thing. It's starting at SE Portland's Colonel Summers Park, and begins at 9 pm, organizers announced today. Show up earlier than that if you want to ride.
Speaking of the WNBR, the first day of June is the perfect time to start planning out your Pedalpalooza (it begins Thursday). Check out a full schedule here, and be sure to pick up the Mercury on Wednesday for a full printout (and our picks).
The premise of Amy Butcher's new book, Visiting Hours: A Memoir of Friendship and Murder (Blue Rider Press), is objectively terrifying: In 2009, Butcher's friend, Kevin Schaeffer, murdered his ex-girlfriend, Emily Silverstein, while Butcher, Schaeffer, and Silverstein were all undergrads at Gettysburg College. Schaeffer's crime would go on to haunt Butcher, who suffered from PTSD in the years following, and who was for a long time convinced that she was the last woman Schaeffer saw before he killed Silverstein.
Butcher's prose is compulsively readable, and as a sucker for literary-minded true crime, I tore through Visiting Hours. But I was just as frustrated as I was enthralled. Over at the Los Angeles Review of Books, Liz Arnold digs into some of the book's major problems. Among them? Butcher's narrative relies on the idea that what made Schaeffer's crime so hard to understand was his relative innocence, an innocence Butcher shares with him, and that she identifies as the natural result of happy childhoods free from any "defining difficulty." This premise doesn't hold up, though—later in the book, Butcher reveals that Schaeffer attempted suicide during junior year, while she was studying abroad.
"If this structuring helped Butcher shape the arc of her story, it feels insensitive, not to say irresponsible, to manipulate the reader thus..." writes Arnold, and I agree with her. "Leaving out what she knows in order to build suspense prevents her from investigating themes that might have layered this work with meaning and texture… And how else might she be holding out on us?"
It gets weirder. Arnold continues:
…Which brings me to another key piece of withheld information: close to the end of the book, Butcher reveals that she experienced “suicidal ideation” when she was 13. But having characterized her childhood as easy and sheltered (with no “defining difficulty”), having earlier insisted she had “no experience addressing issues of mental illness,” this admission is suspect — as is her earlier candor. Moreover, it’s difficult for the reader to believe that when Butcher sat next to a gun in a closet “for hours at a time,” her “profound unsettlement” (which lifted a few months later, instantly, while looking at the Seine) was “the same pain that Kevin likely felt for months, for over a year.” If it were the same, how could it be given such a light touch in the book?
And this isn’t the first time that she exhibits an uncomfortable inclination to identify with Kevin. Referring to both him and the victim as “my parallel,” she writes, “what I’ve identified in Kevin is something I’m nearly certain is in everyone.” This line of thinking results in a kind of horror and sympathy for the narrator she may not have intended.
Generally speaking, I’m into unreliable narrators, as long as their unreliability is intentional and employed carefully. And there are certainly plenty of precedents for unreliable narrators in memoir, the genre Butcher’s working in. But Butcher’s unreliable narration—claiming one thing that seems central to her story's dramatic tension, then contradicting it—reads at best like an accident, and at worst—as Arnold says—as needlessly withholding from her reader. Indeed, I found it problematic enough to wonder what other information was left out of Butcher’s account.
One of the greatest joys of this twee, pastoral/urban Portland life is going out to the backyard and, hearing the triumphant eggsong of one of your friendly heirloom-breed chickens, reaching into that box of still-warm straw and retrieving a new-laid egg. “Puh, puh-puh,” your hen coos sweetly. “Fuck yes. This is the life,” you reply.
But as cool springtime mornings turn to long summer days, you find your three hens producing more than two dozen eggs a week. You’re eating them as fast as you can, but frankly, you’re starting to worry about your cholesterol. They start piling up in the cheese drawer in your fridge, in baskets on the counter. You decide to just make a bunch of deviled eggs. That’ll get rid of a lot of 'em, you think. People love deviled eggs. They’re a picnic staple for a reason.
Unfortunately, one of the reasons people love them is because peeling hardboiled eggs is a goddamn nightmare. Especially fresh ones. Bits of shell stick to the whites and tear hunks out at every turn. Now you’re just wasting your beautiful eggs, and everything is ugly and horrible, and you want to slit your fucking wrists.
Back away from the razor, and try this instead. Boil your eggs for six minutes, then shock the eggs in ice water. Take a jar, add a splash of water and one of the eggs, and then close the lid. Shake the jar so the egg shell gets all cracked up all over, about 20 seconds or so (don’t kill the egg with rage, just shake the jar like you’re a normal person). Remove the egg, gently pinch open the part where there’s a little bit of give, then carefully peel the egg. It should come off mostly in a couple long pieces, like peeling a mandarin orange. Then rinse off your egg and voila! A perfectly peeled hardboiled egg.
Your summer is saved.
DINERS, ALIEN BOY, PS-AX
(The Know, 2026 NE Alberta) Phoenix's Diners make casually celebratory power-pop music. It's a melancholic feel-good—mid-tempo muted bass grooves, twee-folk sensibilities, beach party riffing, and the occasional Thin Lizzy-inspired mini solo. Diners' songs are fascinated with the minutiae of phone calls and mixtapes and nice breezes, but somehow sidestep the insincere innocence and frustrating privilege that occupies much of the music that can be described as twee. They create well-crafted pop songs that aren't terribly weighed down by the burden of self-importance. What Diners does best is offer a humbler narration on quaint simplicity—a dream of a pre-jaded existence that's worth escaping to. JOSHUA JAMES AMBERSON
JOSH ROUSE, WALTER MARTIN
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) It's a long way from
Oshkosh, Nebraska, to Valencia, Spain, but that sleepy Mediterranean town is where Josh Rouse and his family now call home. It's also where Rouse recorded many of the songs for his latest album, The Embers of Time. The other songs were recorded in Rouse's former home in Nashville, where he first began a career that has now spanned nearly two decades, 11 albums, and a considerable amount of critical praise. The Embers of Time was recorded following a nearly ruinous anxiety crisis, but even though the album is one of the most confessional Rouse has ever recorded, it's also one of his catchiest. Layers of guitar, piano, vibes, and harmonica hearken back to the days of carefree country-rock, with echoes of the Band and Neil Young (who Rouse pays tribute to on the Laurel Canyon-countrified "New Young"). SANTI ELIJAH HOLLEY
Campers on the sidewalk in front of City Hall this morning say they wanted to be there when Mayor Charlie Hales arrived at work.
Even after overnight rains soaked the city, a half-dozen or so dedicated protesters stuck around Monday morning to make sure their "stop sweeping humans" message reached city employees' eyes and ears as they arrived.
"People are still getting all their belongings—everything they own—taken from them when police come through," says protester Steven Entwisle. "When they come through with sweeps, they're sweeping people to nowhere, and that can be devastating to people already on the streets."
Protesters began showing up to camp on the concrete in front of City Hall yesterday evening, and Entwisle says the group was about 25 strong at one point. He says several people plan on continuing the protest today.
At midnight last night, as Wired explains, congress allowed Section 215 and two other parts of the Patriot Act to expire, temporarily, partly due to Rand Paul taking his time while getting super pissy on the floor. And, I know—Rand Paul. But Section 215 is the one that allows the NSA to collect and store your cellphone metadata. And recently, a report from the Justice Department found that the FBI was also using the section to collect “electronic communication transactional information,” which means they can track your to/from on emails and your IP address.
The two other parts that are expiring only apply to you if you’re using burners all the time to dodge the cops or if you’re a “lone wolf” terrorist. If you’re one of those two kinds of people: Stop it.
Those parts of the Patriot Act will remain expired until, at the earliest, Tuesday, but probably until the senate figures out how to spy on its own citizens without people getting all huffy about it. President Obama, the House, and lots of senators who aren’t Rand Paul want to pass a compromise bill called the USA Freedom Act, which would force intelligence agencies to acquire a warrant from your cell phone company if they want to investigate your butt dials and moments of loneliness. But Sunday night, Paul wasn’t having any of that.
How loose can you be with your dick pics this week? Because as we all learned recently, from Edward Snowden himself, the NSA can see your dick pics.
But for independent movie theaters, it's been a tumultuous few years—thanks in large part to mandatory digital projection upgrades. While the costs of digital projection were easily shouldered by multiplex chains, they decimated the budgets of many independent theaters that actually make it worth leaving the house to see a movie. (Just in the past few years, the Academy and the Kiggins were among the indie theaters that turned to crowdfunding to help with digital upgrades.)
Citing lingering debt from the theater's digital conversion, along with rising rent, Martin's launched an Indiegogo to keep the Joy Cinema & Pub open. It's worth taking a look at: Even if, for some dumb reason, you don't like the theater's one-two punch of cheap mainstream movies alongside oddities and repertory titles (this week's offerings range from Cinderella, Insurgent, and Kingsman to a free screening of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari), the campaign makes a pretty great case for the value of locally owned, independent theaters.
For the people of Tigard and the surrounding area, keeping the Joy open means keeping entertainment affordable. In fact, a family of four can easily save $40 by going to a movie at the Joy instead of at a multiplex.
But the Joy is also important to the local economy and quality of life. It appeals to people who want to buy homes in the area. It attracts customers who also visit restaurants and other businesses nearby. To see what a theatre can do for a community, look at the examples right in the Portland metro area. Neighborhoods once in disrepair now thrive in the wake of restorations and re-openings of local, independent cinemas. (Via.)
So if you care about local and independent theaters (you should), take a look at the campaign. And for what it's worth, the "But it's allllll the way out in Tigaaaaaaard" excuse doesn't quite work anymore. As a friend who grew up with fond memories of the theater pointed out the other day, "Tigard? Not that far, and y'all are gonna end up moving there once you're priced out of Portland anyway."
The traveling Tame Impala show came to Portland this past Wednesday. Sounding not unlike a band that could have emerged from Portland's own music scene, Kevin Parker's songs tighten certain elements of the psych-rock formula to pop preciseness, while stretching out and expanding the others in unexpected ways, improbably extending the shelf-life of guitar-based music's relevancy once again.
With a relatively subdued light/visual show, the focus was on the tightness of the band's performance and the sheer musicality of Tame Impala's catalog of songs. The Roseland's rejuvenated sound system needs to be commended once again for being bombastic while retaining crystalline clarity. Otherwise, the banter was minimal and all the critical Impala cuts were performed professionally by the pride of Perth. The sold-out crowd was appreciative of the performance, recognizing the rare opportunity to see Tame Impala in a much more intimate venue (did I really just write that about the Roseland?!?!) than their draw typically allows.
More photos after the jump!
There are so many nice people in Portland—and to those people, we say, "thank you." However, there are some terrible, awful people as well, and if you're one of them... YOU CAN WIN $300 CASH MONEY!
And all you have to do is enter our "I'm the Worst Person in Portland" essay contest! Here's how it works:
• Simply write a TRUE first-person essay—no more than 500 words—explaining why YOU are the worst person in Portland. Provide examples, stories, and change the names of any bystanders or businesses to protect the innocent and guilty.
• NO, you do NOT have to use your real name! That way you can be completely honest, without getting your life completely ruined. (You do have to share your real name with us eventually, though, so you can get your money. WE SWEAR WE'LL NEVER EXPOSE YOUR AWFUL TRUE IDENTITY.)
• Entries will be judged on how interesting your story is, and how well you tell it. (Obviously using any hate language or super creepy stuff will result in immediate disqualification, as well as pretending to be someone else. This is supposed to be fun, folks.)
• Slap a pseudonym on it, and send your 500-word essay to firstname.lastname@example.org by THURSDAY, JUNE 4. If you win, we'll email you back and you'll get a nice fat check for $300! And the top entries will be featured in a future issue of the Mercury! OH BOY!
Enter the "I'm Portland's WORST Person" Contest—where it finally pays to be... THE WORST.
GOOD MORNING, BLOGTOWN! Maybe we'll meet at a bar. He'll drive a funky car. Maybe we'll meet at a club. And fall so deeply in love. LET'S GO TO PRESS.
Summertime gang-related shooting season is here, and last night's drive-by shooting was the 25th in May alone.
Three earthquakes—one a magnitude 5.8— hit off the coast of Oregon, though no tsunamis were reported.
The Oregonian continues to publish leering prom pictures. STOP IT. Your tiny thin mustache is showing.
A new analysis conducted by the Guardian shows that black people killed by police are twice as likely to be unarmed as white people.
As the House of Rep's allow parts of the Patriot Act to expire, Oregon's Ron Wyden warns that the NSA may try to worm their way around new intelligence restrictions in their attempts to mine private citizen information.
Don't get too excited, but new clinical trials using powerful drugs have been shown to stop advanced cancer in 58 percent of cases. Okay, fine, get excited!
South Carolina hillbilly senator Lindsey Graham is joinin' the gol' durn prezzydential race! YEEEEE-HAW!!
Another dumb Republican presidential hopeful, Rick Santorum, says that even if the Supreme Court says that gay marriage is okay, Americans should ignore their ruling. BECAUSE HE HATES EVERYTHING AMERICA STANDS FOR.
Meanwhile, the Supremes throw out the conviction of a Pennsylvania man who was making threatening comments to his ex-wife on Facebook.
Vice President Joe Biden's son Beau Biden died this weekend of brain cancer.
Oklahoma state troopers shoot a man, presumably while trying to rescue him from flood waters. Needless to say, it all sounds verrrrry suspicious.
In an attempt to counter criminal charges, an ex-FIFA official cites an Onion article in his defense. Whoops.
As you feared, Kim Kardashian and Kanye West are expecting their second baby.
Now here's what your WEATHER is looking like: Cool and wet today and tomorrow, but that's all the rain you're gonna get for awhile, so enjoy it!
And finally, for some reason this cat is not terrified that she's covered with baby chicks! THE ADORABLE HORROR!!
I'm still reading Neal Stephenson's Seveneves. I finished it a month ago but I'm still reading it. I've been going back over different sections—like the engineering wank parts I skipped the first time through. There are people who will read Seveneves primarily for these wank parts (I see you, technocrats) but the real achievement of this book is that, unlike Stephenson's more recent works (Anathem, Cryptonomicon), you can just skip that jargon and the story still works. If you get caught in a quagmire description about micro-robots working cooperatively on an asteroid, you can just flip ahead until you see a human again. Welcome back. Here are things that are happening to humans. P.S. It's the end of the world.
So the moon gets hit. It splinters into seven clean pieces. Everyone on Earth is like, "WHOA," and they spend a week trying to figure out what happened before they realize they need to get their priorities straight. Asteroids falling into the atmosphere after the collision are about to render the planet uninhabitable. At this point I would give up and sit in the dirt, but that's not what these people do. These science people get busy, moving as much of humanity into outer space as viably possible.
But have I ever regretted smoking or being with someone who was smoking? After some reflection, I would have to say yes—just once.
It was seven years ago at the Austin City Limits Music Festival. I was leaving the Four Seasons hotel at 4 am, and there was a mess of drunken (or worse) musicians and their handlers out front. There was a long wait for taxis, and I had to get into it with a very inebriated Lily Allen over a cab. ("But—but I'm Britishish and that means I get to go to the front of the line!")
I asked the driver to take me to my hotel on the north side of the city. Austin has a freeway system that was seemingly designed by a group of blind engineers, none of whom had ever seen a real road, then refined by a second group of engineers boasting a combined total IQ of 165. Also, everyone drives like it's the final lap of a NASCAR race.
The driver was a hulk-sized, middle-aged vet. The tell was that he was dressed in fatigues—that and the dozen bumper stickers addressing his feelings about having served in Vietnam. It was what John Goodman's character from The Big Lebowski would have looked like if he were behind the wheel of a cab.
I leaned back to close my eyes for the 15-minute ride up I-35. Before I could do so, the driver growled at me. "You sure smell guuuuuud."
Jack Jewsbury's last Portland Timbers MLS goal was two and a half years ago in Vancouver, British Columbia. In the time since, the old midfielder lost his starting spot, his captaincy to Will Johnson — and apparently the vice-captaincy to Liam Ridgewell — reemerged as a starting fullback, lost that job too, and came back this year in the absences of Will Johnson and Ben Zemanski as a deep-lying central midfielder.
He's about to lose that job too. Saturday night in Commerce City figures to be the end for Jewsbury in midfield as Johnson reaches full fitness again. But if the last three years have taught us anything, it's that the old man will be back. This time, he went out with a bang.
It was typical Jack: A late run out of midfield on a slightly scrambled play, he fielded a desperate push-pass from Ishmael Yartey, and assuredly finished through the legs of Colorado goalkeeper Clint Irwin. Jewsbury's 93rd minute game-winning goal gave the Timbers a heart-racing 2-1 over the Colorado Rapids, and is firmly established as the best moment of a 2015 season that is back on course again.
MORE AFTER THE JUMP:
POOR ZELDA FITZGERALD! Her name is cast about all over film and television as quick 'n' lazy shorthand for "drunken, unhinged lady from below the Mason-Dixon line." When a character brings up old Zelda Fitzgerald—as one does in Portland Center Stage's new production of Three Days of Rain—it's almost always a universal signifier that bitches be crazy, and not, you know, bitches be writing underappreciated short stories.
This is too bad for Zelda Fitzgerald, but mostly it's too bad for us. Because it's symptomatic of a larger problem with the way mental illness is often framed in pop culture—with a depressing tendency to treat female psychological pain with jokey, offhand literary allusions (see: the legend of Zelda Fitzgerald), while men's struggles with mental illness are often given more care and reverence (see: F. Scott).
This irritating duality rears its insidious head in Richard Greenberg's 1997 play, Three Days of Rain. It's an interestingly structured play about male genius and female hysteria: Walker (Silas Weir Mitchell) and Nan Janeway (Lisa Datz), who've grown up in the shadow of their father's iconic architecture and their mother's madness, find themselves in one of those classic "Who gets the house?!" storylines after their father dies, and his version of the Robie House is left to his former business partner's son, now a bubbly TV star (the oh-so-classically-handsome Sasha Roiz). You can probably guess the rest: old wounds! Catharsis! Monologuin'!
THE MOUNTAIN GOATS, BLANK RANGE
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) As with Springsteen, I didn't understand John Darnielle until I got my driver's license. And like the Boss, the Mountain Goats' best material makes me homesick for an America I know I shouldn't understand. The focus of All Hail West Texas isn't explicitly geographical (it's about feeling horrible and heartbroken and the psychological instability associated with getting older, right?), but its essence is horrifically desolate in a way that seems to mirror its namesake perfectly—a quality undoubtedly attributable to the fact that it was recorded by Darnielle, solo, on a cassette boombox, not unlike Bruce's Nebraska. I've never driven down a barren Southwestern highway at 3 am, but I don't need to as long as I own All Hail West Texas. That's the point: A great artist is capable of universalizing a completely individual experience, and if John Darnielle isn't a great artist, then I don't know who is. MORGAN TROPER See All-Ages Action!
ALELA DIANE, RYAN FRANCESCONI, MARIEE SIOUX, KACEY JOHANSING
(Oaks Pioneer Church, 455 SE Spokane) The tiny Oaks Pioneer Church is a favorite venue for Alela Diane for exclusive reveals of new material. Tickets to its mere 75 seats are long gone, but if you're lucky enough to get inside you'll be among the first to hear songs from a forthcoming collaborative album with Ryan Francesconi. It's been under pretty tight wraps, but allusions have been made toward new age-y vibes, and surely happier ones than on Diane's last, the devastating About Farewell. The not-to-be overlooked forested magic of Mariee Sioux, and Kacey Johansing's upbeat tunes and Karen Dalton-esque vocals should make for perfect accompaniment. MARJORIE SKINNER
NUGGETS NIGHT: THE VERNER PANTONS, THE PYNNACLES, THE SATIN CHAPS
(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) Portland's Rock 'n' Roll Camp for Girls is a cultural institution, secretly connecting the dots between our town's disparate scenes since 2001. Members of PacNW standards like LAKE, Dear Nora, STLS, and newer generations of bands like Golden Hour and Blind Lovejoy have all volunteered for or attended Rock Camp—the list of associated projects could fill this piece's word count alone—and countless Pacific Northwest music fans have benefitted from the institution's empowering effect on our music scene. To raise funds for the institution, a spread of Portland's most garage-indebted bands will play the music of Nuggets, Jac Holzman and Lenny Kaye's 1972 compilation of the then-burgeoning psychedelic and garage music scenes of the recent past. MAC POGUE
Burgerville is getting booze, you guys!
Police say they're "playing catch-up" on investigations in to the recent rash of gang-related shootings in NE Portland.
The two men arrested following a shooting that injured three Last Thursday attendees were arraigned yesterday. Both pleaded not guilty and say they were helping one of the victims when confronted and arrested by police.
Yet another presidential hopeful: Former Gov. Martin O'Malley of Maryland has begun a pitch to get Dems to nominate him over Hillary.
Megadrought update: California officially at zero percent of average snowpack.
Former House Speaker Dennis Hastert was indicted yesterday on charges that he funneled $3.5 million to an unnamed person from his past as a high-school wrestling coach in an attempt to cover up sex abuse.
The pig posing like a human in the photo above was picked up by police after he got loose and "chased (a neighbor) into (her) front yard before getting distracted by a decorative ball" according to the accompanying news story.
Don't know anything about soccer? Me neither. Here's a helpful guide to whatever that FIFA scandal is that's been all over the news.
Here's a weird karaoke video of Cee-Lo's "Fuck You." Happy Saturday!
Portland commissioners Nick Fish and Steve Novick were scheduled to visit Terminal 6—the site of a proposed propane storage and export facility that Portlanders have been vocal about not wanting—at 11 am today, but they managed to miss the dedicated protesters in the photo above.
Climate Action Coalition folks were ready to crash the visit that Fish's staff said has been scheduled for months.
More protesters, after the jump
Cops have charged the suspect, 16-year-old Turon Lamont Walker, Jr. with attempted murder and unlawful use of a weapon. They say bystanders helped them track the Vancouver resident down after the shooting, and that he's since admitted to the attack. The seriousness of those charges, under strict sentencing guidelines voters approved in 1994, means details of the case are being released (they're usually not with juvenile offenders).
So we can now say that, at least according to what police say he told them, Walker opened fire into a crowd because he felt someone was looking at him funny.
From a probable cause affidavit prosecutors filed today:
"Detective Brian Sims interviewed the defendant and after Miranda warnings the defendant admitted shooting the hand gun at an individual who he believed was "eying" him... The defendant then wrote an apology letter to the victims."
Cops are treating the shooting as a gang attack, though they've not released any description of Walker's alleged gang ties. (Police also say there have been 64 gang-related attacks this year. During 2012, the most violent year in recent memory, there'd been 57 through May.)
Walker was arraigned earlier today. So were two bystanders, local rapper Glenn Waco (Loren Ware) and Marcus Cooper, whose behavior immediately after the shooting landed them charges of interfering with a peace officer, harassment, and disorderly conduct. It's still not totally clear what happened to spur the arrests, but police are saying it's not that Cooper and Waco were trying to help victims, as has been claimed.
I've requested police reports and left a message for Waco. (The O has this account.)
Meanwhile, community members held a press conference at Woodlawn Park this afternoon, urging peace as violence spikes. Among the speakers was Kim Dixon McCleary, mother of 21-year-old Andreas Jones, who was killed in an attack in Gresham back in 2013.
"I represent a very real pain," Dixon McCleary said, as if speaking to teens who'd consider similar violence. "My son is not going to come back. That is not what you want to be part of. I’m appealing to you."
I first saw Montreal's the Barr Brothers in a totally unexpected moment of pure magic—underneath the stars at my first Pickathon. I was in love. As anyone who has attended Portland's Best Summer Fest knows, it's hard to re-create the special something of those three days. Maybe you've seen that artist play before (or after), but something about that Pickathon set (or two) will always be different. If anyone's able to hold onto the magic outside of that weekend, they were part of Wednesday night's lineup of Shakey Graves and the Barr Brothers. The Barr Brothers released their second full length album, Sleeping Operator, last year and it was no shabby follow-up to their first. Maybe more mature, a little more polished; but no less adventurous, no less enthralling.
Shakey Graves' set at the Crystal wavered back and forth between songs played solo, with guitar and signature suitcase-turned-kick-drum, and having the backing of a drummer and bassist. His charm and stage presence is undeniable, somewhat making up for some songwriting lulls that leave a little to be desired on his studio recordings. The clear crowd favorite, "Dearly Departed," is a song co-written with Esmé Patterson (formerly of Denver's Paper Bird), but it was preformed without the newly minted Portland resident, as she is currently away on her own tour. The sold-out crowd had visibly thinned by the time the encore rolled around, but the show as a whole—with two sets from two bands full of that something special—turned out to be a great night, as expected.
More photos after the jump!
Back in January, development forced them to move their cart from their spot on the Central Eastside. However, Big-Ass Sandwiches new NE location will allow the widely traveled and regaled cart to finally settle down in what was previously the location of Tarboush Lebanese Bistro. Good luck, guys!
May is National Bike Month. That's an arbitrary designation, of course. I only bring it up because Portland's has been god-awful. Almost three weeks after a 22-year-old cyclists lost his leg in a crash at SE Powell and 26th (and just days after a cyclists was killed nearby) there's been ANOTHER crash at the intersection.
This one, thankfully, isn't catastrophic. According to Portland police, a still-unidentified cyclists was hit by a Jeep Cherokee at 11:12 am, and doesn't have life-threatening injuries.
In a city that's already seeing increased bike activism (after years of perceived apathy) this all feels like its reaching a tipping point. Activists were already planning a memorial ride this eveing for Mark Angeles, the 22-year-old Reed College graduate who was killed when a tow truck failed to yield on Wednesday. And it was just May 11 when protestors last took to SE Powell and 26th, in a slowdown to protest the Oregon Department of Transportation's stewardship of Powell. That action was a response to a crash where, once again, a truck driver failed to yield to 22-year-old cyclist Alistair Corkett.
Two days after the slowdown, the activist group BikeLoudPDX organized a "die-in" outside ODOT's Portland headquarters.
Today's crash creates more pressure to improve the 26th/Powell intersection, which most people agree needs better signals. And it'll likely renew calls that ODOT should relinquish control of the Powell to the City of Portland. Between 2004-2013 there were 73 traffic injuries attributed to the intersection, according to the Portland Bureau of Transportation. Of those, 60 were injuries to motorists, 8 were to cyclists. Injuries are rampant along that entire stretch of Powell, designated by PBOT as a high-crash corridor.
Update, 2:05 pm: Police now say the victim was a 37-year-old named Peter Anderson. He was stopped on 26th, headed north, and began to cross Powell when he was struck by 25-year-old Noah Gilbertson, who was going east. Cops aren't saying whether it was Gilbertson or Anderson who disobeyed the stop light at the intersection. No citations.
VURSATYL, DJ REV SHINES, RENAISSANCE COALITION
(Analog Café, 720 SE Hawthorne) Tonight celebrates Crooked Straights, the debut solo release from Portland emcee Vursatyl. The veteran rapper initially blew up as a member of Lifesavas, with cohort DJ Rev Shines and emcee partner/producer Jumbo. Crooked Straights is 10 tracks of soulful sounds and lyrical mastery, courtesy of venerable UK-based label BBE Records, with a roster that includes Pete Rock, Madlib, and J Dilla. Despite Vurs' international cachet—evidenced by Maseo of De La Soul releasing an exclusive preview mix of the album online—the record finds the Portland emcee collaborating with many local artists, including production from Dave Notti and Hi-Res alongside cuts from DJ Flip Flop. Standout track "Super" has a video with cameos from young Portland hip-hop talents Trox, Mic Capes, Zoo?, and Maze Koroma. The latter two emcees, both of the Renaissance Coalition, open the show. RYAN FEIGH
SHY GIRLS, P. MORRIS, BLOSSOM
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) Something was lost when Shy Girls stopped being a six-piece live band—a whip-tight outfit with live drums, backing singers, and soprano sax—but the idea man behind those silky-smooth slow jams, Dan Vidmar, hasn't thrown his bae out with the bathwater. Shy Girls' new mixtape, 4WZ, is an immersive dip into surrealist bedroom R&B, with liquid synths layered on thicker than lotion, and after-hours rhythms that tick by scarcely faster than a pulse. If some of the project's originality was lost in Shy Girls' transitive grab for a slice of the Weeknd pie, you can't really go wrong when Vidmar's emotive songwriting and clear, clean vocal chops are at the helm. Unlike the '80s and '90s influences that dominated Shy Girls' early material, 4WZ is very much of this particular moment in time, and Vidmar's versatility suggests a long evolution of similarly seductive Shy Girls releases to come. NED LANNAMANN
DOKKEN, KILLER BEE
(Bossanova Ballroom, 722 E Burnside) Dokken deserve more credit than they receive. Ask anyone who their favorite hard-rock/glam band is from the '80s, and odds are they're gonna tap Mötley Crüe, Cinderella, or (maybe) Poison before they think of Dokken. It's really a shame because in a lot of ways, Dokken are a much more competent band than the other three ever were. First off, they're much more tenured, having recorded their first demo in 1977. Secondly, Dokken didn't need over the top feathered hair, make-up, or lacy post-apocalyptic clothes to distract from their music. They had the solid guitar work of George Lynch and the flawless vibrato of Don Dokken. They didn't use Aqua Net or pucker their lips; they had well-written, catchy rock 'n' roll tunes instead. And they're still pretty good. Dokken's 2012 release Broken Bones sounds like any other slab they released during their heyday. It just has bigger production, and features the capable Jon Levin on guitar instead of Lynch. ARIS WALES
The Timbers advance to Colorado their third games in eight days, after a busy week which saw a deflating loss in Toronto, a Timbers Army protest, a much-needed victory over DC United, and some fireworks from owner Merritt Paulson.
This last game, Saturday at 6:00 PM at Dick's Sporting Goods Park in the Denver suburb of Commerce City — site of the 2015 MLS All-Star Game — is the most important. The Rapids are a Western Conference opponent, the only one, in fact, that is currently below the Timbers in the standings. This the rubber-match in this three-game stretch. Win, and the Timbers vault into the thick of the playoff chase. Lose, and the team falls into last place.
|Most Popular||I, Anonymous||Best of the Merc|