Portland, Oregon: Day 1 (con’t)
Monday, May 12th, 2008
Well, the White Eagle Saloon has a great Songwriter’s Night. Positive environment and high-quality songwriters. It reminded me of home – Rula Bula style.
The View of the Stage from a Barstool
Out the door and into the Eagle
I left the hostel and went to my locker to grab the video camera, and a voice said, “wait…is one’s just for me.” That voice was mine and my apologies, dear readers, I elected to leave the camera where it belonged, in the locker and set out for the night. And what a fortuitous choice because I suddenly remembered that I have a Digital Still camera that has video capabilities, andit was in my pocket. So, you get pictures and I got a lighter load. No need to lug around the old clunky Sony Hi-8 camera anyway. I began to scold myself because I carted that thing in here unnecessarily. Then I forgave myself when I considered that my mobile office (Jansport Back Pack) is stuffed to the gills with necessities. The camera bag gave me a little more storage room. I never stay mad at myself for long.
Tri-Met’n it - to Rocking it
An earlier trip down the street to Fat Straw (my temporary office) brought me the trip information and I was back on the 14 Hawthorne bus Rocketing at 35 miles per hour toward City Center. A few transfers and zang, there I was sitting at the bar chatting with local singer/songwriters honing the craft andpolishing up their latest wares. The market is good in Portland. Thoughtful, evoking, and at times enchanting music is emanating from the Open Mics and Songwriters Nights of Stumptown’s pubs and such.
Connie: The First Perfomer of the Night
For ’props’ sake, I managed to jot down the roster of the artists that signed up last night. The player that struck me the most was Connie, a mother of two (she brought her kids – well behaved, and supportive of their mom, a great mother’s day gift I’m sure). Connie played first and shortly thereafter took the kids home to bed. And that’s Rock andRoll. In it’s truest definition, behind the scenes of the biggest names it is no different. Rock the House, manage the house. In all professions, that statement rings true. Connie’s profession/passion just happens to be music. Yours could be in the medical field or whatever and the rules are the same, Rock it, cook dinner, put the kids to bed – do it again tomorrow, and so goes life. You had better recognize the inherent beauty in a thing like that. Ahh, life.
Here we go! and How’d it go?
I stepped outside for my last smoke and to tune up, two people were leaving and saw me putting on my Lee Oskar Harmonica Holder, the kind that lets a guitarist use both hand, you know the drill. One guy said, “oh man you are gonna play harmonica?” He was disappointed that he and his cadre were heading home. I told them to come to the show, and I think I need to bite the bullet and print some flyers, I swore them off a while ago, but, get a bar guest two drinks deep and then ask them to remember supernormalrecords.com. Not likely. For that matter, get me a few deep and try to get me to pronounce it (I had some trouble with that too).
Set List
I played Father’s Son, and The Thing’s I’m Gonna Miss. The guy running the night only allows two songs so I picked one from each end of the spectrum. Father’s Son, an up-beat number, because the previous artists were very introspective and quite confessional. I figured I’d try to raise the spirits and the tone first, then follow suit and crush them with ‘The Things I’m Gonna Miss’. Success in both regards.
The Drunken Navigator
The trip home was a dooz. Thank god this was Portland and Tri-Metwas looking out for me, I didn’t have a map so the navigation gets a little hairy when the city plan follows a river made by mother earth. Her work was done before land ordinances andthe concept of the city block. Tall buildings can confound a hazy-brained imbibed traveller. However, a few short “hello’s” and a few “can you tell me how to get to SW 2nd and Main’s?” and I found the 14 bus, but not before finding a quiet, poorly-lit place to dispense a bit o’ beer. Sorry Portland but for a moment you were Tyler’s-Tinkle-Town, I much prefer the concept of a restroom, but, in a pinch, I am merely an animal.
I returned to the Hostel around 2 am and found a seated crescent of travelers perched on plastic chairs sharing swigs from a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey. Night cap? Why yes I will if you don’t mind. Rock the house, lost the house, found the house, did a little front porch sippin and chattin, then hit the sheets.
Till tomorrow… Maybe I’ll do some sight-seeing?
