It was an emotional night at the Goodfoot bar in SE Portland, as The Water Tower Bucket Boys bid farewell to one of its founding  members. I’m not actually sure which member, or why said member decided to leave the band, but I can confirm the four-piece outfit, is now down to three.

As some of you may recall, Water Tower Bucket Boys, used to bring life to the UO campus playing bluegrass renditions of Snoop Dogg, Sublime, and of course, whatever band wrote ‘Wagon Wheel.’ They were also known purveyors of hashish.

More recently, the WTBB have been touring all across the US and Europe, playing original songs, and slanging records, not thc.

Unfortunately, free beer at pre-show party got the best of me and I was forced to leave the show about halfway through the set. But from what I saw, I can say with confidence the Water Tower Bucket Boys was worth the cost of admission. (Which in this case, was about two minutes of haggling, because, my name wasn’t on ‘the list.’ What the Fuck band promoters? Get your shit together!)

FAVORITE TRACK – Track 4, “Shield For You”
This is what I could best describe as a caveman love song. Simple and earnest.
Those words “I’ll be a shield for you” are so goddamn romantic, in that ‘I-don’t-know-much-but-I-do-know-this’ kind of way.
I love this song.

Last Wednesday night, a whiskey sour in hand and my wrists inky with stamps of various woodland creatures, I grooved to Memory Tapes as they played at the Doug Fir Lounge for the first time in Portland.  I say ‘they’ because it was not only Dayve hawk, the one man behind Memory Tapes and other projects such as Memory Cassette and Weird Tapes, but a bass player and percussionist backing him as well. Much to my surprise, they played a live show which sounded, to me, only distantly like the highly produced chillwave loops I was used to from his first album “seek magic”. Live, the sound was definitely funkier, quite bass heavy, and initially it was hard to identify each song with the tracks from his records. The familiar hook lines and beats in the background eventually clued me in, and overall the sound wasn’t unpleasant, only the show might have appealed more to a crowd looking to rock out rather than the dj set I was looking forward to. They opened with a track off his just released album “player piano”, played a handful of songs from “seek magic”, and ended with the upbeat track “bicycle”, playing for about 45 minutes in all. Another element worth mentioning were the crazy lights, which saturated the backdrop and players on stage with vivid patterns ranging from Indian rug and kaleidoscope, to something akin to the old OMNIMAX theatre intro of the  psychedelically colored tunnel through space. In all, an interesting show. Not exactly what I expected, but I still bought his LP. 

Margot Denman

Photo by Andrew Sexton

While I enjoy news stories about ASUO drama and fluffy opinion pieces, “The Weekend Police Blotter” is my favorite part of the Oregon Daily Emerald. If you don’t usually make it past page one, the blotter is a list of the weekend’s most serious — or most comical — police reports. Yesterday’s blotter contained this gem:

Incident: Disorderly subjects

Time: April 2, 12:55 a.m.

Location: 1626 Willamette Street [The Veteran’s Memorial Building]

Description: An individual who said he was a bartender at [Mac’s Restaurant and Nightclub] reported that a large illegal rave was going on at the Vet’s Club. He said there were multiple minors at the event and that pills and illegal drug use were present. Caller said there were between 100-200 individuals and the event was “explosive.”

A large illegal rave? Illegal drug use? Minors? Sounds awesome. Unfortunately, the event was not nearly as “explosive” as the bartender alleged. I would know. I was there.

The so-called “illegal rave” was actually a totally licit performance by three DJs: two local jockeys from Eugene, Sassy Mouff and Champagne Front, and one L.A.-based big-timer, Paul Devro, Creative Director of the Mad Decent label. (For info on Devro’s work, click here.)

After getting “disorderly” with some friends, I arrived at the venue around 11:30 p.m. The attendance was well under 100, and I’d estimate the average age to be somewhere around 17. Pubescents danced freakily on the ballroom’s sparse polished floor.

Soon after we arrived, Devro took to the turntables, and despite the smaller-than-anticipated turnout, he gave us two energetic hours of pounding bass, hair-bending synth, and records and riddims from all over the globe.

Why so few Eugeneians showed up to see one of the world’s most influential DJs spin escapes me. Perhaps it was the $8 cover, the presence of minors, and the relatively unknown venue.

But the lack of turnout did not fetter those present in getting down. Once most of the minors left to observe parent-imposed curfews, my party of eight enjoyed a near-private club experience. I for one bumped, grinded, slid on my knees across the floor, accepted a challenge to a friendly jerk battle with a kid who looks like this, and got served.

“Everyone in there was going buck,” said Devro after the show. “Last week I played to 1200 crazy-ass college kids, and tonight I played to like, I don’t know, under 100 kids, but everyone was just going crazy.”

When the bartender downstairs at Mac’s got fed up with the booming racket of techno, he called the police, and soon the party was shut down. Devro and his two hosts, Sassy Mouff and Champagne Front, headed over to The District with the intention of taking over the turntables. Just outside of Eugene’s premier nightclub, I asked Devro, “What are your last words before entering a vortex of Greek-life insanity?”

“Uh, I love my mom, I miss my dad, and hope my brother and sister live forever,” he replied. He stoically entered The District and commandeered the sound system, although this time he played noticeably more mainstream records. Listen for yourself.

Paul Devro @ The District

Butterfly Bones – “♥“

If you listen to KWVA regularly, this synth-pop band may sound familiar, as their delightfully bouncy “xoxo” received quite a bit of airplay last spring. On their “Pretty Feelings” EP, the band employs retro synthesizers to make Cyndi Lauper-inspired pop tunes with light psychedelic touches. Because of this, I often think of Butterfly Bones as a groovier version of Portland’s Starfucker.

Butterfly Bones – “xoxo”

On paper, it seems like it should be easy to dislike this band. A more cynical critic could write a list of complaints without much effort. They have song titles like “xoxo” and “♥.” Their Facebook page lists their location as “San Frandi$co.” And how tired must music critics be of using the phrase “The Eighties” when describing a band’s sound these days? But Butterfly Bones succeeds simply because they lack the condescending snarkiness of many other 80s revivalists. They remind me of Passion Pit because they make cheerful and bittersweet synth-pop without any hints of it being some kind of ironic joke, but they never really delve into the same heart-on-the-sleeve emotionality of Passion Pit. Butterfly Bones just wants to have fun, write love songs, and groove to low-key dance music. What’s wrong with writing happy music for happy people?

The music didn’t start until 10-ish … or maybe it did, but at least that is when Eskmo turned it on. For those of you who do not know Eskmo, let me paint the scene for you. On the stage we’ve got one guy (Brendan Angelides), hella cords and buttons, random musical trinkets, and vibrant visual lighting blasting out from behind. Eskmo has been doing his thing for a little more than a decade now, gradually progressing, and perfecting his sound. He just started touring a year or two ago, and luckily he was joining the Beats last night, kicking it off with his second show of his 5 month 2011 US tour.

Though Eskmo may seem obscure to the untrained ear, his shit sort of epitomizes the contemporary experi-lectric phenomenon that has been coming into bloom in our nation’s West coast region. The ever evolving tool of technology is a major component in this undefinable genre of noise — allowing the opportunity for more and more minds to experiment with expressive audio and groovy visual art, energizing the bunny at hip clubs up and down the coast.

But when I had a chance to catch up with Eskmo himself, he made sure to mention that despite his prominence in the party realm, that is not what he is into. He went on to explain that his music is much more intentional than what some would fail to believe, and it is true, his is one hell of an artist. Other than simply displaying his mastery on the keys and other gadgets, he implemented an array of abstract rackets from tearing paper, to gangling keys. Celebrating is one thing, said Eskmo, partying is another––and he wanted me to make it clear that he does not promote the habits of some of his crowd. It was really sweet to here this perspective from a musician immersed in the rave culture. Other than that, Brendan and I just talked a little about the sound revolution and we shared names of inspirational artists. After chatting, I bought his self-titled album (which you should do too!) and had him sign it.

When I wasn’t trancing out to Eskmo’s melodic assaults, I was floating to the indigenous rhythms of Beats Antique. If you have not heard of this three-piece set of imaginative entertainers, then I would recommend scoping it out, just for the sake of witnessing a fine example of New Age musicians. Belly dancin’, banjo slappin, and elaborate stage costumes kinda say something about what this band is all about. Having heard them for my first time this summer at a festival in Tahoe, I added their tunes to my tune bank and have listened to them since. When I attempt explaining their work to others, I struggle, which is what is happening right now. I would simply strongly suggest checking these guys out live for your first time too, so where down the line if you every get the chance, they’re just about three of a kind.

1980s reggae legend Barrington Levy brought a sweet, tropical slice of Jamaica to Eugene’s WOW Hall last Wednesday. Backed by twangy guitar, electronic organ, syncopated rhythms, groovy bass, and dancehall reggae’s obligatory air horn, Levy sang a solid set of strikingly happy island jams. The music was rad, but the round, middle-aged performer was way too into call-and-response crowd interaction. He wanted more energy than the patrons were able to muster. It was awkward.

“Eugene, are you sleeping?” he would call out.

The Rastafarian bunch would sing back an enthusiastic “No!” But they were too few to be convincing.

Levy would repeat, “I said, Eugene are you sleeping?”

No, we’re just really stoned.



Featuring work from Quinn Robinson, Ginger Chen, and Arthaya Nootecharas. The Show runs March 7-11.

This movie is so bizzare, you wonder whether your friend drugged you or the director of this movie. It is woman-power woman-go-crazy movie with an agenda of I don’t know what. It jumps from place to place with no hint of who this person is or what is going on. It really makes you work to keep up, though the long pauses and long frame shots make it seem unbearably real.

The characters are just absolutely insane and you end up having a love/hate relationship with all of them. There is no wrapping up. Shit just happens, and you don’t know what to expect next. Hilariously absurd; probably the biggest influence on Wes Anderson and his interest in quirky dis-functional families; surreal, impressionistic, and quite the opposite of fatalistic; made in Australia by an all-Australian cast and crew; Sweetie is truly out back, out back where you find mold growths on things that didn’t seem to previously support growth.

Rated: 10 hairs pulled out of your sisters head.

Whenever I listen to Yo La Tengo, my blood pressure goes down. When they play live, I feel stoned as hell. “They are sooo old!” I say. “Everyone here is so old!” I tell my good friend. And it was true. They are an old band starting in ’85 with an old dedicated following. My favorite album from them came out in 2000 and they’re still pumping out good rock n’ roll shit. This is a band that still uses guitars, so old school. The lead guitarist played several solos lasting for up to 10 minutes of noise or high frequency shredding. At one point the drummer girl got up and sang a slow dance melody. It was so lovely I wanted to slow dance with my good friend but the place was so packed with standing sardines that all we could do was sway from side to side. It was romantic/mind-numbing/nostalgic/authentic/real. They played for hours and hours, longest concert I’ve seen in a while. No hype, no bullshit, just three people with scruffy hair and emerging wrinkles getting down. I respect them more than any other band these days.

I almost forgot why people went to go see bands live. Yes, its to chit chat, congregate, and get drunk, but its also to get sound that is unparalleled by recorded music. The music just hit me like a hammer, thumping and banging like I was a little rabbit underneath a bulldozer. I honestly didn’t recognize any of their songs except for an alternative version of ‘Autumn Sweater’ which seemed so different I only knew it by those two sung words. They just have so much music in their treasure box. It was a mighty display of treasures. Ahhhhhh…..

Dreams talk all night of chitter chatter puff balls that stay awake, keeping your parents still as stone. Remember yesterday when the light streamed in through the curtains. Yeah, just like that.