When you think you're there, but can't find it, don't give up! It's the warehouse on the corner of 11th and SE Morrison with absolutely no signage. Don't accidentally walk into Sassy's, the gentleman's club, unless it's "accidentally" -- walk across the street. It's there, I swear.
Tapefest 2010 is a celebration of bands and record labels who, in the hopes of retaining an analog world, still release commercial music on cassette tapes. There is also a limited selection of vinyl and CD formats available, but I think you get the gist of what this night is about.
First up is Pete Swanson, one-half of the experimental Portland group Yellow Swans. Live performances are reserved to the back room, painted in soft pink-purplish hues on predominantly blank walls. Swanson sets up loops of industrial samples, gradually building the texture and volume before embarking on a live guitar as a final overlay. There are traces of voices in the loop; not vocals, but through the static...voices. Unfortunately, I can't hear a bit of his guitar or singing over the background he has presented to us. He is working the whole time and I can see the emotion pouring from his face as he played. I want to hear what he has for me, and I struggle, but all that reaches me is the same loop. Nothing makes it through the sonic wall that the creator unknowingly made impenetrable. And so I wait...for a possible sound adjustment, for the song to end. The audience stands at attention and one man bobs his head to the unchanging rhythm of industrial noise. I see the emotion of his lyrics as he belts them into the microphone. I only wish I could receive what he has chosen to share with us. One song is all the chance he had to grab us (granted it was 15+ minutes)...and it's lost.
Next up is Strategy, a one-man show of knobs and dials, performing off-stage closer to the sound board. He has all his gear fitting on a 6 square foot table. This one presents a slower tempo; gradually building loop upon loop. It appears he's matching the bass tempo to the march of a large animal, but what beast lumbers in steps of three? Knobs are twisting -- so many knobs -- like he's at the control panel of some futuristic transport vessel. One unit looks like a shoddy attempt at a Hollywood bomb: a small orange metal box with wires sticking out all over it. As art imitates life and life participates, a spectator drops his plastic cup to the cement floor. At first, the distraction fits the music, its resulting sound accelerating as it bounces around -- another sample being layered into the soundscape. Had I not seen the guilty party, I would not have questioned it.
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