"Taco Smell" OR "Why Reeka?"

It's the halfway point in my drive and I find myself at the Yreka Taco Bell. I was here in December and there was a rank sewage smell (as opposed to pleasant sewage smells, I suppose) to the property. Fortunately, today seems odorless. As I walk inside, I watch as Holly, customer service rep extraordinaire, deals with a woman (I shall call her Dido) who lacks proper communication skills.

Dido: [points at a menu photo that has two items] I'll have one of those.

Holly: [obviously hating her job] Which one? There are two things there.

Dido: [points again] That one.

Meanwhile, an off-duty staff member walks in and tries to hand ten dollars over the counter to the manager. He rejects the offer.

Juturna: You earned it. You were right the other night. I ended up in jail.

Latinus: Seriously? Everything all right?

Juturna: I'm okay, but they got me for DUI.

Evander: All right! [high-fives Juturna across the counter] First one?

[Juturna walks away, but lifts two fingers in the air]

Evander: Psssshhhttt, that's nothing. [Lifts three fingers in the air]

[The three exit for a smoke break]

Is this life in Yreka? Is a person's coolness factor determined by the number of intoxicated driving sessions during which one gets caught?
No thanks.

The Greek letter of the day is "Delta"

Bob Dylan said it. Watchmen brought it back to the ears of this generation. The times they are a changing. The world is full of craziness. The craziness that entertains me in my chance encounters is also the craziness that causes listeners to question my honesty and creativity when I repeat the stories. I'll still be going to concerts as time allows, and I'll bring my trusty steed (named Nikon) as house rules allow. However, I have tales to tell, musings to write, and I can't get to enough concerts to post as frequently as I'd like.


And thus, "It's a Transocular Life" is born...or reincarnated...or recycled. Whatever your word of choice, it's here, I'm here, and I think you're still here.  Grab a teacup, put on a nice sweater, and get those comfortable shoes on. It's walkin' time.

Metal Night at Backspace

Line-up for the evening was Nether Regions, SubArachnoid Space, and Red Fang at Portland's Backspace, a venue that functions as a cafe by day and an all-ages venue (w/ alcohol) by night.  Red Fang opened with the slow, but delightfully heavy "Humans Remain Human Remains" before picking up the pace for their 50 minute set.  Cries came from the crowd frequently for "Prehistoric Dog", a hit due in large part to the great video made for the single, and the band closed with it, much to the audience's moshing pleasure.

I haven't shot photos from a mosh pit since Warped Tour last year. It's a fun challenge. More pics here.

The Slackers and The Getbacks - 03-24-10

My first venture into Mississippi...the Portland version, that is.  A communal bike pump and diverse food choices welcome me to the 'hood.  I'm in the newly revamped Mississippi Studios, though, having never been here, I don't know the difference.  41 chairs upstairs and a side balcony -- all good views from above. Two chandeliers and assorted low wattage sconces illuminate the room.

Portland's The Getbacks are on first. The red walls and single dim red light on stage worries the photographer in me, but time will tell. The crowd is not as I'd expect: a single mohawk and a couple checkered hats, but sweaters and vests dominate.  The lights flash and the show begins...well, a few minutes later, but that's not as dramatic-sounding.  The singer informs us that they are here for "our entertainment pleasure". They sound good from the start, but the seven-piece looks crowded  up there, with horn players shuffling to make room for solos. The take home song from these guys is the mildly gross, but catchy "Drunk Girl".

     "Uh, uh, uh....uh, uh, uh, uh, you better watch what you do.
       If you take home a pukin' girl, you might get puke on you."

The Slackers are self-described "Jamaican rock 'n' roll". At least one person in the crowd wanted to make the atmosphere just a little more Jamaican.  In the past, I'd seen Vic (lead vocalist, keys) play the mad scientist with the theramin, but tonight he stuck with the organ.  The band eased into their classic "Married Girl" with a story, but at the start of the actual song there was a point of crowd realization, followed by cheers and instant skank: Just add water.

On that note, it's not a ska show if the audience isn't drenched in sweat. They were ---- it was.

Post Harbor - The Dunes - March 6, 2010

The club is black, with a recessed door and no signage.  No wonder no one is here. I had the address number and that's the only reason I even approached the massive 15 foot door.  A drum kit is set up, but no one is playing...except Freddie Mercury.  Queen Live at Wembley is pumping through the sound system and is projected on the wall.  I ask the guys if they've ever had Queen open for them. A remarkable night indeed.

An hour after the advertised showtime and there are ten others in the room. Considering the three bands on the bill tonight, I'm guessing that I'm the only one that's not a band member or a girlfriend.


Bombs Over You starts the night off with a slow, spacey number full of synthey fuzz guitar and double keyboards. The microphone stand progressed through various stages of rebellion throughout the set, but the singer stuck it out and handled the troubles well. During the last song of the set, a group of four in clever hats -- frog, dinosaur, red-and-white-striped waldo, and cowboy -- strolls into the bar.  One's sporting a tutu as well and her behavior communicates the fact that they know Post Harbor.

Tonight's special on the sign is "Big Beer $4", which turns out to be a cheap American corporate beer (no names mentioned to preserve innocence) in what was at least a 25 oz mug.  I pass.  The not-as-big drink of the night is crushed ginger, ginger ale, and whiskey.  A glance down the counter gets me thinking: The velociraptor with glasses at the bar worries me. Is he here for trouble? If I avoid eye contact, will I be fine? Eye contact? Which eyes: the human or reptilian pair? I go back to my drink.

Bombs Over You breaks stage loading protocol by talking to friends while slowly packing up instead of getting everything offstage first. As bonus points, however, the drum hardware is nicely stuffed into a golf bag to the amusement of those who see.

Watching Post Harbor set up is comical as well, but the band demonstrates the adaptability a touring band must have as it fits four keyboards, a full drum kit, three guitars, a cello, and a bass in what I'd guess is about 90 square feet.  A Tetris game of musical instruments in front of us.  I'm familiar with the music of Post Harbor, which is why I came out tonight.  Bowing guitars as well as cellos, using drumsticks as guitar slides.

The fuzz can put you to sleep. You don't happen upon a place like this.

Videos from the show:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWf4XcxZAvU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w7Ai1vvGT_k

The trees make their own noise. I still help.

I think back to family camping trips in the forest. I, a most humble, amazingly-charming 10 year old playing around the campfire. There's that fine line between having the fire for illumination and heat and having the fire to throw leaf litter into for the sole purpose of witnessing the resulting blaze and campfire sounds.  I remember getting in trouble for tossing bits into the fire, particularly fresh, sappy pine needles, for they make the loudest firecracker noise. Jump ahead two decades and I'm standing in a forest throwing litter into the blaze. Instead of pine needles, I'm throwing branches and tree trunks. And, after six hour shifts of doing so, I realize it's not as much fun.

For two days, I volunteered my time to the Little White Salmon River Biodiversity Reserve (LWSBR), part of the World Steward non-profit in Underwood, Washington.  The plot of land I worked on, St. Milly's Grove, is 40 acres, but the accumulated property of the organization has grown to 263 acres.  It is located about 11 miles west of Hood River and overlooks both the Columbia River Gorge and White Salmon River. Five staff live on site and work pretty much every daylight hour. I found out about the program through an advertisement for the Neighborwood program: In exchange for a 6-hour shift of hauling wood and grooming the forest, a volunteer earns the right to either take home a half cord of fresh firewood or donate said wood to a senior or disabled person's home.

The purpose of our cleanup was to artificially restore the natural balance between the oak and fir populations.  19th century logging and 20th/21st century fire suppression have created an area with twice the tree density as would normally have been there.  In addition, the firs grow at five times the rate of the oaks and are thus smothering the oaks in more ways than just spatially. Everybody loves a Douglas fir -- It's a Christmas tree! However, those bushy branches make great kindling in a forest fire and the canopy ends up blocking light from the oaks and actually cooling the overall temperature of the soil.  Normally, a quick blaze would burn through every couple years, removing the young trees and twigs spread over the floor.  The last major fire here was 1911.  This resulted in a crowded floor that would be out of control if ever ignited.

There's not much to talk about regarding the actual work.  One of the staff would cut down a selected fir. We would haul the branches, trunks, and other non-decomposing material to the bonfire. The fire, at times, got to a point where the 15 foot flames were generating enough wind to blow nearby trees around. Fortunately, everything was nice, moist, and mossy, so escaping embers would fizzle out soon after leaving their source. It's a slow process, and Hank, the executive director for World Stewards, has a 20 year plan for the recovery of the area. The LWSBR mission is conservation, research, and education.  Ultimately, there will be hiking trails, an outdoor school/learning center, an off-grid solar home, and who knows what else.  He has also been responsible for the fund raising, purchasing, and protecting of another 11 farm and forest parcels that are part of the LWSBR, but are held in title by two other not-for-profit organizations. The western neighbor is a federal fish hatchery.  I'd spend more time helping out here if it weren't 90 minutes away.  It's quiet, it's peaceful, and the occasional blue jay is the only sound besides the river below, the wind through the trees, and the crackle of the fire.

Notes during lunch:
I realize how loud I am out here. Yes, carrots are meant to be crunchy, but the plastic wrappers that all my food comes in seems so much louder when opened in such a serene, solitary environment. Perhaps it is not the noise contrast but the knowledge of environmental costs that makes my lunch suddenly less enjoyable and more embarrassing.  I shouldn't have all this plastic waste, especially because I know better.

More pics at gallery

Tapefest 2010 at The Holocene - 02/25/10

First of all, for those who haven't been to the Holocene:
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.