Photos by Jordan Strong and Clara Ridabock.

Stamina, man. That’s the key word for me as I head into the third and final day of the PDX Pop Now! festival. I ran into a lot of friends yesterday, both old and new, and everybody had the same question—does it suck to be on assignment this whole time? I can’t help but laugh at that one. I could leave at any time if I wanted to, but this weekend is about so much more than endurance and going hungry and wishing I could sleep more than five hours a night. It’s not like this is a chore, people—I want to be here! And I’m loving every minute of it.

Saturday, July 26

12:10 pm – I made it! I just spent the last two hours frantically transcribing and translating the scribbles and pictographs that qualify as my “notes.” I say hi to Cary, who jokes about me almost missing the Revisions set. You gotta believe, people.

12:28 – There will be blood! The Revisions singer Doug Burns’ hands are bleeding from literally playing his acoustic so hard. The bands ringing and catchy acoustic-punk sure is a nice way to start the morning.

12:44 – I quickly head over with Nick to grab a burrito from Taco Del Mar, and notice that they’re playing one of my favorite songs, Devo’s “Girl U Want,” on the crappy overhead speakers. Why hasn’t some hype indie band covered this? So much herky-jerky goodness.

1:00 – A cute blonde tyke of maybe 3 is dancing in the street to Chris Robley and the Fear of Heights. Robley mentions that the next song caused a couple to get a divorce. I hope the kid didn’t hear that.

1:42 – One of the coolest things about the weekend is seeing musicians who aren’t playing the fest coming out to support their friends. I don’t think Alan Singley is playing, but let me tell you people, dude is a dance machine. I smell a name change…

1:45 – Every time Swim Swam Swum play it’s like Doc Brown pulls up in the DeLorean and sets the time machine to a Chicago suburb in 1996. And I’m not complaining.

2:10 – Y La Bamba’s voice—holy shit. The thing could move mountains. I’ve been trying to see her for a long time and this is finally worth it. “Fasting in San Francisco,” which is on the 2008 comp, sounds even better with Ben Meyercord singing background harmonies.

3:00 – First all out surprise of the festival. A group I’ve never heard of, the Tenses, are totally mind blowing. If I had more time I’d research these guys, but I know they were involved with Smegma. It’s two people on stage, one putting records on an old turntable while the other one plays a rickety, homemade slide guitar and an instrument they made—a sort of sound modulator with foam buttons (including a little green frog) that do, umm, something. Man I’m a bad journalist. I go up on stage to get closer to the action, snap a few photos, and geek out with Cary and Mike Fuchs.

3:15 – I’m not a complainer, but shit, my feet hurt. You’d think I might sit down for one of the sets, but it’s just not in my bones. If I ever become old and crippled, well, I’ll have this weekend to thank.

3:34 – Andy Combs takes the stage with a sparkly gold guitar and his ever-encompassing backing group the Moth—here made up of IOA and Victor Nash from Point Juncture, WA, former Thermals drummer Lorin Coleman, and a really rad accordion player. I love this band.

3:38 – “Let’s Ride” gets me every time. And here it receives a rocking makeover, complete with guitar solos and healthy crowd participation. “Ladies and gentleman, may I present to you, the man from Mars, Mr. Victor Nash!” Anyone not having fun is an idiot.

3:42 – The dude next to me: “turn down the awesome!” Hey—he stole my line!

3:54 – Combs absolutely owns this crowd. Somehow he gets an entire group of adults to hold up spirit fingers like it’s a high school basketball game and chant “allalalalala.” Then he coyly mentions “this next song is about bees.” Did I mention that I would die to see the undersea music he put on for a kids review? I need to audition for a guest spot.

4:02 – During his final song, “Service Station,” Combs breaks into a ridiculous solo, playing his guitar with his teeth and then thrusting it above his head, Stephen Malkmus style. What a showman.

4:06 – Sometimes, life confronts you with difficult choices. I really need to pee, but I don’t want to miss the first Sweater (Anne Adams from the artist formally known as Per Se and Dat’r’s Paul Alcott) performance in forever. I choose Sweater, and hope that my bladder doesn’t explode.

4:08 – “God damn sweater in your earhole!”

4:15 – Alcott is stomping around the stage taking shit and controlling the beat from a PS2 controller. Adams (or Grey Anne, is she now apparently prefers) takes off her sweater and ties it awkwardly around her revealing boudoir. “I didn’t know she was going to wear that,” Alcott says.

4:21 – Alcott really likes to talk, but even that can’t distract Sweater’s sultry dance-pop. And I have to admit that dude is quite the comedian. “Nick Jaina was a terrible roommate,” he tells the crowd. “Don’t live with Nick Jaina.” Blasphemy!

4:25 – Adams tells us that the next song is about unemployment. I’m guessing at least half the crowd knows what she means. We feel ya, Anne.

4:45 – The PA system is playing Bodhi’s “Nadine” as they walk onto the outdoor stage. How Spinal Tap! I share a hug and good laugh with drummer Erin Ansley.

4:50 – “PDX Pop Now muthfuckers!” yells Ansley from behind her kit. I think someone’s amped to play today.

5:05 – A girl walks past me carrying a bag of Lucky Charms. My stomach growls. And I don’t see a rainbow.

5:14 – Bodhi’s Brian Carr mangles the fuck out of his guitar during its last song, and Ansley throws her drum kit to the side. It’s a good reminder that between all the hushed-folk and slinky electronics, people still rock out in this city.

5:28 – Nick brings me a Cliff bar from Sheridan Fruit Co. I feel like I’m on a camping trip. I really should have brought a tent to pitch for the night.

5:36 – “Hello metal fest!” A Ghost Face Two Inches From Your Own Face, despite its awkwardly dumb name, totally kill a 15 minute set of fast and dirty hardcore punk songs. The kids are going crazy up front, stage diving and moshing to their hearts content. One of those purple pool noodles flies by my head.

5:39 – Cary has to run over and hold the lights at the side of stage from falling over. Somebody get this man a trophy or something. He’s everywhere.

6:05 – No Teen Dreams. Bummer, but Eskimo & Sons are still killing it.

6:16 – I’ll leave the Eskimo mythologizing to Arya and Casey, but damn, they sound really good. Elliott impairs my note taking ability by pulling me into the middle of the crowd. I leave after a few minutes; the chatty catty behind me is just too much. Show this band some respect, kids.

6:30 – Man, Danielle Sullivan’s voice breaks my heart. Word is that E & S are about to go on hiatus for a while, and I really hope they do return. One of my favorite bands in Portland, no doubt about it.

6:37 – Casey’s yell for “one more” [I’ll take credit for starting this, but the room wanted it bad. So good! -Ed.] actually brings Eskimo & Sons back for a pseudo-encore (I say “pseudo” because its set was just like four songs before the end). They play an absolutely gorgeous cover of Red River’s “Man on the Frontier.” Just heartwarming stuff.

6:55 – Thank god for earplugs. Am I that old? SubArachnoid Space are REALLY FUCKING LOUD and really damn good. They are on a serious psychedelic trippy, heavy drone kick. It’s amazing how even the bands I’m not that into seeing have put on killer shows this weekend. I guess MTV knew what they were doing. This city is a goldmine.

6:59 – A volunteer is giving earplugs to the entire crowd. I hope no one goes tone deaf. This is some serious stoner metal. [Actually, I’m totally full of shit on this one. Being tone deaf has nothing to do with deafness, or with crushingly loud metal. Thanks to Ezra for the tip. -Ed.]

7:18 – A girl in front of me is rocking out to SAS and holding a copy of the Eskimo and Sons EP that she just bought. Only at PDX Pop, I tell ya. So much genre-breeding!

7:34 – Did you know that if you play one note long and loud enough (appropriately, it’s dubbed the “brown note.”) it can cause you to lose your bowels? The stuff you learn at an all-ages music festival. Could be an urban legend, but I’m tired enough to fall for anything right now.

7:38 – BEST ICED TEA EVER. I feel like Napoleon Dynamite, chugging my drink in defiance of the world—and ligers.

7:44 – Reporter aren’t just one of the best bands in the city, they are one of the funniest. Someone in the audience yells out “potato champion” and singer Alberta Poon says that the next song goes out to potatoes. “We should just change our name,” she says. “People will probably like us more.” I know a few people in the crowd are loving the inside joke.

8:05 – My friend Benna brings me a plate of leftovers—chicken, potato salad, watermelon—from a 60th birthday party. I owe her dearly.

8:20 – A band I’ve never heard before, Nurses, are totally making the most of its ace time spot. It’s all twitchy indie-rock with heaps of Rhodes keys and vocal harmonies—like if one of the Elephant Six bands moved to Brooklyn circa 2007 and incorporated all those neo-primitive rhythms into its sound. The bass player is even wearing a shirt with a gruesome eyeball—a perfect vision accompaniment to the band’s noise.

8:40 – Arya: “Nothing ever sounds bad with a Rhodes.”

9:00 – I bump into a girl from grade school that I haven’t seen in almost 10 years. PDX Pop Now—brining people together in awkward remembrance since 2004.

9:20 – As Casey and countless others predicted, Blind Pilot are totally soaking up their moment in the spotlight. Seven other instrumentalists back Israel and Ryan, and the fully orchestrated sound—complete with banjo, trumpet, pedal steel and a freaking fiddle—just makes each song sound better. These guys could (and should) be huge.

9:30 – The last song of the Blind Pilot set—a rousing, upbeat number complete with pounding drums—might be the best thing I’ve seen all weekend. I look around and notice that the whole crowd is nodding along in approval. What a song. And they even made the Billboard charts—more on that when I’ve got some time.

9:40 – Dave Depper drops by to report some exclusive content to the marathon: apparently, Loch Lomond are going to pronounce a name change tonight. Or, more accurately, a new pronunciation. “It’s now Loch LOW-MOND,” he quips. I still love the guy.

9:53 – Hip-hop group Living Proof take the stage, drinking orange Gatorade, wearing backpacks, and reppin’ the NW to the fullest. I’m into it.

10:04 – Living Proof give a shout out to Casey on the promotion. Everyone is feeling the love. Also, apparently they also love Blind Pilot. And weed. Quite the combo.

10:11 – I skip inside and miss the last two Living Proof joints to beat the rush for the final four bands inside.

10:18 – The kids in front start a chant of “Olé, Olé, Olé” before the Portland Cello Project can even take the stage. What, is this a Timbers game or something? Is Sergio in the house? A little odd, but you have to love the enthusiasm.

10:22 – The girl next to me is talking about shopping for new shoes and the “summer of sales.” Me, I just want some PCP. Wow my jokes get lamer as the weekend goes on.

10:31 – Adam from Weinland is out to sing a few numbers with PCP and he announces the next song by saying “I can’t pronounce the name of this one.” Yeah, you and me both.

10:45 – PCP keep on bringing out the guests. Next up is Loch Lomond (which Depper spilled to me earlier) and then John Brophy from the Gingerbread Patriots. Shearer says that “sometimes PCP takes really bad pop songs and makes them better,” and they launch into Brittney Spears’ “Toxic” with Brophy doing an amazingly effeminate Spears impression. I take a little offense to the bad pop song tag, but then again, I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. And “Toxic” will always be a gem.

11:00 – Trying to maneuver a little closer for Loch Lomond, I accidentally step on a girls fingers (she’s sitting on the ground). I apologize profusely and offer a sweaty hug.

11:26 – As Loch Lomond is about to dig into “Carl Sagan,” we have our first real down moment of the weekend. All you can hear is an obnoxious thump from the upstairs bar, where a DJ is probably playing some bad mash-up. I’ll get way more into this later, but come on—don’t you think the Rotture could close off the upstairs portion of the venue for three nights? What about the sense of community, all the kids who rarely get to see a band as great as Loch Lomond almost having the night ruined by some overdressed assholes upstairs?

11:59 – Loch Lomond close its set with a rousing cover of Midnight Oil’s “Beds Are Burning.” For a band that generally plays quite, introspective and intricately arranged folk songs, it’s a bit of a surprise—but they totally pull it off, and Ritchie Young’s pipes sound nearly angelic singing “how do we dance when the earth is turning?” Definitely a contender for cover song of the weekend.

12:03 am – The pipe in the ceiling is dripping water onto the crowd. The patrons upstairs are most likely too busy talking about the new Girl Talk record to notice.

12:24 – As Atole is about to take the stage I run into a whole slew of old friends I haven’t seen in awhile—who, admittingly, are pretty drunk after an afternoon at the beer fest—and the chatter distracts me from my diligent note-taking. “Have you been here all day?” someone yells in my ear. I respond with a hearty “hell yeah.”

12:36 – “I like this bass,” Manny Reyes from Atole tells the crowd, who must be feeling it too. The entire front section is a mass of moving bodies.

12:38 Reyes yells “are you ready for some sing-along shit?” and (shockingly!) everyone screams along. He then dedicates the last track “Tonya’s Song” to LocalCutter Nilina Mason-Campbell and WW’s former music editor Amy McCullough. So much Willy Week love from the stage!

1:01 – I’m hungry, I’m sweaty, and my feet hurt. So fuck it—the notepad is going away for Starfucker. Sometimes you just got to dance.

1:20ish-2 am – I’ll let Arya and Casey preach the Starfucker lore, but holy god, what a set. Quick highlights: a cover of Madonna’s “Burnin’ Up,” the whole crowd dancing, a kid in a pink shirt and silver cape leaping from the speaker into the crowd, and Ryan from Starfucker abandoning his guitar to surf the crowd for a good 20 seconds. “Rawnald Gregory Erickson II” just nailed home what everyone already knew—this is probably the most loved band in the city right now.

Saturday PDX Pop Extras:

Arya Imig’s Three Proudest Moments of the Day

A Ghost’s Face Two Inches From Your Own Face
The kids were late for load in, furiously practicing in Beaverton, and it’s a good thing too. They debuted new material, written and practiced by the rest of them, no less, while singer Nick Vicario was in Europe with another of his bands, Autistic Youth. AGFTIFYOF loyal friendbase moshed the front, while the rest of the crowd probably wondered what the fuck was happening. It was a kick in the pants for those people, a chance for them to be shaken from their perhaps staid existence. It was the chaos of creation.

Eskimo & Sons
They couldn’t leave the stage following their performance, and the fates decreed and time(thanks to the short set of their friends in AGFTIFTYOF[trust me] just prior to them) allowed for the group to take what I’m told may have been one of only a few encores in PDX Pop Now’s history(another having been taken by The Joggers in 2004). With a charming aw shucks humility and genuine humbleness, the band covered their California friends The Red River, rather than playing one of their more well known songs(the set was, in fact, made up of mostly newer stuff). Some of the most indelible moments of my life over the last 20 months have been soundtracked by this band, and I’ve gained, grown closer to or lost(if even temporarily) friends to their music(sometimes the same friends on all three sides of that coin). They are transcendent on record to be sure, but in concert most assuredly. They have made me laugh, they have made me cry, they have made me dance, they have made me sing along and they did all those things Saturday night. The first time I saw them, in October 2006, I hated them - but make no mistake about how I feel now: I love them. Eskimo & Sons absolutely killed, and they are sure to be of the biggest(if not THE biggest) breakout bands of the festival. I’ma try and talk to them about that damn “hiatus” they’re always threatening, but I’ll try to do it with all the love and respect I can muster, because those motherfuckers deserve it. See them again.

Starfucker
Let’s be honest - if you were there, this was one of your proudest moments too. The clown/crown princes of Portland pop delivered. From the moment I read about Sexton Blake four years ago in Willamette Week, I was intrigued and, to be honest, in awe of the idea of a songwriter who could generate that much enthusiasm from a writer(in this case, Casey Jarman). It has been a privilege and a pleasure for me to get to know Josh Hodges and Ryan Biornstad over the last few years (and Shawn Glassford over the last year), and their performance Saturday night was phenomenal. You wouldn’t know it if you talked to them immediately afterwards, sweat dripping, as they mumbled and scratched their heads about some of the sound issues that left them wondering if they had played any good. I gave Josh the positive reinforcement he needed: “That was incredible,” I said. “It was surreal, it was like a movie, I told Casey[Jarman] it felt like a “venue” show, like you guys were packing the Crystal or something.” I should have added, as our friend Nilina Mason-Campbell is so fond of quoting: Thank you for existing. I would have meant it.

AGFTIFYOF and Eskimo & Sons + Arya photos by Benjamin Baumgartener, Starfucker and Arya photo by Michael Gram Mannheimer

More photos, edits, and possibly another account coming later tonight. You know what they say—no rest for the weary.

Links:
PDX Pop Now!
Link to PRA’s live stream