Bygone Shows

An evening of jangles and jingles, some serious, some funny. 

Members of Washington DC's Federal Reserve collective, These United
States have been building and building frontman Jesse Elliott's poetry
into a signature jangly country pop sound.  Released in March 2008, "A
Picture of the Three of Us at the Gate to the Garden of Eden," was
conceived by Elliott and co-conspirator David Strackany (aka Paleo, of
Song Diary fame), and, as they describe it, like Paul Simon taking you
on a tour of Bowie's labyrinth with Andrew Bird along for the ride.
Says Daytrotter: "It is, without being at all overly enthusiastic, one
of the best records you will hear this year, and it will make you feel
completely human. You'll feel your fingernails grow. You'll start to
understand what all of your facial muscles do when they're not smiling
or frowning. You'll taste that blood as it finds all of your many
cracks and detours."

Prolific Portland songwriter Nick Jaina is touring in support of his new, seven piece band album, A Narrow Way, released this fall on HUSH records.

Daytrotter says: "He clings to his tenderness without letting it make him too red. It's a method to get to the crux of weariness, without getting too worn out by the business. His is a chilled bottle, a light fire, a calm temper that rummages through brush and the brambles to finally get into the clearing – never getting too peeved, just brushing off his pant legs and pulling the burrs out of his shoelaces, throwing them onto the grass to the side. He takes so much of his material – and what led to that material – in stride, coolly fixing an even brow and a need to see the light at the end of all the tunnels that seem to be stretching out before him endlessly."

    they had lived by night  after the Flood  after the Wilderness…before they learned to weep…a rhythm generates coagulating into prose. 
hands abused by work. minds abused by Time.  deep memories are cast from the terrible shore. less black the dark of night than the eyes of Fate...  the hour of my sad twilight has come.  the immense weight of time...situated on the screen.  close-up.  black & white.  fades.... exiled from love. the scale of things.  the existence of Death was a primary source of religion.  internal equilibrium.  dead upon the seashore. thrown into existence. the meaning of the word. Genealogy to be created & recreated endlessly. reinvented if necessary. Salvation an end in which there was no means save Art.  man awaits daily pardon.  man’s eternal dwelling place lies in his deceit.  the oracle has come in endless streams of vomit...filled w / a sensation of grief & Boredom…far removed & distant like a planet detached & disillusioned like the night unable to discern the melancholy which penetrates the heart. the Spirit moved...endless cattle w / faces worn. the need for survival. death instinct. the senses dull useless.  the herd need somebody to follow.  remember we bathed ourselves (in moonlight) remember we closed our eyes (at dawn).  seamless curtains torn & laced in moonlight at dawn. we end up sleeping next to bodies we will never really know. despite the nights alone & the days on fire (no more tomorrows) the end of superstitions...Uncertainty is just a way of being inefficient.  what if edgar poe wrote a rock n roll song.  Aeolian procession in midnight flight a feeling you can hear. there is always something new in your development towards an undetermined end.  I want to reenter life.  out of the tomb & into the womb.  (or is it the other way around?) 8 times the vowel O appears.  Listen…we have arrested our senses. we have enslaved our attention. will we never find ourselves again?  we must reassume our dreams in the infinite Alchemical night where life is no longer continually lacerated.  extend the voice.  liberation is the key.  the hour has come. the broken universe has draped over us the new dawn. no longer a tomb for a bed. extend the voice. it’s time to reevaluate our values. hear the voices that language forsakes.  there may be no other passage thru time...