MusicFest Northwest Report #1: Langhorne Slim Kicks Some Ass

Let me be an old Oregon native curmudgeon for a moment. Back in the day, we Portlanders called it North by Northwest. It was like a much smaller, grungier version of Austin's annual industry schmooze fest, South by Southwest— it was the version that didn't give a shit about marketing and hype and shiny objects. And even though the folks that ran SXSW in the mid-90s helped Portland alt-weekly Willamette Week start up NXNW, they did so without impressing too much of their own ideals. Portland's NXNW existed mostly in the shadows, mostly as SXSW's rebellious flannel-clad kid sister, mostly as a bunch of noisy garage bands banging around dingy downtown Stump-town venues.

photo by Karyn-Lynn Fisette

Now, you're waiting for me to say that's all changed, right? Seems like a natural progression for this story, doesn't it? Seems the next chapter should read something like this: Back in the day, the NXNW was cool and grassroots and independent and untouched by The Man and the almighty dollar, or whatever. And today—which of course forever pales to yester—that's all changed, the industry and the marketing and the hype and the schmoozing have taken over. Oh what a shame! Things will never be the same!

Seems a classic modern-day tale, right? But here's the twist: None of the predictable pans out. The cool and unexpected part about the story of NXNW—renamed MusicFest Northwest since breaking off with SXSW a handful of years back—is that, while it's grown considerably over the years, it hasn't strayed from the independent nature in which it thrives. It's still a load of noisy, shack-shaking musicians stirring crowds up around town—only real difference now is that Portland is a more recognizable mark on the map; a more desirable destination for bigger name acts like, Built to Spill, Mogwai, TV On The Radio and Vampire Weekend to visit. Yet none of this name-dropping is meant to infer that MusicFest Northwest isn't still devoted to the lesser known, hardworking local musicians that keep Portland's music community feeling so alive. God bless Portland! Sorry, all these campaign speeches have infected me.

So the still-amazing and not-too-schmoozy MusicFest Northwest kicked off last night; more than 200 acts will perform on the next four evenings at more than twenty different Portland venues. I plan to see as much as possible, which of course means I won't be able to see every musician I want. But I'm counting on catching the best of 'em and reporting back here to you kind folk. My kick-ass photographer friend, Karyn-Lynn Fisette, will provide the best shots.

Like this one:

photos by Karyn-Lynn Fisette

Speaking of Langhorne Slim—oh, you've already heard. Should've known. Everybody's been talking. He rules. He's awesome. He rips. He kicks so much ass live that, as one MySpace commenter rightly pointed out, you have to wear ass pads the next day. Believe it. I swear it—it's all true. Born in Langhorne, Penn. and now based in Brooklyn, Sean Scolnick and his big giant heart write burning blues/soul/gospel numbers as if it were their only life purpose, and when he belts out lines like: "Toss your miseries out the door … it's alright to get a little happy along the way," and the sweat rolls down the side of his face, you know he feels it—you know he feels it so deeply, you can't help but do just the same. In my notebook, I scribbled: His emotion is clear. I could try to come up with a fancier way to say that. But I don't think I need to. He doesn't need frills to convince me—why should I use them to convince you? He sweats and yelps and falls to his knees and, with his band, he creates hyper country, gritty gospel, teary-eyed soul. And he means it. His passion is real. He rules. He's awesome. He rips. For real.

Worth mentioning: Norfolk & Western and Old 97s were in the unfortunate position of performing, respectively, before and after Langhorne Slim. Hate to say it, but their summery, pop-ish countrified sets appeared uneventful, timid, luke warm and, well, plain boring in comparison. I mean, Langhorne's bass drum has big black letters spelling out: War Eagles. How can you compete with that? You can't. You plain can't.