Last week, amid the flurry of gathering last-minute quotes for stories, rushing to get photos and tracking down local politicians, I formed a band with four musicians with whom I had never played and wrote and performed a live set of original music.
This was the second year of the 48 Hour Music Festival, an event where musicians are thrown together in groups to craft 20 minutes of music over the course of two days. Leif Sherman Curtis, of AoK Suicide Forest, Conifer and Moneycastasia, organized the widely popular event, which drew hundreds of people both years to the final show at Space Gallery on Congress Street. The rules: band members can have no prior experience playing with each other, and are barred from doing the Fest two years in a row.
The 48 Hour Music Festival – while a gimmick – is still a shot in the arm to a local music scene that clearly needs a gimmick to draw crowds to see local music. I’ve been playing in Portland bands for seven years, and while I’m still young, my memory stretches back far enough to remember a time when people would pack clubs for original music of all kinds. Today it seems the only shows that sell out are national acts at Port City Music Hall and cover bands at Empire Dine and Dance.
Much has been written about the diversity and talent in the local music scene, but coverage is often blindly exultory and ignores the simple fact that people rarely go see new, original music anymore. And while a band should be expected to claw up the ranks, once they get there, where do they go?
It’s not that Portland lacks talent. There are dozens of amazing original bands living and working on the peninsula. But over the past couple of years, those bands have had to compete with events like Clash of The Titans – a weekly show at Empire where local musicians are pitted against each other in a fight among cover bands; it’s a cover night where people who hate Bon Jovi go to watch someone else pretend to be the Bon Jovi. Ever since The Awesome broke onto the scene with their pitch-perfect reconstruction of 80s pop, club owners have clamored to book cover bands that can nail famous acts and draw droves of weekend warriors.
While these shows can be fun, they have had the unintended consequence of robbing the scene of its vitality and cheapening its talent. Why see Metal Feathers on Thursday when you could see Aerosmith on Tuesday? The recent obsession with cover bands is endemic of the larger cultural trend of people eschewing art for entertainment. Why take a chance? Why spend five bucks to see someone you’ve never heard when you can pay $8 to see local musicians dress up like Fleetwood Mac?
After the show on Saturday, I was talking to another bass player about how great it would be to have the Festival more than once a year. Why couldn’t we do a smaller version of the 48 Hour Music Fest once a week, a sort of organized jam session?
We could, but if it happened more than once a year, who would come? The grim truth about the Portland music scene is that barring a gimmick, or major underground buzz, people need to be tricked into seeing new music.
The whole 48 Hour experience was great. Playing with brand new people stretched my way of thinking about music. There was no hostility, competition or ego; it was just fun. We switched instruments and experimented mixing doo-wop, punk and doom metal. We were like little kids with our first instruments. It was during this time that I remembered what music should feel like: fresh, new and exciting.
Next month I’m playing in a Johnny Cash cover band. I don’t really mind though. At least people will be there.