ATTACKING PORTLAND...

Here’s the details on the Sept. 19 gig. I’ll be part of something called the “Favorite Show”—a monthly (I think) showcase hosted by Whitney Hampson, one of the ringleaders in and for Life’s SubtleTease, the burlesque troupe. It’s at Urban Grind East, a coffeehouse at 2214 NE Oregon (just north of Sandy Blvd.) in Portland.

Saturday, 19 September, when the doors open at 8 p.m., I’ll be playing. When the Official Show starts at 8:30, I’ll be the first act on. It’ll be just a couple of songs; there are, I understand, multiple acts, and it all moves pretty fast. I’ll have a new stack of CDs to sell (I finally broke down and got more made), but they’re the same old CDs. The new one won’t come out until this winter.

This is my latest attempt to break into the Portland market—something I’d really like to do, but haven’t had much success at yet. I expect it’s because I haven’t tried hard enough. Here’s a thought: I’m traveling to Portland at least once a week, this month, for Burlesque Show cast meetings every Sunday. There are at least three open mikes in Portland on Sunday nights (and that’s just on the Portland Songwriters Assn.’s calendar—I’m sure there are others). I’ll take the guitar (and CDs, of course). I’m in town, right? It’s an opportunity, too, to promote the Burlesque Show and anything else I’ve got scheduled.

Portland is a lot like Nashville, in that there’s an active live-music scene, but a lot of people are chasing very few dollars. (At least, it doesn’t appear to be as much of a closed club as Nashville.) To fully exploit it, one really ought to be living there—but I don’t want to live there. I had my fill of the big city when I was a kid growing up in Syracuse, N.Y. The Operative Question (as Richard Nixon used to call it) is what kind of impact I can have attacking the Portland scene from the outside.

It’ll take a while, but I don’t dare begrudge the time. Thing is, it costs a tank of gas to make a trip to Portland. I just need to make sure to play music when I’m already making the gas investment in something else.

UPCOMING: Job interview Thursday 9/10, to be a planner for state emergency management (that’s the place that e-mailed me instructions how to get past the guards and locked gates—sounds like an interesting place to work already). While I’m in Salem, I’ll pick up thongs, and stop by the giant bookstore (where I have over $50 worth of credit). Music just Friday this week, at City Hall. They won’t be having music again at the Tillamook Library until Saturday the 19th—the day of my Urban Grind gig. I didn’t get to film Rufus on Labor Day; that’s going to have to wait until Sunday the 13th. Sunday the 13th we should be having another sit-down of the Burlesque Troupe, too.

I wrote up (as requested) a “character map” of my stage persona, The Fool (we all adopted Tarot cards as trademarks); I think the purpose is to give the other actors clues as to what you’d do, or how you’d act, in various situations. It’s probably important for a group that operates as much in ad-lib territory as this one does. I envisioned The Fool as a zelig—the Woody Allen character who shows up in all the famous photographs but nobody can figure out why. He’s the guy everybody recognizes, but no one actually knows—he’s always somebody else’s friend. Like me, in other words. If I’m being myself on stage, I at least know how to behave.

One of the things I told them was I was obsessive about scripts: Must have a script, and must follow the script. At this point, with the show less than three weeks away, I still haven’t seen a script. And with my fixation on being thoroughly rehearsed, I have to know how I fit in. I’m not even sure what songs to play yet.

I get to try musicating a couple of “Nashville April” Johns songs this weekend, too. I’ll give her a just-music track she can record her own (very good) voice to One of them, “Family Portrait,” is one of those heart-rending lost-love songs, but expressed in a slightly unexpected way. It could go somewhere. I’ll see if I can’t give her a vehicle to run with.

Joe