A Curse Unleashed; Working for Doughnuts; and a Dahlia by Any Other Name

I’m back, safe and sound with the muggers and drug dealers in NYC. My people. The last leg of our little NW adventure took place in charming Portland. It’s rare on a tour like this to spend a few days in one town, but that’s how it worked out, and I was well pleased. I reintroduced myself to the town in usual Hempton fashion; by schlepping my gear for miles. But there are few more schlep-friendly towns around- well maintained sidewalks, no hills to speak of, and an almost complete absence of people. It’s a quiet joint. The walk took me across the delightful Willamette river to the colourful East Side.

If you want to relive the cross-country car trips you took as a kid with your family in the 70s, I recommend booking a night at the Eastside Inn. I had three. It’s got all the hallmarks of a classic old-timey motel: dusty, airless lobby attended by moth-eaten owner; three floors of squat rooms with wraparound balconies designed in the maximum-security-prison style; a strip club across the street (Union Jacks…); mysterious banging noises; and an unsurpassed level of throat-clutching mustiness. Seriously, when I opened that door I was hit by an acrid wave; it was like discovering the chamber where an Egyptian Pharaoh kept his grandmother’s bedsheets. A bit like this:

I kept the doors and windows open day and night, but this stuff lived there. After three days in that room, my suit became the season’s have-must item!

On the Sunday night, we headed south to the town of Aurora, and the Aurora Colony Vineyard. Oregon is known for its wineries, and one of these days, a vineyard jazz tour is in order. I was joined by some top-notch Portland players, and we played in the vineyard’s tasting room to a select (read small) group of discerning patrons. A little gig like this, while not financially particularly rewarding, is still a great pleasure for its intimacy. The audience felt involved in the performance, and I felt involved in the wine tasting. Very involved, actually. They squeeze a mean Sauv Blanc, and our generous hosts laid on some top-flight grub (pear and blue-cheese pizza anyone?). Audience and band chatted after the show, and when we rolled out of there, we were all firm friends.

I had the next day off, and spent it on one of the classic Portland tourist activities: standing in line all freaking day at the bank. I had some Canadian cash to deposit, and when I finally reached my 12-year-old teller, he was not only unfamiliar with Canadian currency, I suspect he’d never heard of the country. We sorted it out, and after converting it at the current rate, I took my Vancouver gig money and bought a doughnut.

I tramped around town for the rest of the day, sampled from the countless food carts, got lost in the world’s biggest bookshop (if you lose your friend in a bookshop, can you have them paged?), and had dinner at a few of the city’s 65-odd breweries with a record company executive (it was actually my friend Nick from the Posi-Tone label…). Beer is a big thing in this town- they’ve got more breweries than any other city in the world- and you’ll often find yourself sitting in the shadow of the vat containing the beer you’re currently drinking. They go for the big hoppy varieties, subtle as a smack in the ear with a housebrick, and often a bit sweet for mine, but I’ll keep trying.

Tuesday we played at what was then called the Dahlia Theater in the lovely town of Canby, Oregon. Since I was originally booked for this show, the venue has been called Canby Wedding Chapel, Angelina’s Artiste Centre, and the Dahlia Theater. Who know’s what it’s called now. I can’t tell you what a joy it is to promote a show that changes its name every week. It’s actually a real Methodist chapel, built in 1884, with lovely ornate pressed tin walls. It’s a beautiful old pile, with naturally warm acoustics, and is now, thanks to owners Marilyn and Martin, exclusively used for concert presentations. Check this joint out!

Next morning, it was toodle-pip to the girls at Union Jacks, and a cab (driven by a local bass player- I talked all the way) to the airport. It was a great fun trip, and I’m looking forward to getting back there soon. Next week: bonkers in Honkers!