After Winterfest I figured that would be about it for street rock until warmer, dryer weather next summer. But then there was a Friday afternoon when the weather was unseasonably warm and sunny, and I finished work early, and I decided to use the last half hour before sundown to get out and rock.

I grabbed all my gear, running down the list in my mind over and over, and making sure to remember an important item I keep forgetting, my donations box for my friend Priya’s campaign to raise money for a handicap-accessible van. I forgot the box last time, and blame that absentmindedness for how little I collected for the cause.

After negotiating heavy end-of-week rush hour traffic, I got to the neighborhood. There were plenty of people walking around, just as I expected. I found a distant parking space, gathered my gear, and walked back to the spot. I attached the hi-hat cymbals, and then while reaching for the snare drum, I noticed my shoes. My regular old shoes. The ones I don’t wear while playing because they lack the attachment for the base drum and hi-hat cords. Show canceled.

So the next time the weather was accommodating, I was determined to return to the spot, with all the necessary equipment in place, and make up for the time I was denied. And that was 8 days later, when I got all my equipment together, including the proper shoes, and made my way to Alberta yet again.

I started playing, and while there weren’t quite as many pedestrians as the unsuccessful attempt the week before, it was a decent number of people walking by. I made a few bucks in donations, collected in my generic guitar case, because while I remembered all the stuff I needed to play, this time I forgot the donations box! No wonder it’s taking so long to buy a van for Priya!

Hey, maybe help me make it up to Priya by donating right now?

Now that we’ve had some temperatures below freezing, and it’s starting raining a lot, I figured “outdoor season” was over for the year in one-man-banding. But then the rain let up, temperatures rose, and the dream resurfaced: the dream of playing in St. Johns.

St. Johns is a somewhat remote, isolated neighborhood in Portland, with a kind of magical appeal to me after attending a couple of St. Johns Parades. And then my pals Meghan and John at Stencilitis told me they were going to have a booth at the Winterfest…and would I like to play my one man band there for a while? I couldn’t say no.

Strategically choosing what I hoped would be the warmest time of day, I arrived at the booth around 2pm, and got the show going around 2:30pm. It was nice to be on asphalt again (see Sumner-Albina City Park show) and though it was still kind of cold and grey, I thought the vigorous activity would keep me warm enough.

As soon as I started playing, a woman and her little tyke sat down to watch. I saw a lot more kids passing by as I played, some stopping to watch with their folks. (So much for all the profanity-laced songs I usually play!) I made sure to give a 360° perspective of the drum gizmo on my back, which seems to especially fascinate the youngsters.

I played a little less than an hour, because although I was sweating a bit, my fingers were going numb from the cold. As the last note faded, the person in charge came over and asked why I didn’t want to play in the middle of the agora, so more people could see me. Here I thought I was about to get the boot—that maybe I had just pulled off a perfect crime—and I was being invited to play more. Oh, St. Johns, how you beguile me.

As I mentioned in some earlier posts, my friend Priya is trying to raise money for a handicap-accessible van. I forgot to bring my donation box to the show, but you can always donate on her campaign site. And I hope that you do.

I’ve had my eye on this tiny park nestled between Cherry Sprout Produce and some bar for a couple of months now. Back in August, I was kept away by…I don’t know, something with lots of musicians and spectators for most of the day and night. I might have pushed my way in, or played nearby to take advantage of a ready-made audience, but that’s not really my style.

There’s a pretty good chance that I ended up playing on Alberta instead on that fateful day. So today, in an ironic reversal, I was denied at 21st and Alberta by a folk band playing on the corner across the street from where I intended to play. I saw a banjo, a saxophone, and an upright bass, on top of percussion and a singer. What’s a one man band to do?

What I did was, I slowly cruised Alberta back toward my house, looking for a likely place to play. When I got to Albina, I remembered the park by Cherry Sprout Produce and made a right turn. The park was empty, and the only people in sight were some smoking drinkers (drinking smokers?)  sitting at a table in front of the Red Fox. I asked if they’d mind if I played some music, and they told me to go ahead.

I set up in front of the “stage” and started playing. Some friends showed up, a couple I’d warned, er, notified, and another couple who happened to be heading to Cherry Sprout to pick up some produce. A few pedestrians also lingered, and more people voluntarily brought their drinks out to the Red Fox’s patio, while I was playing.

Something I haven’t had to deal with before is playing on grass. Sidewalks are firm and flat, and keep my heels (and the cables attached there-to) a uniform distance from the bass drum and hi-hat. Grass is soft and uneven, forcing me to compensate much more by continuously adjusting the angle of my backpack drums with respect to my legs. It may not sound like a big deal, but I felt it in my back the next day.

With friends around, I wanted to play the old classics, but also some things they haven’t heard before. But I also didn’t want them to feel obligated to stay the whole time. The cool autumn afternoon was good for my stamina, but not so good for my friends’ resolve to stand somewhat still while watching. It’s weird to be sweating in a  T-shirt while everyone around me is huddling together a bit, scarfed, mittened, and jacketed, and watching the sun set behind me even earlier than it did the day before. So I tried not to keep them too long, and I think the show ended right on time.

Weather is going to be a big factor for upcoming shows. We’re at that time of year in Portland where it’s going to be too cold and rainy for outdoor music. This show felt like seizing the last opportunity of the year, and I tried to make the most of it with a more aggressive solicitation of donations at the end. I’m still contributing all money received to my friend Priya’s campaign to buy a handicap-accessible van, and I hope you make a contribution as well!

Sometimes you look at a corner and say, “Someday I’ll play a show there.” And with news of Slabtown’s impending closure, I decided it was time to finally play one of those shows, on the corner of NW Marshall and NW 16th Ave, right outside of Slabby.

The bar is owned and operated by old pal Doug, and another old friend Mike runs the restaurant-in-a-bar Falafel House (best falafel in Portland, no lie). Because they’re at the bar all the time, they’d not yet had the pleasure of seeing El Demasiado in the flesh. My plan was to bring the show to them.

So at about 2:30 on a Thursday afternoon, I packed up my gear into my bike’s trailer, and pedaled over the Broadway Bridge into the Pearl, and over to the bar. Doug offered me a beer, but I declined: the demands of performing forbid pre-show intoxicants of any kind. Instead I accepted a tall glass of ice water, and began to set up.

I’m usually at Slabtown in the evening, and the neighborhood is pretty quiet then. A few cars go by, and you hear a truck or two on the 405 overpass. I didn’t count on afternoon rush hour, and LOUD cars and trucks whizzing by overhead, plus stop and go traffic on the street in front of the bar. But then, as it always does, rush hour got ironic on us, and traffic on 405 slowed to a quiet crawl. So by the time I played the first note, I was pretty audible to anyone nearby.

The best part of playing on the street is getting people to stop and hang out a while, and in addition to Doug and Mike, a few other people lingered to take in the show. I believe this is in no small part due to the picnic seating now in front of Slabtown, and it’s got me wondering about bringing some kind of seating to all sidewalk shows. Maybe a lawn chair or two?

Around 4:30, just as fatigue began amplifying my late-afternoon hunger, a couple of guys sat down and broke out a picnic including French bread, bleu cheese, and apricot jelly, among other things. I salivated. My stomach growled. I kept playing.

After going through everything I could think of, I remembered that Doug and Mike had missed my world debut so I played the “Bear Suite” to some of the biggest smiles of the day. I closed with Addiction, which is one of Doug’s favorites, and called it a day.

After the show, I took Doug up on his beer offer, and Mike brought me a delicious falafel plate, which I devoured. After draining the beer, I got back on my bike and pedaled home. It felt like uphill the entire way, but I was glad I finally got to rock somewhere on that side of the river. (But in the future, for the sake of these weary legs, I’ll probably drive!)

Incidentally, this is another show where I solicited donations for my friend Priya’s quest to obtain a handicap-accessible van. If you weren’t able to donate on the street, please head over to her campaign and make a donation there.

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Trying to expand my zone, I ventured down to Russell and MLK around 7pm on a Saturday night. I worried the traffic would be too loud, and a couple of buses did drown me out while I played. But mainly I felt pretty audible, and detected no hostility about my being there. (Believe it or don’t, not everyone is glad when El Demasiado shows up for some one-man-banding.)

It felt like a pretty good show. This time I brought a list of my song titles, which I often forget in the excitement of performing, so I played a lot of songs I might have forgotten otherwise. A little more than an hour in, my bass drum strap came loose and I decided to call it a night. It’s still pretty hot, and I was almost seeing double anyway. I played one more song without the drum rig, and headed out.

I always say, one person staying to watch beats making money from people who just walk by without listening at all. So I was deeply gratified by the woman who hung around from the first note to the last. As for the proffered marriage proposal, well, Señora Demasiado isn’t ready to give up on us yet.

A friend who stopped by told me she also received a marriage proposal from a man walking by. Who would have thought? The corner of Russell and MLK is surely among the most romantic spots in Portland!

For the next hundred days, any money I make from live shows will be contributed to my dear friend Priya’s campaign to raise funds for a handicap accessible van. Priya is a violinist who’s played many a show on the streets with me, never letting her wheelchair keep her from street rockin’. Since moving to Asheville, NC, she’s gotten much better medical care, but must contend with much worse public transportation. A van she can drive with her hands will improve her quality of life immeasurably. I urge you to contribute whatever you can by clicking here to donate!

Trying not to fall into a rut by playing at the same old place again and again I picked a completely different kind of spot, in a mellower neighborhood but not too far from a busy street with lots of foot traffic. Despite its sad sounding name, this location really fit the bill: restaurants and bars around the corner meant lots of people parking and walking by, but also a lot of the actual residents would be out and about on a Friday evening.

This location isn’t completely random, though. It’s the intersection where Moe (recall show #1) and George live, as I was counting on at least one friendly resident to allow me to play in front of their house without calling the cops. Also, I think they kind of liked it.

As I’d hoped, several folks paused on their way to one of the many bars and restaurants on Williams, but…mostly on different corners, across the street. People, if you see me playing on the street, come closer, it’s perfectly safe! I know it can be awkward, if you’re the only person watching from close by, but another person will always stop if you do. Eventually, you’re just part of a small crowd.

Some old and new friends did hang around on my corner for a few minutes, long enough to witness a brief equipment malfunction. Most embarrassingly, this was in front of Señora Demasiado, who doesn’t come out to every single show, as well as la perra Dorita. But I still got a ride home, so it must not have been too bad for them.

I must admit, not the best show ever, as I was pretty wiped out by the ol’ day job on a Friday night, and the mental acuity and physical precision may have been a bit lacking. Nonetheless, I played for about an hour and fifteen minutes, mostly to appreciative passers-by—apart from the one family who crossed the street between songs to get a closer look, and left as soon as I started the next song. Not for everyone, this one man band.

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This seemed like such a great spot that I returned one short week later to see if it was just beginner’s luck, or really the kind of place that I could reliably return to. I’d say it was more of the latter, as once again people generally seemed happy I was there. (Although I do wonder if anyone in Portland would actually verbalize their displeasure.)

I installed a few motion-activated LED lamps to give my backpack drum set a little more visual appeal. Maybe it’s too gimmicky, though–I don’t want to diminish the songs as mere vehicles for a light show. What do you think?

It’s still pretty warm out, so I’m looking forward to cooler, shorter days, when I can get started a little earlier and maybe…play longer?

After literally months of searching for someone to play on the street with me, plus some traveling with my other band, I decided I would just have to strike out on my own. I was reluctant due to some, er, difficult encounters with the public as a more conventional singer/guitarist, and I wasn’t sure how the pedestrians of Portland’s Alberta Arts neighborhood would take to a one man band.

I found a spot in front of a closed repair shop, by an empty lot. Not close enough to the Salt and Straw line that I was bothering anyone, but people could walk over and check things out if they felt like it.

I’m happy to report, it went pretty well. I played for over an hour, which is a long time in the intense summer heat, and got more than a few smiles and head bobs. And the best thing: some people even hung around for a few minutes to really listen. That’s about the best compliment a street musician can get.

My first show as El Demasiado, at the IPRC for a Variety Show zine release party.

Moe Bowstern and Erin Yanke made an audio zine about a bear incident in Uyak Bay, Alaska, with interviews and research about bear-human interactions, and something Moe calls “rural gentrification.”

In keeping the overall beariness of the occasion, I performed three bear-themed songs: “If I Were a Bear,” “I’m Not a Bear,” and “Winterlong.” I still play them, so request them if you see me!

More info on the zine here:

http://kboo.fm/content/moebowsterntalksabouttheaudiozinereportfromuyakbay
http://www.moebowstern.com/zines.html