… Then Michael stood up on his seat behind the drums, looked at the ceiling as if summoning courage from above, and let out a sigh in a moment of hesitation as he pulled off his last remaining piece of clothing and lifted his arms up to proudly display what biologically marks The Quick and Easy Boys as, well, boys.
At this point in the night, nudity and expensive music equipment used as stepladders were commonplace. Mark Mallman made a huge impression on a not-so-huge crowd just hours before when he pounded away on his keyboards and flamboyantly belted out a string of operatic, neo-retro story songs. Adorned in white-rimmed sunglasses and a denim jacket filled with a variety of novelty buttons and fashion spikes sprinkled like glitter along his collar, he was an epileptic jukebox: foaming Elton John at the mouth, pissing The Darkness, and twitching Billy Idol. It was fabulous. The man has a gift for performance art. Not just because he can wail on his keyboard while perched on it like a chimpanzee, but because he alone can channel the bravado and packed-house energy of a Broadway musical into a Wednesday evening opening act at the Doug Fir. He signed off with a cover of “Nature Boy” (popularized by Nat King Cole); it succeeded by executing the extravagant personality of the song without the use of a tired tongue-in-cheek approach. In full character, his last act was a salute to the ambivalent crowd of twenty before him with a self-assured “Thank you! This is Aaron (drummer) and I’m Mark Mallman. I’ll see you at the top!” And I imagine if he keeps on like this, that’s precisely where he’ll be.
As a broad statement, music rouses feeling. I would argue that it does so more effectively than any other artistic medium. A film, for instance, without a score or soundtrack undoubtedly lacks the emotional momentum required to profoundly affect the audience on the highest possible level. If the credits after "La Vie en Rose" hadn’t ended to the triumphant tune of Edith Piaf’s “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien,” I wouldn’t have wept uncontrollably all the way through them. But I’ve never eaten a macaroon and fallen in love with the next pastry chef I laid eyes on. Nor has a painting or a piece of architecture made me realize something terrifyingly profound about the wayward course of my life. I believe disparate art forms enhance one another if combined, and music being the most versatile sort will make you do (or make) crazy, inspired, and, hopefully, beautiful things. Two prolific American artists named Vort and Cank took this very idea of art-inspiring-art and founded a production company/abstract consulting firm called Vorcan. Their ongoing mission was to encourage art and adventure by doing live paintings alongside live music throughout the country. They describe it as “creating fine art by using the music and environment as inspiration.” The duo has painted during a number of The Quick and Easy Boys sets, and this was one of them. I was happy to witness the combo.
The Resolectrics soon shifted gears suitably from the synth-drunk theatrics of Mallman to a funky blues Americana more apt to pave the way for The Quick and Easy Boys. Vorcan went to work on a blank canvas, splashing it first with broad pastel strokes and, once the energy of the band picked up, started to fill in the details. Impressions of a frantic, red and orange campfire materialized next to a cartoonish graffiti-art character in a dusty cowboy hat as The Resolectrics’ most prominent song of the night, “Newspaper,” had everyone doing at least a heel tap. All three members chanted the chorus repeatedly: “I read it in the newspaper, they said he was dead, they said he was dead.” The drummer and keyboardist opened periodic windows to accommodate Johnny Brenda’s meandering blues guitar solos that in retrospect didn’t move me near as deeply as Jimmy Russell’s. Though not a shred of their music is overtly sentimental, Russell, the guitarist and oft referred to as “the other Jimi” of The Quick and Easy Boys could convince you otherwise.
Somewhere between the Q&E’s surprise cover of Bowie’s “Moonage Daydream” and the guitarist’s insistence on keeping his eyes shut like an engrossed Ray Charles sans sunglasses, it dawned on me that I was probably at one of those “intimate” shows you gush about years later when said band is playing sold out concerts at the Crystal Ballroom. It’s a grand prediction I know, but in my non-professional opinion I think they’ve got all the right things in alignment; or maybe it’ll just take a few more glowing reviews from music writers who have a thing for talented goofballs.
Their second, recently released album, Red Light Rabbit, is a speedy mix of funk, blues, country, and rock - a subgenre that might have catapulted them into widely palatable alt-country land if they played their cards differently. But I’m happy to see the diversity at their shows. They appeal to the small-town kids who just want to have a good time (get drunk, dance, get laid, what have you), as well as the city kids inundated with so much music and culture that they could easily dismiss another Portland band as “just another Portland band” obsessed with bygone decades of guitar shredding and bell bottoms. But there is always, always, always room for more music. It won’t kill polar bears or cause cancer. It won’t make you fat or give you cavities. Music in general has always been and will always be the great unifier, and thank God or whoever for the people who do it well.
The normally dull black dance floor glistened with spilt booze and little plastic stir straws. It was 12:30am -- fifteen minutes past the Doug Fir’s bedtime, and The Quick and Easy Boys defiantly played on. I was still grinning from when Sean slipped in a bit of Die Antwoord during their first song -- a sarcastic chipmunk-y "Eye-yai-yai I am your butterfly, I need your protection, be my samurai." A pack of groovy blond ladies to my left (who I swear were also at the Crystal last month when The Q&E’s opened for Deer Tick) pioneered the slippery dance floor with grace and tact despite being drunk as hell. The band took a couple shots of whiskey themselves when a kind philanthropist delivered them to the stage. In a quick and easy gesture of male camaraderie, they tapped their little plastic cups together and returned to their respective positions. Jimmy and Sean (bass/vocals) modestly sipped their shots while Michael threw his back hastily and smashed the cup underfoot. I’m unsure of the exact order of events but in the midst of all this a friend of the band strutted onto the stage wearing a charming ensemble of tennis shoes, beanie, and “wedgied” boxers. Out of this man came two things: vocal participation in a cover of Hendrix’s “Foxy Lady,” and full frontal nudity. And now I’m sure of the sequence of events, because Mr. Wedgie’s exhibition inspired the drummer to do the same shortly after. So, here we are once again. Michael stood up on his seat behind the drums, looked at the ceiling as if summoning courage from above, and let out a sigh in a moment of hesitation as he pulled down his boxers.
Vorcan spastically painted layer after layer of color onto his second canvas. I don’t remember what it was, but I liked it. It was one person’s interpretation of the exact same music at the exact same moment I was hearing it, but I undoubtedly interpreted it through a different colored lens. I looked down at my crumpled piece of paper with excited scribbles of half-sentences and phrases like, “Yeah, bud’s all over the place … thong-guy boogies on stage … happy Thanksgiving foooood! … sounds like Zeppelin Over Hills Far Away … Medicine like LZ’s Crunge … Simply Irresistible cover!” Then I was told that some of the Vorcan paintings do spectacular things through 3-D glasses, and I just couldn’t imagine it being any better than it already was. Happy Thanksgiving food, indeed.
