The place is packed by 9pm, which seems phenomenal in a city of latecomers. The new-ish Bunk Bar, a sandwich joint birthed under the sweet industrial skirt of the Morrison Bridge, is a blessing in light of venue after venue being shut down or demolished (Satyricon, Berbati’s - RIP). Ceiling-high mirrors for hairdo checks, sly flirty glances, and aerial crowd views span the wall behind the L-shaped bar. A mesmerizing airport-runway-sized mural (compliments of artist, Casey Burns) from Wim Wenders’ Paris, Texas looms on the wall behind a pop-up stage that penetrates the crowd like an ocean pier. The other two walls of the Bunk Bar consist of floor-to-ceiling windows, which allow orange streetlight-stars to beam in, while the headlights of highway traffic whiz skyward like some urban sci-fi hallucination. Motopony, a five-piece southern-rock outfit from Seattle, demands our full attention as they flail and wail in suspenders, cutoffs, Moogs, and tambourines. The lead singer comments on the “Good number of people here” with an endearing cowboy drawl before completing a nicely arced set that finishes with a tambourine and a blues-guitar-thick finale that leaves the crowd both satisfied and intrigued.
LA natives, White Arrows garner attention before even playing a note. Two tie-dies and three floral-patterned collars mill about the stage area casually before lead man Mickey Church formally introduces the band and proceeds to selfishly impose his parentheses-smile and otherwise swell looks on the room. Male harmonizing ensues, some high-pitched vocals alongside funky bass lines crisscross through the airwaves and after four or five songs I am at an utter loss to pin down a particular sound. I think Starfucker, Strokes, Springsteen, indie anthem rock, psychedelic, techno… who knows, but it’s good. They cover “I’m on Fire” beautifully and everyone starts grinding the person in front of them… or imagines as much. They cover retro Fleetwood Mac one minute, and throw around some neo beep-boop-beep-bop’s from their Korg sampler another. Nearly every song is reliably foot-stompy or pelvis-grindy, but just so you don’t write them off as a flagrant party band, they throw in a smart broken-beat indie ballad every so often for good measure. I highly encourage attendance at their upcoming Music Fest Northwest show with Phantogram (Sept. 8) at the Doug Fir.
Okay, so the whole reason we’re here is for the headliners, right? Well, to hearken an old phrase – not so much. The packed venue was cleared out like a busted house party before Those Darlins were halfway through their set, and I still can’t figure out why. Their performance was spectacular. Could it be because Portland has a strict bedtime on Tuesday nights? Turns out, early to rise indeed means early to bed. But Those Darlins would certainly not approve of this. In fact, these self proclaimed wild ones wouldn’t hesitate to give you a swift kick in the shin with their red fringed boots for being such babies. Thank goodness a handful of die-hards glued themselves to the stage from the opening “$” to the finale “Funstix Party” (“I bring the fun, you bring the stix…”) otherwise I fear Those Darlins should never return to this strange land of nod again. Regardless, the princesses (and percussion prince) of crude country-punk performed seventeen songs handpicked from their eldest eponymous debut, to their youngest, Screws Get Loose, and a few unrecorded tracks as if Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings themselves were there to evaluate. With more than two months of a nationwide tour ahead of them, I suspect Those Darlins won’t be early to bed anytime soon – and thank the lordy for that.
