Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Portlandia

The first day of October, in that champion year of 1977.  Portland, Oregon, which is tied with Portland, Maine, and That Town That Smells Like A Clown’s Asshole, Iowa, for the title of America’s least creative town names.

The next night, and its Casey Jones opener that bursts with an almost-fascistic energy (the song COMMANDS that you boogie and it has also fused government and industry into one monolithic entity fronted by a cult of personality), is better known, but the night before is spectacular.

The setlist is remarkably ’77. It’s as ’77 as you can get without folding the year into a Riemann Manifold and turning the Universe into a small kitten or an enormous kitten or any sort of kitten.

This show is in the details. Check out the Eyes>Dancin transition as Mickey defines “most cowbell.”

1 Comment

  1. Don’t pick on my Maine. At least we were the first unoriginal Portland. That other Portland stole our unoriginalness

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