Letters from the editor - "A Salty Salute" to the Port City Music Hall
Photo by Austin Sorette. Subjects include Bob Pollard and Not Mitch Mitchell
Peter, our general manager, and I met with the awesome women of the Backline music zine at Root Wild in Portland on Monday, Oct. 19, to chat about music journalism. One of the topics we discussed involved the numerous quality venues we're lucky to have in this city. Elena Dugal, one of Backline's cofounders, brought up that Live at Madrid's, with its venue capacity catering to bands too big for clubs and too small for arenas, filled a crucial hole left open by the closure of Port City Music Hall. The thought reminded me that I had actually been to a show at PCMH — only once, unfortunately, but it was one of the best shows I ever attended. It was a performance by a quintet of drunken rock-and-roll dads from Ohio called Guided By Voices.
For the uninitiated, Guided By Voices is an alternative rock band that came to prominence during the lo-fi recording music movement of the mid-'90s. As of this writing, they've released 42 records. That's not a joke, and more importantly, that's also not counting EPs, live albums, compilations, etc. Despite being part of the indie-rock scene, they employed rock-and-roll gimmicks in their live performances. Singer Bob Pollard would do high kicks and swing his mic like The Who's Roger Daltrey. Guitarist Mitch Mitchell (not the drummer from the Jimi Hendrix Experience) would do constant windmills and chain-smoke on stage.
I remember standing in front of 504 Congress St. under the marquee. It was late September 2019, and the cool autumn air swept through the night, carrying cigarette smoke for blocks. At the time, I didn't know much about the band. But my cousin — who has double duty as my brother and best friend — was an obsessive fan, so that meant I couldn't miss it.
When walking through the double glass doors, past the ticket office booth, the room opened up for what seemed like miles. The stage was tucked in the back of the venue, without a barrier between band and audience. It rose barely above the navel, which is always a blessing and a curse because you can literally stand right in front of the stage, but you're subject to being folded over at the waist at a show with a particularly rowdy crowd (without even having been wined and dined first... How rude.)
The band took the stage 10 minutes after the show was supposed to start, without bothering to host an opening act (did I mention they've recorded over 40 albums?) Even though the band members were in their 60s by this point, the energy exploded. We watched Bob open beer after beer on stage, and tried to match his consumption. Mitch, however, looked different than what I had seen in the band's photos. The balding gentleman with the Gibson Les Paul was standing in the correct rock stance, but he seemed thinner and lacked many of the tattoos on his arms.
At one point, I noticed someone standing next to me with a cigarette tucked behind their ear.
"Are you going to give that to Mitch?" I hollered, pointing at the smoke. The guy gave me a puzzled look, not hearing a word I said. He touched the cigarette and handed it to me.
I shrugged and waited until the song ended before I started hollering, "Mitch! Mitch!" I pointed the cigarette at him, trying to command his attention.
My cousin grabbed my shoulder.
"Dude," he muttered. "That's Doug Gillard. That's a completely different guitar player."
I grimaced and tucked the cigarette into my pocket. In retrospect, I'm not sure what I would have accomplished even if it was the ex-guitar player; surely, it had been almost 15 years since anyone was allowed to smoke in music venues. But the combination of beer and Guided By Voices does not result in what we identify as "critical thinking." Indeed, even in the band's song "Quality of Armor," one of the lyrics is, "the worst offense is intelligence." Red-faced, I downed the rest of my beer and went to go get another round.
Six months after that show, the venue closed. The Covid-19 lockdown forced their hand, but without consistent revenue, the closure became permanent that July. Thankfully, the space is currently occupied by Arcadia, an arcade bar with an exceptionally diverse selection of games. Ironically enough, the stage is now occupied by a massive Guitar Hero station. It's tucked on the right-hand side — the exact spot where I tried to offer a cigarette to the wrong guitar player.
R.I.P Port City Music Hall. The club ain't open, but I still think of you every time I hear the song, "A Salty Salute."