Scene Report: Electroacoustics – Wyrd Hut

Event: Electroacoustics

Venue: Wyrd Hut – Portland, OR

The search for September is officially over. We crossed the finish line of summer with only a few emotional scars – and now the air is cool enough to breathe. And what a perfect night to switch things up and check out something a little out of my normal purview. I went with the enigmatic Todd (aka Soup Purse) to a strange little venue right off of SE Foster in Portland – the Wyrd Hut. It’s one of those little houses that’s zoned both residential and commercial. While Todd and I did go together, it was more as if we traveled like horses bound to the same watering hole. Why not travel together? On the way we ducked into Bar Maven right around the corner for a quick beer, and Todd immediately began unloading a stream of local lore. Foster, according to him, was crawling with strange gems. He pointed out Tango Berretin, a spot that looked like a regular dive but was actually a full-fledged tango studio. Portland never fails at this sort of thing.

Once we got to the Wyrd Hut, I was immediately handed an origami frog by one of the other people who came to see the show. It was going to be a good night.

First up was SH – and although the show is called “Electroacoustic”, they were making “computer music.” And I can’t begin to tell you how much I love computer music. I immediately felt like an astronaut in my little command module, hurtling back toward Earth, strapped in tight, bracing for the ocean landing somewhere off the coast of a country drowning itself in petrol dollars. And all I can hear in this craft I’m in is the heat shield absorbing the fiery atmosphere. SH is the heat shield. I must say I love having a chair to sit in during reentry … this venue is quite nice. One of these guys is playing their music with a PS1 controller – no doubt implying that we are a game to them. This is really intense and truly reminds me of death and pulsars out in deep space. Not the location, but more the sounds we pick up from deep space. The death rattle of pulsars that would outlast me by millions of years. It’s a dangerous game to summon the gas giants with tones like this. Great set.

I forgot to mention earlier that Todd has his Statue of Liberty socks on. It’s not relevant to the pre-or-proceedings, but I just feel as though it needed to be said. Audrey Harrer from L.A. is up next and I’m very excited to see what they’re about to do. I see a harp and a bunch of pedals – now THIS is how you spend a Friday night. She opened with tones that immediately pulled me into Harold Budd territory – slow tidal harmonics, angelic phrases stitched into the air. For a moment I heard Brian Eno’s Evening Star flickering in the margins, but no, the gravitational pull was Budd. If you are into The Pavilion of Dreams (specifically track 2 on that record), you’ll love Audrey Harrer. Lush harp and deep harmonics. Lots of angelic vocalizations. She’s passing around a journal to get thoughts from everyone in the crowd which is nice.

Now I have to decide what to write. What do I write? I’m already writing. Of course as I’m trying to decide what to write they casually mention astronauts – great, now we’ve got musicians with clairvoyance to deal with. Okay, I wrote my little line and handed it back up to the stage.

Wait is she going to read what we fucking wrote to everyone? God damn it. I would have written something more clever if I knew that.

The interactivity of this set is just so sweet. It’s sweet in the strangest way – like communion without the bread, sacrament by participation. Plus the sound of a reverbed harp in that kind of ultra sympathetic sound of heightened strings never hurts. Great set.

I asked Todd what he wrote in the journal and he stopped, brought his face close, eyes wide with unholy seriousness, and hissed a long, guttural “NOOOOTHIIIIING.”

A Metalocalypse reference. It’s a hell of a Friday.

The last act of the night was James Staub (the showrunner of this splendid event). I covered him at Live in the Depths 88 and really liked his stuff so he threw me an invite to this show. He’s really unassuming but he’s a little nuts when you get a cello in front of him. I used to play the cello as a kid- … wait let me rephrase that. I tried playing the cello as a kid. “It’s just like the guitar,” they said. Bullshit. James makes his cello do things it wasn’t designed to do. Also, the night is definitely combed with a particular pomade. The sounds are thick – aromatic. The sound hung in the air while Staub’s improvisations cut and twisted, dragging out notes that sounded like they had no business coming from wood and string. It’s lush. Rich and sumptuous. Staub is fucking my shit up. This venue is perfect for his improvisations – sonically speaking of course. Very strange noises, but absolutely wonderful. Here’s some of his set below:

Portland never runs out of tricks. There’s always another back room, another basement, another hidden loft humming with life. You don’t need a master plan here. Step into the flow, and the city delivers. You don’t have to choose wisely, you just have to choose and you’ll find joy and weirdness around every corner, inside every nook. Weirdness drips from the corners of conversations, from strangers leaning over to say hello before disappearing back into the crowd. The people who search for September know this rhythm. The city promises something real – a real life chance to be part of something that still feels human. And for me, that’s enough.

I love colder weather.