Scene Report: Enter Wonderland at Azoth – Portland, OR
Show: Enter Wonderland
Venue: Azoth – Located directly before the altar of the Grotto – Portland, OR
My Lyft driver’s cologne hit me like a nerve agent – paralyzing me in that rich, chemical way that clings to your soul and makes you question if life is actually worth living. I’d already had two panic attacks this week, so slipping into a cologne-induced paralysis felt like just another checkpoint on the goddamn roadmap. Business as usual in this Age of Anxiety.
We pulled up to Azoth, that strange little hideaway with the kind of reputation you don’t advertise with flyers. The place has been called a “warm refuge from the mundane,” which is true, but during the summer months, “warm” turns into Cambodian jungle real fast. Sweat in your shoes kind of heat. But tonight? Perfect. Don’t need a jacket, don’t need short sleeves. A rare equilibrium in this musical terrarium. Azoth was the ideal backdrop for Enter Wonderland: A Music and Art Showcase. On this particular night, I was ready to walk through whatever rabbit hole they’d cracked open.
The night promised dancers, live painting, electronic musicians from across the sonic spectrum, and a lineup of DJs howling into the void until 4 a.m. – which, let’s be honest, feels like a crime at my age. Pause. As I’m writing this, someone nearby is talking – loudly – about Weird Al Yankovic, while another voice is demanding answers over LCD Soundsystem. “Have you ever seen LCD Soundsystem? HAVE YOU?” I wrote it down and stared at the sentence for a while. It felt unnatural. Like something ripped from a Mavis Beacon typing prompt hallucination.
Normally when I walk into Azoth it gives … Skinny Puppy or The Cure. The vibe had shifted into a full-blown theatre kid haven – but not those theatre kids. Not the ones who peaked during the second act of Bye Bye Birdie in 10th grade and now sell insurance. No, these are the ones who stayed weird, leaned in, and never stopped experimenting. The ones who traded musical numbers for interactive mushroom sculptures or bubble smoke geometry.
The Ice Wraith (a malicious little tequila-based potion laced with god-knows-what else) had officially entered my bloodstream just as Axon Chamber launched into their set. And then the dancing started – a dance artist who goes by “Changing Bodies” was wrapped in jester garb, facing away from the crowd, a mask fixed to the back of their skull so we were left staring into a pair of lifeless eyes as the music chewed through us. The music was the mantra – starting slow, low, ambient, a beautiful brain haze. Then mutating into thrashing, glorious beats that hit like an iron fist. Jesus Christ, one of them was holding a guitar. But what was coming out of it? A wall of good noise. Axon threw in some soft Rhodes toward the end of their set and for that, Axon Chambers – you have my eternal, tequila-soaked gratitude.
Right after that set I noticed what appeared to be a woodland creature selling art from a tray slung around their neck like a 1920s cigarette girl. This is your daily reminder that you should always buy the art – not just for the wall, but for the soul. Spiritual insurance, my friend – we all need it.
Next up was Luneau. The room went moody as hell, like a soulless cathedral. Like church without God. That’s when Occurian appeared out of nowhere. Coincidence? I think not. The set was deeply experimental, but not in the chaotic, circuit-bending kind of way. This was ritual music – old world and heavy with intent. I talked to Luneau before they played, and they called it “medicine music,” which makes sense after listening to them play. It was almost ceremonial. The kind of sound you’d march into battle to – slowly, deliberately, already mourning the loss, even before the first sword was drawn. And that’s a god damn Harmonium. The crowd was into it, hanging on every breath, heads down and swaying with the music. Long strings. Meditative wails. Haunting vocalizations that reminded me of Lisa Gerrard. It was a beautiful and heavy set. Loved it.
There was no time to wallow in the muck of melancholy. Ben Martens grabbed the night by its trembling face and shouted at it with a full-throttle yell and beat-laced manifesto. The hard beats are in full force – we’re in juiced up Wonderland. He appropriately started his set with yelling and pitched down vocal tricks, oh yeah, while a contortionist moved their body in every conceivable direction on a table in front him while he was pontificating. “Trust the contortionist,” Martens declared, eyes wide, body vibrating like a tuning fork wired to a car battery. Whatever you say, Mr. Martens. You have the mic and the bass cannon. Lead the way. Then the deep bass within the yelling starts. It felt like it had burrowed under the floor and was gnawing its way up through the concrete. Do you ever think about your mortality? Because you probably won’t during this set. I think Ben just wants to party. He’s calling his fans sluts now and he’s ready to fuck everything that moves in a very View Askew fashion. Also, asking a bunch of white people to dance like it’s Freaknik circa 1995 is objectively hilarious. He told us to “throw ass” and those who tried, tried their best. Good job – we all get participation trophies. Great crowd tonight.
Finally he asked us all what his last song should be. “Angelcore, Hellcore, Firm Sex-” he didn’t even get through the “ex” in “Firm Sex” before I shouted it like a goddamn battle cry. “FIRM SEX!” I asked for firm sex from Ben Martens and firm sex is what I got. Great fucking set.
Before I forget, I have to give a shout out to the other creatives orbiting the perimeter of this manic showcase. Granted, I was drifting in and out of full-blown overstimulation, missing whole chunks of reality so I know I missed a few souls. We had Cyclop Toad once again delivering a visual experience worthy of interdimensional court proceedings. This time, the mad bastard rolled in with something he proudly described as the “Totino’s Rave Wall” – a wall behind the performers that was a melting portal of motion and color. But what really got me was the Taco Bell bag next to his video rig and a strange drink inside his Taco Bell cup. He said, without missing a beat, that he was drinking, “Ice tea and Kratom.” Ah yes – pro rave food. Did I mention there was also a live painter? Corinne Dermond stood thoughtfully throughout the sets, brush in hand, channeling the sound into trippy visions in real time. You can see some of it in the footage below. I also had the pleasure of meeting Adel Zietz, a mixed media artist who apparently works with real barnacles. I saw video of one of these pieces and the first thing I asked them was if they had a barnacle dealer; but they told me they gather the barnacles themselves.
The last set of the night belonged to Production Unit Xero, the ever-reliable phantom of precision chaos. Right about the time his set started, I saw Dhug walk in, showing his support for the community as always. PUX told me before the show that they’re playing at the ISM Festival (A festival of experimental music + art) in Olympia, the second weekend in September – looking forward to whatever’s happening there. PUX’s set was the exact recalibration we all needed. A pressure valve release after the ritual mourning of Luneau and the feral beat orgy of Ben Martens. It fit perfectly. Dangerous and comforting – in the way only someone who’s danced with machines long enough to know it feels right. This was a classic PUX set – about 170 BPM – calculated chaos, percussive poetry, and bass therapy sessions for the unconsciously damaged. Lots of free spirits tonight floating through all the IDM madness, letting PUX’s music flow through them. It was about that moment I saw someone else writing notes – they were sitting right next to me. What are they writing about, I wonder … we’re through the looking glass here people.
There’s always a persistent few people in this scene who are dancing and moving through all of the sets at almost all the shows they go to. One of these people is a Roman Snake Goddess named Pepper. Pepper was possessed by PUX’s beats and dancing to the sounds of the ancestors until about half way through the set they collapsed on a chair next to me – you know, the way you do when you’re tired. You just drape your body and legs over the whole thing and melt into it like you did when you were a kid. Pepper had tapped out. Mission accomplished, PUX.
It was after this set I decided I needed to take off for the evening. A few DJs were still queued up to hurl beats into the void until near sunrise, riding out the long, delirious stretch of morning, but I’d had my fill. So I slipped out into the night, jittery but grateful. What a great show.
