A Night at Musicfest NW

(For RLS, my closest and dearest friend. My partner in concert-going crime, who I promised some written letters, the old fashioned kind: on paper, written in pen, & with all the editing in sight. Here is the letter I promised.)

Brewed Beverage of Choice: Sierra Nevada Pale Ale in numerous pints!

So this is how it will go tonight...Well, hopefully this is how it will work out if all goes in my favour. It is now 8:45 pm on the second night of Musicfest NW. Due to the final Timbers game of the season, I missed the first night. The night will kick off at 9 pm with Dolorean at the Doug Fir - a musician I have wanted to check out since the last MusicfestNW I attended two years ago.

So here I am at the Fir with a pint of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale in my hand trying to fit in with all the other hipsters, music literati, and big-wigs. After a few songs I realize I could not have picked a better show to start off with than the mellow, well written lyrics of Dolorean. Sometimes people will choose the most raucous show they can so they make it through the night. After all it is going to be a long night. I could have started it an hour earlier but there was not really a decent show to pick. If you like Dylan-esque music with a bit of country twang, Dolorean will not let you down. He ends his set with a song he wrote after a recent motorcycle accident he had. It was a great ending and it hit me cuz of my recent bicycle accident that thankfully I walked away from without major injury. As usual, as Dolorean glided effortlessly through their set, a poem came to me. I would soon find out that the singer was not saying violets, but violence.

Forget the day? How could I?
Along the well troden, work-day path
To the bus stop. Buried in snow,
A violet peaks out its face.
The sunshine is an added bonus.

(The flower, if my memory serves me correctly, was actually a violet. But I am not really good at picking out flower types.)

There are a variety of shows I can hit for the 10 o'clock hour, but my desire to stay in one place keeps me at the Doug Fir for Richmond Fontaine instead of heading off to the Ash Street Saloon for the workman like musings of Loch Lomond. Besides I have seen them before and can see them again. Tonight is really about checking out bands or musicians I have not seen before or have not seen in a long time. Plus if I want to go to see Loch Lomond, I would have to duck out of the Dolorean show early to catch the bus across the river. This is the bad part about starting out on the East side of the river.

Another pint of Sierra Nevada is procured keeping me in line with the one pint per show limit I put on myself. This is done not only to keep me sober, but also to keep my hard earned money in my pocket. Again, it only takes a few songs to realize I have stayed in the right place. Richmond Fontaine, to me, sounded much like the Replacements with a bit of twang - harder twang than with Dolorean. They actually sound more like Wilco or Uncle Tupelo. Regardless, the show is very entertaining and I could not be happier with my choices for the beginning of the night. But it is now 10:30 and I have to leave to catch the bus. As I leave the Fir behind me, my bus pulls up and I have to run to catch it. Thankfully, Burnside is not that busy, making it easy to J-walk.

From the Doug Fir I have to make it over the Willamette River to the West side of town - a part of town I rarely go into because my Eastside abode is centrally located for me. I will get off the bus directly in front of the Bitter End Pub where Hello Demascus is playing. Incidentally, it is also across from PGE Park where I cheered and chanted for my Timbers the night before. That night ended on a low note of loss. Many beers were consumed to drown the sorrows of our pitiful Timbers. This night however shall be good with less drinking...Like the 10 o'clock hour, the 11 o'clock shows are plentiful. Bands or musicians I could have seen at this hour included Stephen Malkmus, The High Violets, and Alela Dianne. But according to my guide Hello Demascus should complement the first two shows I went to this evening.

As we drive by the Crystal Ballroom I look out the window to see if I will be able to make it in for the next show, but the line is down the block making my decision for me. As I get off the bus in front of the Bitter End, signs of a bad choice abound. My first clue as to why I should have continued on to the Towne Lounge for Alela Dianne was the Pub itself. Last MusicfestNW, a friend and I went to a show at an establishment that should not have music shows in them. It was a disastor. And while the Bitter End does do music shows, the clientele that frequent the pub are not of the music geek ilk. So when I walk in and see what is laid out before me, it hits me that this might have been a mistake. The preceding band is still on stage, but the crowd seemingly ignores them save for a few of their loyal fans. But I grab a pint of Lagunitas Pils and hope for the best. When Hello Demascus comes on and plays its first tune, my ears are cursing out my mind for making such an ill fated decision. I have a conversation with a loyal fan of the last band, who turns out to deliver my local organic veggies every other week. But my ears cannot take it anymore and after finsihing the only satisfying thing about this stop - the Lagunitas Pils - I duck out the door headed to Jimmy Maks.

At midnight, the feckers who organized this god-forsaken event have given me the royal screw job, and yet I have to decide which show to attend. Will I go see the Silver Jews on his first tour since I don't know when? Or will it be the demented musings of my favourite pixie, Kristin Hersh who I would gladly drop everything for given the opportunity? Currently I am leaning towards the Silver Jews, but will have to wait until showtime to know.

I have to walk all the way to Jimmy Maks for the next show to drown out the crappiness of Hello Demascus. The sounds of Richmond Fontaine and Dolorean fill my head and my fingers are crossed hoping Jimmy Maks will not be like the Crystal with a long line. I am certain of this choice. Hello Demascus is completely forgotten as I turn the corner to Jimmy Maks and there is no sign of a line. I walk right in and grab another pint of Sierra Nevada and find a great place to stand. On stage right now is a woman behind a cello and a large, bearded man behind a small set of drums. As I tell the woman later in the evening, if I would have known there was a cello being played at Jimmy Maks, I would have come here instead of going to Bitter End. I wait patiently for the next musician to go on stage. As I do so I realize I am standing next to a very attractive woman. When she turns completely into the light I can see that I am standing next to Kristin Hersh. Before I can say something stupid, as I have been known to do, she heads on stage. Despite the line for the Silver Jews, I am quite satisfied with this choice as Kristin plays her intimate set. She interacts with the people in the audience and the sound guy, makes some humourous jokes, and teases me with her particular head movement as she plays. Thankfully this wee woman now lives in Portland.

The one o'clock hour gives me the rollicking good, blue grassy times of Hillstomp. Unlike the rest of the night, there are few shows I want to see at this time. Hillstomp has the energy needed to continue the evening without so much as a yawn. Plus they are playing at Jimmy Maks which is where Ms. Hersh is playing. I may run into her yet! Let the show begin damn it!!!

Well I did sort of run into Ms. Hersh, but her set was so good I decide to head home without seeing Hillstomp. One of the reasons for this is that one of the loyal Hillstomper fans kept yelling for Hillstomp during Kristin's set which I found inconsiderate and annoying. Another reason is that I would rather catch the bus home than taking a cab. So I walk out of Jimmy Maks satisfied with my evening. I heard some new music which my spirit has been beggin' me for for many months. Plus I got to see one of my most favourite musicians at her finest. And that ends my night traveling around the city of Portland listening to music and letting my mind stray. Cheers.

And with that we end the era of Brewed Musings at this site. We are moving to http://www.confucianbrewer.com

Prost!
the zen (confucian) brewer

PS: Thanks RLS!!!

In 1971 A Biere Geek Was Born in Wisconsin

Brewed Beverage of Choice: A Stange of Uerige Altbier

Soundtrack of the Day: The Blue Note Box Set including the songs: Dat Dere - Art Blakey, Canteloupe Island - Herbie Hancock, Stompin' at the Savoy - The 3 Sounds, Everything I do Gonh Be Funky - Lou Donaldson, and Song for My Father - Horace Silver

First, some news to report. This may be my last post at this site. I am in the process of moving my blog to my own website. When that happens I will let you know. The new site will have more biere related information such as reviews and a BrewU, pictures, and more musings from my farmhouse brewery. So in honour of my move, I will spare you any Socialist rhetoric, soccer/football rantings, mindless stories of stupid things I hear on the train, etc., etc. What I will treat you with is a story.

To give you an idea of how much of a biere geek I am, I will share with you some occurrences from the past month or so. Last weekend was the Oregon Brewer's Festival and I was frothing at the mouth to taste some truly inspiring brews. There were some good...and some bad. My overall favourite, and the favourite of many of my friends, was named (properly) the Ned Flanders Style Ale, a Flemish Red Ale. (Ned Flanders got his name from Flanders Street here in Portland where Matt Groening is from AND Flanders is a region in Belgium.) For those who do not know what that entails, welcome to BrewU. A Flemish Red or Brown ale is an ale brewed with the addition of wild yeasts. It is aged typically in oak and then blended (most times) to simplify the sourness. The best ones, Rodenbach and the Duchesse de Bourgogne, taste like sour cherries - without their presence. You can probably guess what the bad ones taste like.

As a brewmonk, I am rarely recognized outside my brewery. (I like to keep a low profile...thank you.) But on Saturday I was picked out by several patrons because of my shirt. Many other local biere aficionados were wearing the same shirt. They stopped and asked what my favourite biere was and I told them. "Yuck! That one tastes sour!" Just for the sour reason alone, Flemish ales are often ignored and misunderstood. Only geeks like myself tend to enjoy them. But we preach and convert many uninformed students.

Of course this alone does not give you, the dear reader, the whole picture of my geekiness. O! Not one bit. Last week, a dear friend of mine asked me to start sending her beer reviews, recommendations, etc. She was not the first one to ask. The same request was made several weeks earlier by a different friend who suggested I take up biere consulting: informing interested parties on the great, underappreciated brews of the world. I must say the thought has passed my through the river of my mind before. So much so, that as part of my future brewpub/brewery, a BrewU class will be taught once a month. When I am passionate about something, beit biere or Native American History or the Beat culture, I like being able to sit and talk with people who either already know about it or would like to learn.

Anyway, back to my first friend. She had asked for recommendations, etc., as I stated earlier. I got so excited about the thought that I instantly logged onto the 'interweb' and did some research about biere stores in her area. Also, because she is a stout fan, (and I am not as educated in stout-erature) I had to do some research on fine stouts she might like. I took a book from the brewery and studied it over, so much so, that I am brewing a stout next week. With all my findings, I emailed her with some homework. You can say it...Wow! What a geek!

I am sure all of you who actually have met me and know me already knew of my degree of geekness. Hell, some of you actually are as bad in other areas. Geeks travel in packs you know. Whew! That was exhausting! I do not know about you but I am parched. Care to join me in a pint?

Prost!
the zen brewer

Zizou, Trash Talk, and Where Does It End?

Brewed Beverage of Choice: None! This is far too volatile of a subject.

For the past week I have been asked, as an avid football fan and as an historian, what I thought of the Zinadine Zindane meltdown in the World Cup finals. To be completely honest, my first reaction was, "What did the Italian player say or do to provoke Zizou's outburst?" There had to be more to the story than what we say over and over and OVER again on the tele.

Let me just say this first. What Zizou did was WRONG and embarrassing. He lost his cool and got tossed out of one of the most important matches in his illustrious career. Would France have won if he were still in the game? In my opinion, no. The goalkeeper would have to make a stop in the penalty kicks. And judging from what I saw, he was not up to that task.

Many of the people I know say it does not matter what was said to him on the pitch. They pass it off as trash talking. Get over it! Has it really come to this? Have we in society become so de-sensitized that we pass off something as vile and disgusting as a racial slur as trash talk if it is said on the pitch, or on the basketball court, or on the baseball diamond? A phrase so disturbing and biased, it would get you beaten on the street if uttered in the wrong company. That it is o.k. to say to someone in a game because, hell, it is just "trash talk."

For those of you who do not watch football avidly, who do not know Zizou's background, I say "Shut up!" And that includes Keith Obermann whom I admire and respect. For the past 7 days I have heard in conversation and on sports radio, people condemn Zizou for what they believe they saw. There is no condemning the Italian player for what could have been said. All they saw was Zizou headbutting the player in the chest for "no apparent reason." He is the monster. He was at fault.

So I ask you, where is the line drawn? When does it cease to be trash talking and just become insulting? How far does it have to go before we say enough is enough? People must know that Zizou is Algerian born, raised in a very tough neighbourhood. He has been put down a great deal in his lifetime and had to deal with a lot of hardships. And, while not a slave, had to live his life as an outsider, or to use a phrase all too popular in Native American history, a "half-breed."

To be perfectly honest, and I am saying this as a pacifist, if someone had crossed the line and insulted my mother or family, I would do the same damn thing. If anyone says otherwise they are LIARS! Imagine, if you will, that during the course of the game you are constantly badgered and belittled. Finally, someone calls you a Spic, or a Nigger, or they call your mother a dirty whore mulatto. You cannot tell me that you would not fight back. You cannot tell me that you would be able to ignore that after all you and your family had been through before that. I certainly would not be able to take that.

What we all must realize is that the people so outraged by Zizou's actions have never walked ten metres in his shoes. Most have never dealt with racism and bigotry. Yes, what he did was wrong. Let me say it again...He was WRONG! He deserved the red card and the expulsion. There is no doubt there. But what is more disturbing is that people just pass over the provocation as trash talking. There are lines that can be crossed. There are consequences for actions. Unfortunately, all the Italian player got was a headbutt to the sternum. We will never know what he said. Yes! He should be punished for what he said. And Zizou now must live with the fact that in the heat of the moment, he lost his cool and will forever be remembered, not as the great player he was, but as the man who headbutted another player in the World Cup final.

solemnly,
the zen brewer

The Labourer's World

Brewed Beverage of Choice: Two cups of joe from Redwing Cafe - an Employee Owned Company (Support your local employee owned business!)

Recommended Music of the Day (Also the soundtrack of the day...): Sky Like a Broken Clock - Kelly Joe Phelps

--Warning! If you do not like spontaneous prose or run-on sentences, for godssake do not read on!--
There is no reason why the dog and I walked for twenty-five minutes to this small coffee house passing two other coffee houses on the way except that this one has a slight view of the happy, summer Portland skyline with the subtle, hilly greenness behind her and it is in the midst and middle of factories with its factory workers runnin' 'round making their hard earned money like what I am spending right now for a cup of joe and a bowl of granola with yogurt - a buck times four plus a shiny quarter - give that to the woman behind the counter at this coffee house owned by the hard working folk behind said counter where they bake their fresh-baked goodies everyday 'cept Sunday when they are closed and I am working anyhow so I cannot walk the dog here anyway to sit at the table outside with the angels of Portland looking down on me and her and the rest of the labourers around me making a feeling of guilt surge through my bones because it is Friday and I have off but feel I should be helping in some small way instead of sitting here at my table listening to music and reading and writing with sad blue pen been in my pocket for months O! the loyalty it has shown me and I will be sad when the ink runs dry and I have to throw it away but it served me dutifully filling the pages showing its honour reminding me of thoughts and days gone by as I sip my coffee almost down to the bottom which is fine 'cuz the dog wants to go home and my dogs are fully rested from the original walk down so I clean up the table where I sat amidst the labourers' world and head home to rest and wonder and work.

Prosit!
the zen brewer

The Oregon Brewers Festival, Typecasting, and the Downfall of an Empire

Brewed Beverage of Choice: a Pint of Goose Island IPA (India Pale Ale for those not in the know)

Bumper Sticker of the Day: The Labour Movement: From The People Who Brought You The Weekend

For those of you who do not know, today begins my weekend. As such I have been trolling around on the internet as the grey clouds from a coastal jet stream move north overhead. And before I begin, there needs to be one clarification. In the last post there was a grammatical error on my part. Many things were WON by the labour movement, not one. It is just that I am far too lazy to change it now. And without further ado, the results of my trolling.

At the end of the month, the fair city of Portland hosts the largest outdoor beer festival this side of the pond with 72 beers from around the country. (And sometimes Canada when customs does not play its authoritative games.) As I am perusing the beers coming this year, one thing struck me. Damn! There are a lot of IPAs on the list. Of course this also refreshes my belief that the Northwest, specifically Oregon and Washington, are falling behind in the craft brewing movement. Not only are they falling behind, but they are becoming as typecast in the industry as Harrison Ford is in the movie industry.

I say this as I am sucking down and IPA. But one must remember that the IPA I am enjoying is from the midwest. What does that mean to you, the loyal reader. For one it means that it has a darker hue. NW IPAs are typically, but not always, lighter in colour. I made an IPA at my brewery once that was of a beautiful orange, and was promptly told never to make that IPA again. Not because it did not have the hop characteristics of an IPA. But because it did not fit into the NW IPA parameters in colour. Secondly, IPAs made in the NW accent the hops over the malt. It has to be "hoppy as hell" one patron told me. Outside our wonderful region, the IPAs are hoppy no doubt, but they finish with a slight malty sweetness.

It is true that in the brewing industry the Pacific Northwest is known as Hop Country. But it does not mean however that the hop is the be all and end all of brewing. The same holds true for ales. There are very few breweries on the west coast that make lagers. (For those of you who do not know the difference, ales are made with ale yeast and are fermented at higher temperatures, while lagers are fermented at lower temps and aged longer. Ales will have a "fruitier" taste from the fermentation process while lagers will be more crisp.) There are only so many ales one can do before they hit the wall. AND, in the United States many of the good ales (i.e. Milds, Alts, and Bitters) are often ignored...Primarily for their unfortunate names.

The Pacific Northwest are still, by far, the leaders in the craft brewing industry. But if they continue on the path they are on, the empire will fall. A couple of years ago, the NE breweries were invited to the Oregon Brewers Festival (OBF). And, to make a long story short, the best beer at the fest was a Pilsner lager from Pennsylvania. Do not get me wrong. I like hoppy beers as much as the next man, provided the next man was not born in the NW. But when you ignore a whole category of beers, you begin to fall behind.

Fortunately for us brewers in the NW, there are some new faces on the scene that will not let that happen. I, for one, am doing my best to bring back to popularity Milds and Alts. Friends of mine at Roots are not only brewing with organic malts, but are doing some very unique and interesting brews including lagers. Ukiah brews an all organic pilsner in a can. Elysian in Seattle brews some great lagers as well. My fear a couple of years ago was that the NE would surpass us in the craft brewing industry. AND I will be damned if I am going to let that happen!

For those of you interested, July is American Beer Month. Celebrate it with a brewing geek in your circle of friends. And, every year on the last weekend in July, the OBF is opened to raucus crowds and damn fine beer. Come on out and celebrate it with 10,000 beer geeks and geekettes...and frat boys!

Prosit!
the zen brewer - finally recovering from his bout of World Cup Fever

Eugene V. Debs Is Rolling In His Grave

Brewed Beverage of Choice: A Pint of Hoegaarden Belgian Wit Bier

Recommended Reading: Eight Hours for What We Will: Workers and Leisure in an Industrial City, 1870-1920

You might be thinking to yourself, "What has been on your mind, oh, these last few weeks besides the World Cup?" One of my answers would be, "Eugene Debs must be rolling in his grave." Why, dear zen brewer, would you say something like that? The thought popped into my head as I rode the light rail to work on the Fourth of July.

Two things have happened in the past few months that gives me reason to believe we in the states are moving backward in the Labour Movement. The first being a certain company, in order to keep workers, raised the starting pay rate for certain craftspeople. Of course, the pay rate of the seniors were not raised at all. Instead their cap was raised. Therefore, in two years, the way raises are given in this certain company, the senior with 5 to 7 years experience will only be $1 to $2 ahead of someone with only 2 to 3 years experience. Now I am no business owner - yet - but would it not make sense to NOT alienate your senior employees? This is really only a small reason on why I believe we are going backwards when it comes to Labour issues.

As I stated I had to work on the Fourth, a national holiday for everyone except those in retail (of which, despite the insistence of one of my former managers, I am not a part.) To make matters worse, I do not receive time-and-a-half on holidays. But the people in administration are given the day off with pay. Is the state of things in this society so bad that we cannot live one day without the grocery, the department store, or the local restaurant being open.

People like Debs fought hard to get certain rights for workers. The eight hour day, decent pay, child labour laws, and holidays off were all one during the strife of the late 1800s, early 1900s. As a child I remember having to go to the store the day before the holiday because the store would be closed the next day. We had to plan one day in advance because after all the store owner deserves the day off to spend with his family. But today that does not seem to be the case.

Stores of all kinds and restaurants are open 24/7, 364 days a year. (Most get Christmas off...Most, not all.) Workers in some places are not even given the option to take the day off. If I wanted the Fourth of July off I would have had to take either a vacation day or a sick day. Not only does this take away from the labourers daily life, but it also demeans holidays. Holidays no longer are a time when families can spend some time together. Hence the reason for the book recommendation.

There are so many more reasons I believe the Labour Movement is taking a step backward, but it would take up a whole book. That kind of time I do not have. What I will say is this...Support your local craftspeople, tradespeople, artisans, and farmers. Instead of buying bread at the supermarket, go to a baker. Instead of drinking beer from a bottle, go to a local brewpub. Instead of going to the large department store, look for a seamstress in your neighbourhood. And for goodness sake, go to a farmers market this summer. If anything, it will get you out into the fresh air.

I must go now and get off my high horse. Have a wonderful weekend.

Prosit!
the zen brewer

Excuse My Absence...I Have Been Diagnosed With World Cup Fever

Brewed Beverage of Choice: An Imperial Pint of Dirty Dick's Ale

Soundtrack of the Day:
Side A: Let's Go Walking - Ida, Stripe - Loch Lomond, Nashville Parent - Lambchop, The Mariner's Revenge Song - The Decemberists

Side B: Dawn - Friends of Dean Martinez, The Spoils of the Spoiled - New Amsterdams, New Slang - The Shins, Trouble - Kristin Hersh

It has been far too long since I have visited with you folk. Terribly sorry, my friends, but I have been engulfed by the fury that is the World Cup 2006 in Germany. After 2+ weeks of incredible, exhilarating action between 32 of the top teams in the world, it has now been whittled down to 6 with 2 more teams being eliminated tomorrow. What I do not understand though is how this sport has not taken hold more in the U.S.

This afternoon I had a discussion with my brother, who is not an avid soccer fan. He has watched the World Cup on and off over the past 19 days. What he likes about football is that the clock does not stop. You know exactly how long one minute of play is. Duh! One minute! There is no time outs; no getting out of the batter's box after every pitch to fiddle with your batting gloves and adjusting your cup (Nomar!!!); no foul after 2 seconds of play in hopes that someone will miss a free throw and you can somehow cut the 10 point deficit to 7 points; no stopping the clock for going out of play. One minute does not take 20 minutes with 30 second commercials every time out.

I know one reason why football has not taken off: it is not television friendly...At least not to the advertisers who pay enormous sums to make a commercial in which the only remembrance we come away with is how the competitor gets squashed (good job Pepsi. All I remember from your stupid Diet Pepsi commercial with Jackie Chan is the Diet Coke can in FULL VIEW getting squashed.) Football does not allow time for commercial breaks. Even their half time is regulated to 15 minutes and then they start right on time.

By all accounts the main reasons football has not taken off in this country is 1. our elite football players cannot compete with the rest of the world, and 2. Most people misunderstand it and think it is boring. Boring??? This coming from a society that has produced a man in the South who has invented a remote control vacuum cleaner shaped like a NASCAR racer because, get this, he was tired of vacuuming and missing some of the race. Huh??? Let's see, the cars drive in a circle over and over and over and over again and the race lasts 2 hours, maybe 3, one day out of the weekend. So that leaves at least 14 hours of weekend time spent awake when the 20 minutes of vacuuming can be done.

Football may never take off as a major sport in this country. It does not have the cache of pro basketball, pro American rules football, or baseball. It was not invented here. Sponsors will prevent it from taking hold of the television markets. And Booster clubs such as the one in my hometown will never let soccer/football take away from the other major high school sports. But fortunately every 4 years the World Cup will be played and for one month, we here in the U.S. will become "soccer hooligans." I can live with that.

Go Germany!!!

Prosit!
the zen brewer-soccer hooligan-world cup fan