Portland, OR
Portland sonic institution Mississippi Records has just re-issued Harry Smith's seminal Anthology of American Folk Music in its complete, original 1952 form. Like everything Mississippi touches, this four-part set has all kinds of love poured into it. The series is dressed in sturdy cloth-bound gatefold sleeves and housed in a hand-crafted wooden box; an object of serious beauty.
To celebrate the reissue of this still under-sung masterpiece, the label’s dedicating tonight’s Music & Film Series at Hollywood Theatre to Smith’s work and legacy over the decades, with Michael Hurley, Marisa Anderson, Dragging An Ox Through Water, Jessika Kenney, Lori Goldston and Jolie Holland re-imagining a set of songs from the collection. 
For more information on tonight’s event, visit Hollywood Theatre’s website.

Portland, OR

Portland sonic institution Mississippi Records has just re-issued Harry Smith's seminal Anthology of American Folk Music in its complete, original 1952 form. Like everything Mississippi touches, this four-part set has all kinds of love poured into it. The series is dressed in sturdy cloth-bound gatefold sleeves and housed in a hand-crafted wooden box; an object of serious beauty.

To celebrate the reissue of this still under-sung masterpiece, the label’s dedicating tonight’s Music & Film Series at Hollywood Theatre to Smith’s work and legacy over the decades, with Michael Hurley, Marisa Anderson, Dragging An Ox Through Water, Jessika Kenney, Lori Goldston and Jolie Holland re-imagining a set of songs from the collection. 

For more information on tonight’s event, visit Hollywood Theatre’s website.


Portland, ORINTERVIEW: DANNIEL SCHOONEBEEK
Danniel Schoonebeek’s poems take back roads and veins to an American place filled with secrets in your ear. Where the barn behind you is lit with the most eerie Gregory Crewdson-like light.  
Last Saturday Ace New York hosted Bound by Chance. Danniel wasn’t there, but his words were. People used them to make stories and bound those stories into pamphlets. Tonight, Danniel reads from his book in Portland at Crema Coffee + Bakery before he sails back home to Brooklyn. It’s going to be an after hours poetry party. 
You recently completed a poetry tour in support of your first book, American Barricade (YesYes Books). Independent musicians tour all the time to support themselves. What was the experience like as a poet?
When I was seventeen I left high school and toured in a van with four other guys. We were a band, I was the drummer, and we toured the country for a few months, living in the van with our instruments. What’s startling to me is that I did this again ten years later. This time I was alone, I was reading my poems and not hitting a snare, and I took the trains across America instead of riding in a van. The tours were alike in that they were both these depleting, chaotic bursts in which you learn more about yourself than you knew was possible. You aren’t working hard enough are the words I came away with when I was seventeen. Our last date on that tour was at CBGB’s, and there was this holy feeling like we’d arrived. But nobody gave a shit about our songs, not the bands, not the people. I think that experience taught me that you have to demand to be heard, like a list of demands is heard in a hostage situation, and that list of demands is work. 
The tour I just finished leaves me to this day with jubilee. In some ways it was like playing a chess match against my own life. I’d just been kicked out of my apartment, I’d just been laid off, the love life was in the gutter. I booked the tour myself, no agents, no help from my publisher. I needed to see if a poet could do it alone. Friends came out to read and see me off, let me sleep on their floors. Strangers opened their doors to me, handed me their keys, helped me hunt down venues. These people are part of my life now, and they handed me small tokens along the way, tchotchkes and mementos, a little scratch some nights. The trains are their own crash course in how much American disgust you can tolerate within yourself. If you don’t have the constitution within yourself to wash your hair in the sink on a moving train, or deal with drunks, or fall asleep hungry on a dinner of tic-tacs, don’t get on the trains. But there was something unbelievable about waking up on the train, feeling like shit, drinking a styrofoam cup of coffee, and watching the landscape of America peel away outside while you’re surrounded by all these families and drifters and bulleting your way to a poetry reading in a different city each night. It was like not being a citizen anymore. 
I’m finishing a book about this last tour and that’ll come out soon. I’m working with two editors who are challenging the work and pushing it in directions I’m thrilled about. I can’t say who yet, but it’s coming. It’s called C’est La Guerre. 
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The poems you write have a lovely ability to at once feel very intimate—even small—while also having ragged edges that touch on archetypes that deal with American culture and values. What’s your creative process when you sit down to write? Do you have an agenda? A guiding principal?
I try to always keep myself unsettled. I hate flying, so I work on poems while I’m a mess in the sky. Or sometimes I’ll wear nothing but a blanket and wake up in winter and write in the kitchen. I always write poems if I have a nasty fever, or I like to cast out lines aloud if I’m standing, never longhand if I’m sitting. I write a lot in bed, the classic pose, we all do. I would like to write a poem while hanging upside down from the lintels of a doorway. So my process is to always throw a wrench in my process. I’m opposed to regimens, culturally and artistically, because they fail to do justice to the changing face of what composes them. American ways of life, as our culture defines them, always fail the people who are actually living their lives in America, never nuanced enough and always leaving someone locked outside. In the same way, I think having any guiding principal about poetry is a failure to language, how nuanced language is and how fast it changes and disrupts us. I try to always undermine myself, disrupt myself, refuse myself. The terrifying part for me is that undermining yourself, disrupting yourself, refusing yourself—these are also regimens that need to be undermined, disrupted, and refused.

Portland, OR

INTERVIEW: DANNIEL SCHOONEBEEK

Danniel Schoonebeek’s poems take back roads and veins to an American place filled with secrets in your ear. Where the barn behind you is lit with the most eerie Gregory Crewdson-like light.  

Last Saturday Ace New York hosted Bound by Chance. Danniel wasn’t there, but his words were. People used them to make stories and bound those stories into pamphlets. Tonight, Danniel reads from his book in Portland at Crema Coffee + Bakery before he sails back home to Brooklyn. It’s going to be an after hours poetry party. 

You recently completed a poetry tour in support of your first book, American Barricade (YesYes Books). Independent musicians tour all the time to support themselves. What was the experience like as a poet?

When I was seventeen I left high school and toured in a van with four other guys. We were a band, I was the drummer, and we toured the country for a few months, living in the van with our instruments. What’s startling to me is that I did this again ten years later. This time I was alone, I was reading my poems and not hitting a snare, and I took the trains across America instead of riding in a van. The tours were alike in that they were both these depleting, chaotic bursts in which you learn more about yourself than you knew was possible. You aren’t working hard enough are the words I came away with when I was seventeen. Our last date on that tour was at CBGB’s, and there was this holy feeling like we’d arrived. But nobody gave a shit about our songs, not the bands, not the people. I think that experience taught me that you have to demand to be heard, like a list of demands is heard in a hostage situation, and that list of demands is work. 

The tour I just finished leaves me to this day with jubilee. In some ways it was like playing a chess match against my own life. I’d just been kicked out of my apartment, I’d just been laid off, the love life was in the gutter. I booked the tour myself, no agents, no help from my publisher. I needed to see if a poet could do it alone. Friends came out to read and see me off, let me sleep on their floors. Strangers opened their doors to me, handed me their keys, helped me hunt down venues. These people are part of my life now, and they handed me small tokens along the way, tchotchkes and mementos, a little scratch some nights. The trains are their own crash course in how much American disgust you can tolerate within yourself. If you don’t have the constitution within yourself to wash your hair in the sink on a moving train, or deal with drunks, or fall asleep hungry on a dinner of tic-tacs, don’t get on the trains. But there was something unbelievable about waking up on the train, feeling like shit, drinking a styrofoam cup of coffee, and watching the landscape of America peel away outside while you’re surrounded by all these families and drifters and bulleting your way to a poetry reading in a different city each night. It was like not being a citizen anymore. 

I’m finishing a book about this last tour and that’ll come out soon. I’m working with two editors who are challenging the work and pushing it in directions I’m thrilled about. I can’t say who yet, but it’s coming. It’s called C’est La Guerre

Read More


Ace Portland room 420, dude. Shot by Mr. James Wilson of Secret Forts.

Ace Portland room 420, dude. Shot by Mr. James Wilson of Secret Forts.


Ace Hotel Portland is an optimal HQ for your Pacific Northwest elk watching adventure this autumn. The Jewell Meadows Wildlife Area about an hour away offers a hunt-free zone and supplemental winter grazing grounds to elk herds. Bugling season starts in mid-September. Prime elk viewing season at Jewell starts in November. Or you could catch up with some at Mount St. Helens on the way up the I-5 to Ace Hotel Seattle. There’s plenty of options. While you’re with us, you can pick up a hiking guide or some all-about-elk reading materials like Where Elk Roam: Conservation and Biopolitics of Our National Elk Herd at Powell’s, detour a couple blocks to pay homage to the Thompson Elk, and then plot your itinerary from beneath the Ace Hotel x Pendleton Elk blanket on your bed. Just sayin’.

Ace Hotel Portland is an optimal HQ for your Pacific Northwest elk watching adventure this autumn. The Jewell Meadows Wildlife Area about an hour away offers a hunt-free zone and supplemental winter grazing grounds to elk herds. Bugling season starts in mid-September. Prime elk viewing season at Jewell starts in November. Or you could catch up with some at Mount St. Helens on the way up the I-5 to Ace Hotel Seattle. There’s plenty of options. While you’re with us, you can pick up a hiking guide or some all-about-elk reading materials like Where Elk Roam: Conservation and Biopolitics of Our National Elk Herd at Powell’s, detour a couple blocks to pay homage to the Thompson Elk, and then plot your itinerary from beneath the Ace Hotel x Pendleton Elk blanket on your bed. Just sayin’.


 By day, Astrid Klein and Mark Dytham run Tokyo’s Klein-Dytham Architecture — turning inspiration sparked from the convergence of their myriad global influences (she was born in Italy to German parents, schooled in France, and educated in Britain, where the pair met before moving east in 1988) into building-sized testaments to their creative prowess. They just so happen to have designed our new happy place in Tokyo, Daikanyama T-Site, pictured here. By night, Astrid and Mark foster the global movement known as Pecha Kucha. This isn’t the duo’s first stroke of brilliance — Klein-Dytham designs some of the prettiest buildings we’ve seen anywhere, globally inspired but deeply rooted in the minimalist ethos and diverse natural surroundings of life in Japan. They also run an event space, SuperDeluxe, where they invite young designers to think, drink, collaborate, make noise, eat food, share big ideas, and network their little hearts out — and where, way back in 2003, Pecha Kucha was born.
In the hands of the 99% of us for whom public speaking isn’t a life calling, having to present an idea — no matter how jaw-droppingly awesome it actually is — to a room full of people is a particular kind of hell. And watching someone else bury their own great idea under rambling departures from the point and yawn-inducing over-explanations is just as bad — unless you’re hard-pressed for a nap, probably worse. But Klein and Dytham hit the sweet spot, challenging presenters to distill a message into 20 slides, showing each for 20 seconds. In six minutes and forty seconds, you can really only do so much damage — and as it turns out, it’s led to some of the most powerful and profoundly moving storytelling sessions we’ve had the pleasure of witnessing. Tonight, The Cleaners acts as the Portland headquarters of Pecha Kucha Global Night, alongside about 100 other cities hosting similar events. Starting at 7pm, it’s free and open to the public — true to spirit.

By day, Astrid Klein and Mark Dytham run Tokyo’s Klein-Dytham Architecture — turning inspiration sparked from the convergence of their myriad global influences (she was born in Italy to German parents, schooled in France, and educated in Britain, where the pair met before moving east in 1988) into building-sized testaments to their creative prowess. They just so happen to have designed our new happy place in Tokyo, Daikanyama T-Site, pictured here. By night, Astrid and Mark foster the global movement known as Pecha Kucha. This isn’t the duo’s first stroke of brilliance — Klein-Dytham designs some of the prettiest buildings we’ve seen anywhere, globally inspired but deeply rooted in the minimalist ethos and diverse natural surroundings of life in Japan. They also run an event space, SuperDeluxe, where they invite young designers to think, drink, collaborate, make noise, eat food, share big ideas, and network their little hearts out — and where, way back in 2003, Pecha Kucha was born.

In the hands of the 99% of us for whom public speaking isn’t a life calling, having to present an idea — no matter how jaw-droppingly awesome it actually is — to a room full of people is a particular kind of hell. And watching someone else bury their own great idea under rambling departures from the point and yawn-inducing over-explanations is just as bad — unless you’re hard-pressed for a nap, probably worse. But Klein and Dytham hit the sweet spot, challenging presenters to distill a message into 20 slides, showing each for 20 seconds. In six minutes and forty seconds, you can really only do so much damage — and as it turns out, it’s led to some of the most powerful and profoundly moving storytelling sessions we’ve had the pleasure of witnessing. Tonight, The Cleaners acts as the Portland headquarters of Pecha Kucha Global Night, alongside about 100 other cities hosting similar events. Starting at 7pm, it’s free and open to the public — true to spirit.


TBA INTERVIEW : KATHLEEN HANNA of THE JULIE RUIN
Kathleen Hanna is the fairy godmother of punk feminism. When she started Bikini Kill in the 90s she started a unquenchable fire in every girl’s heart that burned through the brush to a clear place where girls could see each other and themselves more clearly. How other people saw them — who gives a shit. Kathleen is now back on stages and on tour with the second incarnation of her group The Julie Ruin, and they’re bringing their irreverent and joyful noise to the opening ceremony for PICA’s TBA Festival this Thursday. Here, an excerpt from NPR Music's Jacki Lyden interview with the woman in question.

Girls like us like cotton candy, plastic handbags, alcohol. Girls like us sometimes ignore people on the street, even other people that we know. Girls like us sneak breaks at Wendy’s and girls like us invented jazz. Girls like us have no foundations, creation myths are so passé. Girls like us.

Tell me a little bit about how this song came to be. What’s going on here?
You tell me. The lyrics are really kind of random. It’s like, girls like us eat salt for breakfast, girls like us stand back to back. They’re kind of an anthem for the people who there is no anthem for. You know, it’s meant to be kind of a tongue-in-cheek thing of like, we’re all different. I thought that song was a really playful way to say there is no girl like us. You know what I mean? There’s just as many different kinds of feminism as there are women in the world.
You were forced to take a long time out; this is your first album in nine years. People were wondering what had happened. And recently, it came to light that you were suffering very seriously from an undiagnosed illness. Would you tell me more about that?
Yeah, I have late-stage Lyme disease. And I still, you know, have good days, bad days, good weeks, bad weeks. And I’m still in long-term treatment. It’s been a tough nine years. And I didn’t think that I would ever be performing again. And that was a very bitter pill to swallow along with the other 84 pills I take every day, ha.
Are you on good terms with the woman who started Bikini Kill?
I think I am now. I’ve kind of made peace with the mistakes that I’ve made and also feeling proud of what I’ve made. I think that people who are involved in community activism, it’s like, don’t stand out. We’re all equal, you know, especially if you come from a punk rock background that’s anti-hierarchy. And I always had this thing of, like, don’t be a leader. And I think that fed into me not being able to say: Hey, wait. That was really cool what I did.
I had to, you know, downplay the interesting things that I had made, kind of even to myself. And I’m still as pissed off as ever before. I think I’m just a little bit more directed. I have a better direction for my anger. It’s less kind of loosey-goosey all over the place. And I’m more apt to look at a larger world view than just, you know, what’s going on inside my apartment building. And now I think both the 21-year-old and the 41-year-old are pretty happy with each other…

TBA INTERVIEW : KATHLEEN HANNA of THE JULIE RUIN

Kathleen Hanna is the fairy godmother of punk feminism. When she started Bikini Kill in the 90s she started a unquenchable fire in every girl’s heart that burned through the brush to a clear place where girls could see each other and themselves more clearly. How other people saw them — who gives a shit. Kathleen is now back on stages and on tour with the second incarnation of her group The Julie Ruin, and they’re bringing their irreverent and joyful noise to the opening ceremony for PICA’s TBA Festival this Thursday. Here, an excerpt from NPR Music's Jacki Lyden interview with the woman in question.

Girls like us like cotton candy, plastic handbags, alcohol. Girls like us sometimes ignore people on the street, even other people that we know. Girls like us sneak breaks at Wendy’s and girls like us invented jazz. Girls like us have no foundations, creation myths are so passé. Girls like us.

Tell me a little bit about how this song came to be. What’s going on here?

You tell me. The lyrics are really kind of random. It’s like, girls like us eat salt for breakfast, girls like us stand back to back. They’re kind of an anthem for the people who there is no anthem for. You know, it’s meant to be kind of a tongue-in-cheek thing of like, we’re all different. I thought that song was a really playful way to say there is no girl like us. You know what I mean? There’s just as many different kinds of feminism as there are women in the world.

You were forced to take a long time out; this is your first album in nine years. People were wondering what had happened. And recently, it came to light that you were suffering very seriously from an undiagnosed illness. Would you tell me more about that?

Yeah, I have late-stage Lyme disease. And I still, you know, have good days, bad days, good weeks, bad weeks. And I’m still in long-term treatment. It’s been a tough nine years. And I didn’t think that I would ever be performing again. And that was a very bitter pill to swallow along with the other 84 pills I take every day, ha.

Are you on good terms with the woman who started Bikini Kill?

I think I am now. I’ve kind of made peace with the mistakes that I’ve made and also feeling proud of what I’ve made. I think that people who are involved in community activism, it’s like, don’t stand out. We’re all equal, you know, especially if you come from a punk rock background that’s anti-hierarchy. And I always had this thing of, like, don’t be a leader. And I think that fed into me not being able to say: Hey, wait. That was really cool what I did.

I had to, you know, downplay the interesting things that I had made, kind of even to myself. And I’m still as pissed off as ever before. I think I’m just a little bit more directed. I have a better direction for my anger. It’s less kind of loosey-goosey all over the place. And I’m more apt to look at a larger world view than just, you know, what’s going on inside my apartment building. And now I think both the 21-year-old and the 41-year-old are pretty happy with each other…


MusicFest NW rolls around every year when the leaves start to turn. This year, it brings Larry Crane and Jackpot! Recording to the mezzanine at Ace Hotel Portland for a series of live sessions, September 6 and 7 from noon to 4pm.
Lay down some tracks of your own in the recording area on the mezzanine of the hotel, or lurk and listen downstairs while bands record live tracks against the hustle and bustle of the hotel and coffee shop downstairs. Equipment and sound engineering provided by Jackpot!, music provided by whoever emails larry@tapeop.com to set up a recording time. Performances include Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy (Will Oldham of Palace Music), Hutch of The Thermals and Red Fang.

MusicFest NW rolls around every year when the leaves start to turn. This year, it brings Larry Crane and Jackpot! Recording to the mezzanine at Ace Hotel Portland for a series of live sessions, September 6 and 7 from noon to 4pm.

Lay down some tracks of your own in the recording area on the mezzanine of the hotel, or lurk and listen downstairs while bands record live tracks against the hustle and bustle of the hotel and coffee shop downstairs. Equipment and sound engineering provided by Jackpot!, music provided by whoever emails larry@tapeop.com to set up a recording time. Performances include Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy (Will Oldham of Palace Music), Hutch of The Thermals and Red Fang.


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