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 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’.


Vanport was a city of public housing — hastily planned and built — in Multnomah County, Oregon. The second largest town at the time in Oregon, and the largest public housing project in the nation, it was constructed in ‘43 to house workers of the Kaiser Shipyards during wartime, and was home to over 40,000 people, almost half African American. After the war ended, more than half of Vanport’s residents moved on, but many remained and an influx of WWII vets helped the makeshift city hang on.
Dramatically, and without warning, Vanport was roundly destroyed by flood this day 65 years ago when a section of the dike retaining the Columbia River collapsed during a flood. Fifteen people were killed and the city itself was completely underwater by nightfall, leaving all of its inhabitants homeless.
Oregon has a gnarly history of racist housing discrimination, and that legacy lives on today in so many subtle and not-so-subtle ways. At the time that Vanport existed, its cultural, racial and linguistic diversity rivaled that of present-day New York City. It was an anomaly, a firecracker, a happy accident, a big mistake, a setup for disaster, and, predictably, not well-protected by its government. The lack of care and attention paid by the county when Vanport flooded mimics the much-derided bumbles of our federal government when Katrina hit New Orleans.
The city, now vanished, has an incredible and rare history — read up on it today when you have some time, and let us know what you think, or if you were there and you have a story, send it along. For more in-depth reading, swoop up a box set of Oregon History comics by Know Your City (formerly the Dill Pickle Club) — Portland’s Black Panthers, Oregon feminism and the history of Chinatown are yours for the learning.

Vanport was a city of public housing — hastily planned and built — in Multnomah County, Oregon. The second largest town at the time in Oregon, and the largest public housing project in the nation, it was constructed in ‘43 to house workers of the Kaiser Shipyards during wartime, and was home to over 40,000 people, almost half African American. After the war ended, more than half of Vanport’s residents moved on, but many remained and an influx of WWII vets helped the makeshift city hang on.

Dramatically, and without warning, Vanport was roundly destroyed by flood this day 65 years ago when a section of the dike retaining the Columbia River collapsed during a flood. Fifteen people were killed and the city itself was completely underwater by nightfall, leaving all of its inhabitants homeless.

Oregon has a gnarly history of racist housing discrimination, and that legacy lives on today in so many subtle and not-so-subtle ways. At the time that Vanport existed, its cultural, racial and linguistic diversity rivaled that of present-day New York City. It was an anomaly, a firecracker, a happy accident, a big mistake, a setup for disaster, and, predictably, not well-protected by its government. The lack of care and attention paid by the county when Vanport flooded mimics the much-derided bumbles of our federal government when Katrina hit New Orleans.

The city, now vanished, has an incredible and rare history — read up on it today when you have some time, and let us know what you think, or if you were there and you have a story, send it along. For more in-depth reading, swoop up a box set of Oregon History comics by Know Your City (formerly the Dill Pickle Club) — Portland’s Black Panthers, Oregon feminism and the history of Chinatown are yours for the learning.




We recently set out to Central Oregon to visit Shepards Flat Wind Farm — one of the world’s largest — just upstream from our neighborhood in Portland. A veritable orchard of turbines, the place evokes a mix of awe, peace and some nascent anxiety about a future we can hardly yet recognize. Shepards Flat has drawn ire and scrutiny about its federal and state subsidies, including funds from the controversial Oregon Business Energy Tax Credit. Turn the dial slightly and you’ll hear praise from the Department of Energy for the project’s job creation power as well as its huge impact on clean energy efforts — equivalent to keeping over 360,000 cars off the road each year. We’re not quite sure how to feel about it — but we think it’s beautiful, otherworldly and worth a visit the next time you’re jonesing for sagebrush and big, Bladerunner horizons.

We recently set out to Central Oregon to visit Shepards Flat Wind Farm — one of the world’s largest — just upstream from our neighborhood in Portland. A veritable orchard of turbines, the place evokes a mix of awe, peace and some nascent anxiety about a future we can hardly yet recognize. Shepards Flat has drawn ire and scrutiny about its federal and state subsidies, including funds from the controversial Oregon Business Energy Tax Credit. Turn the dial slightly and you’ll hear praise from the Department of Energy for the project’s job creation power as well as its huge impact on clean energy efforts — equivalent to keeping over 360,000 cars off the road each year. We’re not quite sure how to feel about it — but we think it’s beautiful, otherworldly and worth a visit the next time you’re jonesing for sagebrush and big, Bladerunner horizons.








In honor of Ace Hotel Portland’s 6th birthday, which also happens to be the State of Oregon’s 154th birthday, we gathered up a few of our favorite old Portland buildings — some of which are now extinct. Last but not least, one building we were able to hang on to: the Clyde Hotel, now your friendly local Ace Hotel Portland, and Gloria’s too.

All photos via Dead Memories Portland except for the Clyde Hotel which is by Chris Clay

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In honor of Ace Hotel Portland’s 6th birthday, which also happens to be the State of Oregon’s 154th birthday, we gathered up a few of our favorite old Portland buildings — some of which are now extinct. Last but not least, one building we were able to hang on to: the Clyde Hotel, now your friendly local Ace Hotel Portland, and Gloria’s too.


All photos via Dead Memories Portland except for the Clyde Hotel which is by Chris Clay


In 1970, President Richard Nixon was scheduled at an American Legion convention in Portland, Oregon, in order to promote the continuation of the Vietnam War. A Portland-based anti-Vietnam War group, called the People’s Army Jamboree, planned a series of demonstrations to be held at the same time as the convention. Law enforcement, expecting massive numbers of protesters on both sides, were concerned about large-scale violence—an FBI report estimated a potential crowd of 25,000 Legionnaires and 50,000 anti-war protestors, and suggested that the result could be worse than the protests at the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago.
In order to keep the peace, Republican Oregon Governor Tom McCall made an agreement with representatives of local anti-war factions to permit a rock festival to be held in a state park at the same time as Nixon’s scheduled visit, and to turn a blind eye toward behavior that had been widespread at the Woodstock Festival, like nudity and use of marijuana. McCall has been heard to remark that by making this agreement—less than three months before the upcoming November vote, in which he was running for re-election—he had “committed political suicide.” The festival was often called “The Governor’s Pot Party” by many Oregonians. McCall won re-election that November, defeating opponent Robert W. Straub handily.
- Mike Meacham, barefooted attendee of Vortex I
Our neighbor in Portland, the Dill Pickle Club —- Oregon’s most esteemed grassroots cultural history crew — is creating a comic about this strange and hardly believable tale of a Republican Governor, a bunch of hippies and the complicated sculpting of Oregon’s liberal reputation. The comic will be distributed for free at Tom McCall’s 100th birthday party in Portland this spring — help make it happen on their Kickstarter.

In 1970, President Richard Nixon was scheduled at an American Legion convention in Portland, Oregon, in order to promote the continuation of the Vietnam War. A Portland-based anti-Vietnam War group, called the People’s Army Jamboree, planned a series of demonstrations to be held at the same time as the convention. Law enforcement, expecting massive numbers of protesters on both sides, were concerned about large-scale violence—an FBI report estimated a potential crowd of 25,000 Legionnaires and 50,000 anti-war protestors, and suggested that the result could be worse than the protests at the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago.

In order to keep the peace, Republican Oregon Governor Tom McCall made an agreement with representatives of local anti-war factions to permit a rock festival to be held in a state park at the same time as Nixon’s scheduled visit, and to turn a blind eye toward behavior that had been widespread at the Woodstock Festival, like nudity and use of marijuana. McCall has been heard to remark that by making this agreement—less than three months before the upcoming November vote, in which he was running for re-election—he had “committed political suicide.” The festival was often called “The Governor’s Pot Party” by many Oregonians. McCall won re-election that November, defeating opponent Robert W. Straub handily.

- Mike Meacham, barefooted attendee of Vortex I


Our neighbor in Portland, the Dill Pickle Club —- Oregon’s most esteemed grassroots cultural history crew — is creating a comic about this strange and hardly believable tale of a Republican Governor, a bunch of hippies and the complicated sculpting of Oregon’s liberal reputation. The comic will be distributed for free at Tom McCall’s 100th birthday party in Portland this spring — help make it happen on their Kickstarter.


Andrew Dickson is an ad man who pulls creaky ropes and pushes flashing buttons at Wieden + Kennedy in Portland, Oregon. At this week’s Creative Mornings sesh in W+K’s atrium, he reminded us that “you can get away with almost anything as long as you’re not boring,” and then he talked us into this mortally binding agreement to support the arts in Oregon. We’re starting right off the bat with TBA — stay tuned for more.

Andrew Dickson is an ad man who pulls creaky ropes and pushes flashing buttons at Wieden + Kennedy in Portland, Oregon. At this week’s Creative Mornings sesh in W+K’s atrium, he reminded us that “you can get away with almost anything as long as you’re not boring,” and then he talked us into this mortally binding agreement to support the arts in Oregon. We’re starting right off the bat with TBA — stay tuned for more.


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