The Vaselines

Last Sunday R. and I ventured on a rain-drenched and nearly ill-fated trip to Portland to see one of our favorite bands, the Vaselines. Ill-fated? Indeed. As we were leaving our humble abode (read: total dump), the doorknob broke, and an hour-long debacle of discombobulating the mechanism ensued, peppered with many an obscenity and the frustrated tossing of lock components. By some miracle, R. managed to fix the thing while beating it mercilessly with a hammer while I was out in a blinding rainstorm, cursing the weather, on my way to buy a new doorknob.

Fazed and irritated, we left later than planned but with enough time to perhaps find a nice restaurant and wander about fair Portland. Fate, however, was not on our side, and we ended up lost for about 45 minutes. We eventually found our way to the Wonder Ballroom, wandered, set out in search of food, found none suitable, settled on some rather unfortunate and not entirely agreeable fare, not after being stared-down small-town style in a locals bar, and finally made our way back to the venue, fully drenched from a rather insidious downpour.

Despite all this, however, seeing Frances and Eugene more than made up for our plights, and soon enough we were dry and dancing to Oliver Twisted and I Hate the 80's. Seeing the Vaselines was particularly sweet not only by virtue of their stage banter (Frances is salty and adorable; Eugene wry and witty....), and magical performance, but because R. and I courted and fell in love to their music. We even played Molly's Lips on guitar and mandolin/autoharp together, troubadour-style down neighborhoods and thoroughfares.

Sadly, and somewhat confusingly, the crowd last Sunday was rather small, but this lent an intimate air to the show, and R. and I left satisfied, the madness of the day behind us and forgotten.

***

I highly recommend the Vaselines' new album, Sex With an X. Their sound has become a little more refined, Frances' voice has increased in heavenliness, and the album holds up, if not even surpasses in some ways, their older material. I particularly enjoy their views on younger generations' proclivity towards yearning for decades of yore in which they did not exist. Although I have a predilection for anachronism, and very much admire that of Baudelaire and Plutarch, I must admit that in some aspects nostalgia can take on attributes most irritating, in particular, and in following with the song, this odd worship of all things 1980's is foul and awful. I already loathe the day when the 90's will resurface in some ghastly incarnation.