• photos: Ned Lannamann

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• Photo from themusicalbox.net

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Saturday night marked the final concert of the season on the Edgefield lawn, but a couple stray late-September raindrops couldn't, uh, dampen the waaay sold-out crowd there to see Bon Iver. And it may not have been the Bon Iver that people were expecting: This was Super-Sized, Post-Kanye, Arena-Ready Bon Iver, a nine-member-strong ensemble armed with saxes and extra guitars and ample percussion and lots of vocals in order to flawlessly capture the ambitious tracks from the second Bon Iver record (which I have decided is actually called Bon Iver, Bon Iver). The mammoth group also beefed up tunes from Bon Iver's first, stark, acoustic record For Emma, Forever Ago, with mostly tasteful and successful results.

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Following a bit of a raging start to this year's MFNW, my weekend was positively serene. Under the sun of Pioneer Courthouse Square and around the city, the festival dominated the hot and muggy weekend. Getting by on a steady diet of burritos and beer, I hung around downtown Portland for the entirety of Saturday and Sunday's offerings, a far more mellow collection of artists and music. After the jump, I'll rant and rave a bit about who I saw and how it went.

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Photographers aren't the only End Hits staff that got to go to MusicfestNW this year, but in between all the shows, the heat, and the beer, it's been tough to sit down and really portray what it's been like out there. And I don't even have any pictures!

I also meant to write this up yesterday but didn't because SEE ABOVE. Still, I have managed to see some bands and form opinions on the way they played this weekend so, here goes nothing. This is part one, where I talk about the shows I saw Thursday and Friday, with part two coming later. So who did I see? How did I like it? I'll let you know after the jump.

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• Why yes, I am a professional photographer.

Adele was utterly charming at her sold-out concert at Edgefield last night. She was laughing and cursing and bemoaning boys who broke her heart and being self-deprecating about her dancing skills (she apparently has none), declaring the concert her favorite ever. She was having a blast, promising hugs and dates after the show and dishing about her trip to Voodoo Doughnut. In short, she was being a very young 23-year-old—albeit one with golden pipes and more golden ducats than she knows what to do with. She took the stage after a performance from legend Wanda Jackson that totally confirmed Ned's assessment that she's the nicest lady on the planet. Dressed in a very snazzy pink fringed jacket, studded with rhinestones, Jackson's voice sounded as great as ever as she covered Elvis Presley and Amy Winehouse songs, then finally sealed the deal with her signature "Fujiyama Mama." She also talked for a spell about Winehouse and God—but mostly she just sounded fantastic.

Before we get to my Adele review, let's check in with the Mercury's pre-teen concert correspondent, Kayla, age 11:

I liked "Rolling in the Deep" and "Chasing Pavements" and "Rumor Has It." It was funny when Adele laughed in the middle of her songs. A lot of people wouldn't do that—they wouldn't think it was professional. My dad didn't think that she was going to give out free hugs. When we left, there was all this screaming and my dad said I think she was giving out hugs because she said that she would. She liked the bacon doughnut [at Voodoo Doughnut]. I personally tried it and I didn't really like it, but that's just my opinion.

Now a 36-year-old's take...

P.S. Excuse my poor excuse for photography. My professional photographer was occupied with other pursuits.

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Once upon a time, in a hermetically-sealed dorm room—there was a wet towel laid against the door crack to keep the resident law impervious to any, err, fumes—I was made privy to the wonder that is The Shins' Oh, Inverted World. It was one of those momentous discoveries, one that has followed me like a remora throughout the years, and with four years of radio silence, I was beginning to think I'd missed the boat entirely. Never again would the Shins resurface, damning us all to scour Broken Bells' second, third, and fourth releases for any recognizable trace of Mercer's inimitable songwriting abilities.

Which is why it was particularly enthralling to see that the band had scheduled a show in Portland (and at the Doug Fir, no less!). It did raise an eyebrow—is this a special occasion, a treat for our fair city (which is home to quite a few Shins members, past and present), or more of a testing grounds to see if the band still has fans after the extended hiatus.Surprise! They do. Tickets sold out in the blink of an hour, and at 10pm, the log-laden showroom was all but bustling (Though, not quite to Mercer's standards; immediately upon taking the stage, he mentioned something about 340 people coming through the door, while the capacity of the room is 390, and the absence of those 50 people seemed very disconcerting...)

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• photos: Lannamann

While other music fans were at the Britney Spears spectacle at the Rose Garden or the My Morning Jacket shred-fest at Edgefield, I trekked north—to Clark County, in pursuit of a rare glimpse of Canadian power trio Rush. I hasten to mention that this was not done out of any sense of irony or as the result of losing a bet. No; for a couple brief years pre-adolescence, I was an immense Rush fan, and swiftly accumulated six or so of their albums on cassette with embezzled lunch money. Then other things happened (girls, grunge, Roll the Bones) and Rush and I went our separate ways. But the older I get, the more I realized I'm pretty much the same person I was at age 10, and seeing as how I have never ever seen Rush live, I pounced on the opportunity to catch them at the Sleep Country Amphitheater.

As should be expected from anyone except the most dickish of music snobs or anyone attached to a vagina, the aging Canucks put on a great show. I shall do my best to explain how, and why, without coming off as a total nerd. Yes, their first set consisted of mostly newer, inferior material; yes, they shamelessly baited fans by performing one of their two best albums, Moving Pictures, in full (their other best album is 2112); yes, Neil Peart is starting to look a little like Gandalf. Despite these things—actually, because of them, really—the show was killer.

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• Vetiver at Barbarella

SXSW Day Three- 2011

Total Number of Bands Seen: Nine; Paper Bird, Sallie Ford and the Sound Outside, Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit, Dolorean, Shilpa Ray and Her Happy Hookers, Vetiver, Colleen Green, Shabazz Palaces, The Moondoggies.

Total Number of Tacos Consumed: Three, though I had only ordered two. The nice Mexican man in the taco truck window misunderstood me. But it was totally okay. You know why? Because it is absolutely impossible to refuse a taco when it is shoved under your nose. Taco trucks, take note; there is potentially a lot of money in this for you. If the taco man had thought I'd say "doce" instead of "dos," I would have eaten all 12 without noticing.

Best Show Seen: Probably a tie between Vetiver and Jason Isbell, though Paper Bird is jogging close behind and could have nosed into the lead, had I caught more of their set.

Notable Shows I Was Unable to See: Fuck, so many; it makes me SXSStressed. But mostly Cass McCombs, Little Scream, Wye Oak, Sharon Van Etten, Fergus & Geronimo, and Ted Leo. Luckily though, I live in Portland and not Lake Wobegon, MN, so there is a good chance I'll catch all of these acts within the next few months.

Celebrity Sightings: This is probably not true, but I think I saw Charlie Sheen accosting one of the Sparks girls at the Swan Dive.

For those of you that have never visited Austin (which should really be renamed Redemption, TX), it is strangely similar to Portland. It has a near-identical urban layout, minus a few directional discrepancies and a few more barrios, as well as a comparable number of biking alcoholics (more on this later). Yesterday, however, the two cities were totally interchangeable. The Brooklyn Vegan/Partisan Records day party was lousy with Portland bands and buddies, all much sweatier and red-faced than I'd seen them on past occasions. Sallie Ford and her band are sounding better than ever, and of course, Dolorean held a large audience captive. And although I had broken my silent vow to avoid Portland bands while at SXSW, it was exciting to see an overwhelmingly positive response to so many of these standbys outside of our temple of gloom.

On another note: Paper Bird. Please do yourself a favor and check out this band immediately. Absolutely gorgeous, well-executed Americana from Denver that we serendipitously stumbled upon after gorging ourselves on flautas and pickled carrots at Polvo's. They snapped us right out of a potentially-debilitating Mexican food coma.

Back to biking alcoholics, though; did you know that this actually exists? It's essentially a bar on wheels called the "Pub Crawler," that fits up to fifteen drunkards under 300 lbs who are then prompted to pedal around the busy streets of Austin—like, seriously busy and swarming with aggravated Texan drivers who use expletives much more than blinkers. There are also no seat belts. It's fucking terrifying, and demarcates Austin's superiority to Portland in pushing the limits in the bike/beer department. Perhaps the litter-byline-turned-state-motto reigns true; we really shouldn't mess with Texas.

• Unlike D&D this dice game cost me A LOT of money.

DAY THREE - SXSW 2011

Total Number of Bands Seen:
13! EMA, Herman Dune, Wye Oak, Ted Leo, Sharon Van Etten, Dee-1, Dolorean, the Obits, Puro Instinct, Papercuts, Esben And the Witch, the Head and the Heart, La Sera. (I also caught a comedy set from Chelsea Peretti. Comedians are not bands, but she was damn funny.)

Total Number of Tacos Consumed:
Three. Including one with nopalitos from the delicious A Million to Juan, a restaurant I only assume is named in honor of the Paul Rodriguez film.

Best show seen:
Esben And the Witch, hands down. More on them in a second, but a close second goes to EMA (although not everyone in my party agrees) and Wye Oak gets the bronze.

Notable Shows That I Was Unable to See:
A few, like always. tUnE-YaRdS' set time conflicted with my nAp-TImE, and the early Head and the Heart show had a line that snaked down the block, around the corner, across the river, into South America, and finally stopping at the South Pole. There were penguins at the end of that line. Thankfully I caught the band at their 1am set. I also wanted to catch OMD, but (OMG!) maybe it's a good idea I missed them.

Celebrity Sightings:
The guy with the prison tattoos of guns on both of his hands. He might not be famous yet, but dude is about to kill someone. Maybe a famous person. He totally counts. (Plus I am not going to tell him otherwise).

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• Hey sidewalk, tell me where to find some stoner metal.

DAY TWO - SXSW 2011

Total Number of Bands Seen:
Nine, again. Shabazz Palaces, Veronica Falls, Unnatural Helpers, Yuck, Menomena, OFF!, Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit, Doomtree, and Gayngs.

Total Number of Tacos Consumed:
One. But it was at Guero's Taco Bar, so it was extra special. Also the trip across the river into the "better" section of Austin made me realize that I am a terrible tourist. This is my ninth SXSW and I rarely leave the vicinity of downtown. It would be like visiting Portland and just hanging outside Dixie Tavern and Dirty for five days straight.

Best show seen:
Honestly, nothing was incredible yesterday. Some very good performances from Shabazz Palaces, Veronica Falls, Unnatural Helpers, and Menomena, but nothing was revelatory. Shabazz was probably the best, but it was a show in the early afternoon located in a dirty field (thanks, Pitchfork), so the atmosphere wasn't right.

Notable Shows That I Was Unable to See:
Three. EMA, tUnE-YaRdS (twice!), and Lia Ices. Clearly my date with tUnE-YaRdS is not meant to be. That is SUCkS.

Celebrity Sightings:
Aziz Ansari. Again. Stop stalking me, dude.

Every exhausting music festival needs an odd visit from your mother, who will take you out to lunch and then ask you why you haven't provided her with any grandkids yet. Following that, I hoofed it under the bridge to the Pitchfork-a-rama dirt lot jamboree, where Shabazz Palaces was illin' it (since there is a moratorium on the term "killing it"). Then it was back under the bridge for British tweemo™ (I'm trademarking that shit) act Veronica Falls, then under the bridge again (like trolls, or Anthony Kiedis) for Unnatural Helpers. The bassist from the Hardly Art band was explaining to us how they didn't care to see other bands, they were going swimming. Not a bad idea at all.

The new-look Menomena—where they lost a member and added a band (Dat'r)—was in classic form, which means a lengthy delay and then a blistering set. It was pretty impressive, especially considering they are now out half their catalog with the departure of Brent Knopf.

Watching the vintage hardcore supergroup OFF! made me realize how little punk shows I see here, and also how Mario Rubalcaba just might be the best drummer on this planet. Granted, I've been saying that since I first saw Clikatat Ikatowi in 1995. The night ended with a pretty subpar (at least to me) Gayngs performance. With more members onstage than a Wu Tang concert—coincidentally, one was happening just down the block—the slow jam supergroup of Bon Iver, Megafaun, and friends didn't really deliver, despite a Sade cover.

Actually, the real treat was walking about to the hotel at 2am and watching a drunk couple in Saint Patrick's Day garb attempting a piggy-back ride. It seemed like a bad idea from the start, and sure enough, just as the woman mounted his back, the poor frat boy was weighed down by green beer and he keeled over, thus projected her over his shoulders and face first into the unforgiving pavement. Other than some bruises and concrete burns, they seemed fine—I checked on them—but it was a telling way to end the night.

• tUnE-yArDs Outside At Red 7

Greetings from the dregs of the post-Wednesday haze;

Total Number of Bands Seen:
Starting off slow with only seven (unless, of course, you count the Crabcore band I terrifyingly stumbled upon, as well as the live saxophonist playing along with a house DJ at a rooftop bar. You don't? Okay.): The Head and the Heart, The Dig, Hoots and Hellmouth, Quiet Life, Idle Hands, Elk & Boar, and tUnE-yArDs.

Total Number of Tacos Consumed:
Two expensive and surprisingly mediocre tacos. Today, I am holding myself to much higher taco aspirations.

Notable Shows That I Was Unable to See:
Three. Tennis, Portugal. The Man, and Jack White in a parking lot.

Celebrity Sightings:
.2: Darwin Deez. And sadly, he was totally basking in the fact that a friend of mine had recognized him in the crowd of onlookers rapt with the Crabcore band (which will remain unnamed... forever). I also just missed Jack White in the hotel lobby of the Four Seasons, and I blame my slow-pedalling pedicab driver. What good are those sculpted calf muscles if they can't get me and three of my overweight friends to Jack White in time, hmmm!?
(Whatever, White will probably play in a bank, or a public bathroom, at some point today; there's hope for me yet.)

On a related note, today seems to be a much more promising day for celeb-spotting, starting with the fact that Moby just walked into the swag tent that I'm sitting in. I guess Duran Duran is here, too. I may try to find them and perform the dance routine I choreographed to "Ordinary World" in second grade. (I still remember every move, every dramatic pause... but I probably won't do that.)
UPDATE: Batman just walked in. Fuck, I'm hungover.

As a newcomer to this famed festival, where the music industry puffs up its broad chest and struts around the Lonestar state capital for a nearly a week, I am admittedly floundering around in the chaos of it all. I spent 12 hours pacing the streets of downtown Austin yesterday, totally overwhelmed by all of the people and places and pairs of free sunglasses I was handed. I believe that number is seven by now.

As far as show highlights go, tUnE-yArDs definitely took the cake. Aside from the massive amounts of technical difficulties experienced (the venue was so unbelievably shitty), as well as the fact that it was the first show Merrill Garbus and co. had played in a very long time and there were a few sputtering starts, it was an excellent—though all too brief—showcase of some new material from w h o k i l l. And good lord, that record is amazing. Also, Garbus' haircut is still wonderfully asymmetrical and her voice fully capable of that skull-shattering crescendo. Be very excited for the April 28th show at Doug Fir.

Okay, that's all for now. I have to spend a fair amount of time nursing myself back to health before I spit back out into Thursday's high tide. Wish me luck.

• A really poor photo of the Four Fists

DAY ONE - SXSW 2011

Total Number of Bands Seen:
Only 9. Lord Huron, Screaming Females, Quiet Life, Tennis, Obits, Pains of Being Pure at Heart, the Four Fists, Summer Camp, and Josh T. Pearson.

Total Number of Tacos Consumed:
Zero. But I did attempt to eat something called an Enchilacho (nachos inside an enchilada, naturally) yet couldn't get more than a couple bites in. That's what we get for eating in a Mexican restaurant located inside a head shop. We saw Aziz Ansari reluctantly walk in this place earlier in the day and assumed that if it was good enough for Tom Haverford, it was good enough for us. Turns out, he was probably purchasing a vaporizer.

Notable Shows That I Was Unable to See:
Three. Okkervil River, tUnE-YaRdS, and Veronica Falls. Worry not, I'll see these three in the next day or so.

Celebrity Sightings:
Three. John Norris, the middle kid from Hanson, and Aziz. Also, by skipping the Okkervil River show, I missed the NBA's finest three-point shooting ginger, Matt Bonner. Damn.

DId you know Sparks no longer has caffeine in their silver cans of unhappiness? Well, they do. I wasn't aware of this until I polished off my first can before noon, and then it was all down hill after that...

The two main highlights of the day were the early day set from the Screaming Females—whose pint-sized, female singer really does look like Joey Lawrence from Gimme a Break!—and the haunting return to the Lone Star State of Josh T. Pearson. The mysterious former frontman of Lift to Experience—a band we are not shy about expressing our love for—Pearson is now based out of the UK (where he was an integral part of Bat For Lashes' debut, Fur and Gold) and is finally releasing his oft-rumored solo material. Fittingly, Pearson performed in Texas for the first time in about a decade under a gigantic cross at the Central Presbyterian Church. Opening with a stripped bare version of "Rivers of Babylon" (which was a surprise choice, but fit Pearson well) his chilling voice was the centerpiece of an acoustic performance full of minimalist guitar work and some harrowing lyrics. If last night was any indication, we're all in for a treat when his Last Of The Country Gentlemen LP comes out later this month.

Another performance of note was the debut show from the Four Fists, the new project from P.O.S. and Astronautalis. It's just your average hiphop collaboration based around the short stories of F. Scott Fitzgerald (seriously), but technical issues shortened their brief three song set.

I'd write more, but my mom coincidentally happens to be in town (she's in Odd Future) and she wants to take me to lunch. Or maybe we can go back to school shopping. I hope this is the year she finally caves and buys me those Reebok Pumps.

I tweeted my way through the Leonard Cohen show on Wednesday at the surprisingly accommodating Theater of the Clouds (a 7500-person wedge carved out of the Rose Garden ellipse). I've heard some people say it was the best show they've seen, that it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience... I'd say it was definitely the latter but not the former. I have never been a gung-ho Cohen disciple the way that some of his fans are; people really go apeshit for this guy, but these are the kind of people who read Joyce and Sartre for fun, or speak to you partly in French even though they grew up two streets away from you. At any rate, it was a spectacular show. It was nearly three and a half hours long, including intermission, which is about as long a show by a single performer as I can think of. Even Bruce played a mere two hours last time he was here.

And Cohen was a gracious, graceful performer, alternating between showman and servant, bowing deeply to the audience, going down on his knees at times, reciting his songs as poetry. The encore itself stretched for 40 minutes. The man didn't want to leave the stage. His band was mostly sterling, playing utterly swanky music that—had it not been for Cohen's gravity as a frontman—could have lapsed into smooth jazz (when longtime collaborator Sharon Robinson sang a song without Cohen, it felt very smooth jazz). It wasn't rock 'n' roll. "Leonard Cohen takes musical elements that would be schlock or kitsch in lesser hands, and somehow elevates them," I tweeted at one point. Despite this, the music felt crucial, like taking communion, not merely an obligatory "let's see the old goat before he kicks it" kind of exercise. I don't know if I'll ever have a chance to see him again, but I'm sure glad I saw him this time.

• Minh Tran

"Bowtland!" a breathless Yolandi Vi$$er squealed at the end of a sweaty set, "Why are you so fawking cute?" I've been a part of a crowd that a performer had deemed "cute" before, but now that I've been called that by a pint-sized sexbomb in an over-sized Jigglypuff jumpsuit, I think I can die happy. It wasn't just the cute recognizing cute that stirred up all my post-show euphoria—Die Antwoord simply slayed, meeting and exceeding all my expectations.

• Minh Tran

So let's back up a bit—I had this nagging feeling before the show that Die Antwoord's game was over, or maybe that another one had begun entirely. The trashy South African rap/rave duo is widely recognized as a massive piece of performance art, a fact that hasn't hindered—and has probably helped—their fast climb to YouTube stardom and an Interscope record deal. My fear going into the show was that the performance would take its next logical step—from Die Antwoord, the charming, hilarious little viral-vid enigma to Die Antwoord, the biggest band in the fokken world. It's a leap not without precedent—I've recognized for a while that Antwoord and Andrew WK have a lot in common, as Eric Grandy pointed out after their Seattle show. Before WK broke down and became a motivational speaker, though, the performance veered off into a sick, (literally) commercial direction, his songs and visage appearing in as many ads, shows and video games as would take it on. So now that everyone is in on the Die Antwoord joke, would corporate music biz assholery and an abandonment of the high art image they've cultivated be the punchline?

• Minh Tran

My trepidations were put to rest pretty much immediately. Though the house was packed and palpably frenzied, Tour DJ Fishsticks came on stage first and launched a deep and punishingly long, mono-note drone, backdropped by a projection of a super creepy face. Tension built and built—imagine seeing an all-ages rave that had already ingested their party drugs being subjected to an eternity of goth Tuvan throat singing—but it's exactly the mood they meant to create. It was a weird statement of intent, declaring that the performative and aesthetic display to follow would be on their terms alone. The audience seemed to be mostly up to the challenge—throughout the night, the arty video projections ran the gamut from cartoony to Lynchian, lending a clandestine darkness to the ecstatic beats and rhymes.

• Minh Tran

When Ninja and Vi$$er finally bounded out in oversized hoodies, the place went apeshit—the crowd was putty in Antwoord's hands for the duration of the set, and for good reason. The irresistible, faux trailer-trash charisma and innate humor that shine through their videos are amplified when they perform live. Ninja spat fire and worked the crowd hard, stage diving, pelvic thrusting and mugging (what a fucking mug!) his way through sweaty, pulsing jam after jam. He even managed to keep everyone into it for an entertaining though not particularly adept a capella rendition later in the set. After a massive group-falsetto sing-and-sway-along to "Enter the Ninja" and a near fever pitch of harsh pogo-mosh to the clubby "Wat Kyk Jy", Ninja actually brought the crowd down to demand a moment of silence so he could pose a question. His query—"Where is that motherfokkin' rrrrich bitch?" Vi$$er re-emerged in all gold lamé, starting a bouncing rendition of, what else, "Rich Bitch."

• Minh Tran

Vi$$er's pixie-vixen sexuality was on full display from there—she soon shed the gold hoodie for a barely-covering cut-off tee, cooing icy cold and holding the audience rapt on "$copie" and "Evil Boy." The perpetually shirtless Ninja had his fair share of grind-time too, eventually stripping down to his infamous Dark Side Of The Moon skivvies to thrust and flop along to "Beat Boy." Before their encore, DJ Fishsticks came out and started the same inaugural drone again. Luckily, it was only a few moments before Ninja and Vi$$er reemerged, now decked out in bright, baggy Pokémon outfits, and launched into the pub-sing-along of "Doos Dronk."

• Minh Tran

Time will tell if Die Antwoord's now endearing persona and performance will morph into a synergistic machine, packing stadiums with kids who take the vapid party lyrics at face value and didn't really understand the joke to begin with. Whatever direction they take, all indications are that Die Antwoord is in it for the long haul—I'm 100% certain Ninja and Vi$$er don't even break character even to talk to their parents—and watching their plan unfurl itself in front of a captivated world should make for arresting theater.

Time has a way with The Clean. Last year, the Dunedin, New Zealand-based band issued Mister Pop on their US label Merge, the first stateside studio release since 2001's Getaway. Last night, the legendary masters of pop played Portland, the final stop of their seven date US tour, for the first time in six years. For all the waiting we've done for the band, the patience finally paid off in spades.

Though I never saw a sign indicating the show sold out, the performance room of Holocene was packed to the gills by the time The Clean hit the stage after eleven, with people shoving their way through to any vacant floorspace. The ramshackle post-punk pop trio, who has been together now for thirty-two years, had no shortage of songs to choose from, pulling out songs they hadn't played in years. "Some of these songs are older than most of you," remarked guitarist/singer David Kilgour. And he wasn't kidding. A majority of 21+ audience looked like they were born in the 1980s, still shitting in diapers at the time The Clean were producing timeless pop singles and albums for New Zealand's storied Flying Nun label.

Under a low blue-ish red light, the band pulled out all the stops, playing requisite crowd favorites from the Anthology compilation, including a slightly more subdued version of the the often-covered "Anything Can Happen," as well as "Fish," "Oddity," and "Billy Two." David Kilgour and his brother/drummer Hamish spend equal time singing, interjecting the song breaks with mumbling jokes/observations that were difficult for me to decipher through their thick New Zealand accents. And though this was the first time The Clean has played the US since releasing Mister Pop, they only worked one song from that great 2009 album into the set: the anthemic "In The Dreamlife U Need a Rubber Soul." Noticeably absent was the band's seminal 1981 single "Tally Ho," that they reportedly played the night before in San Francisco. While the band did play at mellower tempos, they still rocked out, with David Kilgour sometimes crouching low in front of his amp to create heavy walls of psych-pop distortion. At one point, he handed off his guitar to the audience, who picked at the strings, while he made some fractured notes emerge on his small keyboard.

The band closed out their set with a fierce cover of Velvet Underground's "What Goes On" "I Can't Stand It" before returning to the stage for a one song encore, the mellow, gentle number,"Safe In The Rain." For Portland, it couldn't have ended on a sweeter and regionally sensitive note. We are gonna need a song to help us through these wet months ahead.

I missed the opening act, but caught Quasi's set, which was rife with incredibly awkward stage banter from leader Sam Coomes, and some classic Quasi songs I hadn't heard in years ("Featuring Birds" and "It's Raining.") His beat-up organ, a prominent staple of Quasi's sound, ran into some technical problems throughout, and inevitably lead to Coomes pushing it over onto the stage. Additionally, his voice sounded strained and drained at times. Janet Weiss, however, held up her own side of the bargain with strong technical drumming that remained fluid throughout, proving once again that she's one of the best female drummers in the world.

• BLUSH PHOTO
• We didn't send a photographer, so here is a great shot from Wednesday's show in Seattle.

The problem with most any arena show—be it within the Blazers' old stomping grounds, or inside the house Paul Allen's wallet built—is that rarely does the headliner "fill" the room. Seldom built for concerts, even the finest arenas can be dull at best—where they have all the charm of a boat show—or cold and cavernous at worst. Yet for Arcade Fire, the room itself is irrelevant. Witnessing the ambitious Montreal band captivate tiny venues when they first started (+1 indie cred points), or share a huge stage in Central Park with David Bowie (+1 indie cred points) is essentially the same experience, and last night's performance in the Memorial Coliseum was definitely an event far more intense and personal than my only other previous concert inside that building, My Chemical Romance (-500 indie cred points).

In a live setting Arcade Fire have always had that ability to reel off a series of songs in succession that add an air of sheer unfuckwithability to their already pristine reputation, and they did just that with their opening six songs: "Ready to Start," "Month of May," "Neighborhood #2 (Laika)," "No Cars Go," "Haïti," and "Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)." Leaning heavily on material from The Suburbs, and mostly ignoring Neon Bible, Arcade Fire commanded the big(ger) stage with a nonchalant confidence—it helps having eight members and more equipment than a Guitar Center showroom. Standing in front of a tastefully large screen (Kanye West's digital hologram backdrop this was not) the band was surrounded by images of flashing billboards, intertwined freeways, and track home kids wrestling in the street, but as to be expected, the screen was never a distraction.

There was a certain album feel to "No Cars Go" and The Suburbs' title track, neither of which strayed far from their original recorded versions. But songs like "Rebellion (Lies)" and "We Used to Wait" took on new life, imbued with an infectious wide-eyed energy that rattled throughout the Memorial Coliseum—which is saying a lot considering this band is always moving, even struggling to remain stationary during mid-songs breaks.

[Note: Why don't they open the curtains during Memorial Coliseum concerts? Is it a sound thing? It would be nice to have a view of the stars, or at least the Red Lion's rooftop bar, during the show.]

As expected, Arcade Fire closed with the most arena-friendly gem in their catalog, "Wake Up," as their eight voices were quickly eclipsed by the eager voices of thousands of fans shouting its massive chorus. Not bad, Portland. And to think, if our weather was always this good, we might get the band to relocate here permanently. As Win Butler put it: "It's really fucking dangerous to come to Portland when the sun is out. You almost feel like you can live here."

Funny, I always thought the same thing about Montreal.

The band opened their set with the muscular title track of their outstanding 2009 release, Heavy Days. If I ever owned a '78 t-topped Pontiac Trans Am, "Heavy Days" would be a stereo maystay while I drove around town like a mustachioed bad boy picking up chicks. It's a fully-charged riff monster with a propulsive rhythm that never eases up on the gas (same can be said for the album's other "heavy"-hitters, "Heavy Krishna" and "Heavy Damage."). Both "Heavy Krishna" and "Heavy Damage" were treated with some extended soloing that found Jake walking into the crowd, and climbing onto the bar. The gar-runge of "U Got The Look" and poppy "Bone Jam" were worked into the fold as well. Toward the end of the night, Jamin jumped away from the kit and turned off the three lights that lit the stage, as Jake began strumming the opening chords to "The Tropics," the bittersweet closer to the first-half of Heavy Days. I asked a really pretty woman standing next to me if she wanted to slow dance, but she "can't slow dance," so I just swayed in my own folded arms, until the song melted into the churning epic album closer "Mind Ride." They played a couple new songs that I didn't catch the names of, but they were resoundingly as great as everything that is on Heavy Days. It was everything I hoped for, even though today my neck hurts and my hair is a mess. Whatever, it was worth it.

My one regret of the weekend is missing them play Saturday Night at Doug Fir. If anyone driving to Arcata tonight, I'll gladly hitch a ride, as long as you don't mind hearing this band over and over again...