Let’s get this bit o’ business out of the way: My new podcast cohost is looking for some help in naming his new Portland DJ night.
Starting in March, Lev Anderson, aka DJ Brownbag, and his friends will convene “a citizens’ record club,” a monthly bar spot where members not only spin vinyl, but play jams with “intentionality, community building, political activism, social-cultural action where we pool our resources that night, present two or three ideas of what the group can do together, whether its volunteering for a houseless organization, serving food, helping out with the Portland Jazzfest, or lobbying one of our city commissioners.
“Just somethin’ to kinda have fun, drink beer, listen to music, and make some sort of community impact greater than just our own isolated selves,” Lev told me early in today’s podcast episode. If you happen to produce a name that fits a night like that, drop me a line and I’ll pass it on to my man. The first of these as-yet-unnamed joints will be Dreamhouse on March 2.
Actually, that community announcement functionswell as an introduction to my cohost.
If you’re into Pacific Northwest music, you may know Lev Anderson from Millennium Records, where he’s been part of the scene since the first Customer Appreciation Day, on which Garth Brooks product was gleefully burned. Anderson remains inclined to put in a shift when Record Store Day comes around.
Like what I’m doing? Contribute to my travel budget.
This episode’s recounting of that first Customer Appreciation Day took me to the Chicago White Sox’s infamous burning of disco records on Dime Beer Night. As that opening announcement works to introduce my new podcast partner, the transition from Lev’s anecdote to my anecdote represents the essence of how this podcast ought to be flowing. Even in our first episode together, we have a reasonable, accessible way of talking about the turbulence of our times, starting with my ideas about extricating the West Coast from the United States. Can’t wait to get a guest into our mix.
Couple of corrections:
At one point, Anderson refers to Beverly Cleary’s Portland-formed character as Henry Higgins. The name is Huggins. Henry Huggins, neighbor to Ramona and Beatrice—my boyhood Portland peeps. (Good thing I didn’t know that the events of Ramona the Pest were playing out in a Whites-only state. I’d have never bought into Cleary’s series.) Ribsy would have bitten Lev’s ass, had that error entered his ears.
Finally, Anderson called the very underrated Max Christie “Doug Christie’s son.” The former Kings guard is not Cormac “Max” Christie, Jr’s father.
Bet ya a lot of people think that though.
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