Halloween is fast approaching and students clad in costumes will wander between parties and bars for another weekend. In honor of this spooky season, the Emerald podcast team decided to find as many songs with the word “ghost” in them as they could. Listen as Podcast Editor Ryan Nguyen and Podcast Producer Sararosa Davies discuss their favorite ghost-filled tracks.
Music discussed in this episode includes:
“The Ghost Inside Our House” and “Tornado Lessons” by Cloud Cult
“The Ghosts of Beverly Drive” by Death Cab for Cutie
On any given weekend night, hordes of University of Oregon students party in living rooms, basements and kitchens. But instead of trap music blaring through Bluetooth speakers, sweaty 20-somethings play indie rock to a rowdy crowd of their peers. In the morning, residents move couches back into place and clean up empty beer cans. Murmurings of the next show make their way around town through Facebook and word-of-mouth.
Eugene students and recent graduates have thrown concerts at various houses around town. As the scene has waxed and waned, so has the production value of shows. But a new collective, the Blue Plant Collective, has been hard at work making professional-sounding house shows a norm at any house around town.
Music in this podcast is by Spiller and Oink. This podcast was produced and edited by Sararosa Davies.
On any given weekend night, hoards of University of Oregon students party in living rooms, basements and kitchens. But instead of trap music blaring through Bluetooth speakers, sweaty 20-somethings play indie rock to a rowdy crowd of their peers. In the morning, residents move couches back into place and clean up empty beer cans. Murmurings of the next show make their way around town through Facebook and word-of-mouth.
Eugene students and recent graduates have thrown concerts at places such as The Fish Tank, The Plant House, The Blair House and The Rat House — all venues that have made up the Eugene house show scene over the years.
“There’s something to be said with playing in a kitchen, a living room, a basement,” Nate Hansen, a member of the newly formed Blue Plant Collective, said. “That just can’t be recreated in a club space.”
Packed house shows are a staple of Eugene’s music scene due to their accessibility, intimacy and all-ages, do-it-yourself ethos. But the stability and quality of the scene has waxed and waned over the years, according to Hansen.
The Blue Plant Collective and its 40 or so members aim to produce house shows with professional production values around town. Members of Eugene bands, house show attendees and other scenesters are brainstorming to ensure quality house shows will continue in Eugene.
Blue Plant Collective members Bobby Schenk and Rhuby Noriyuki emcee a house show at the Lorax Manor in Eugene, Ore. on Oct. 13, 2018. (Sarah Northrop/Emerald)
“For the time being, we want to create an active presence in the house show scene, specifically, and come to as many spaces as are willing to host us,” Hansen said.
Blue Plant was partly born out of a basement venue called The Blue Room that Hansen and a few other people ran because they saw a gap in quality at house concerts around town. Hansen would play and attend shows with great bands, but found the audio and lighting to be lacking in quality. Once he was playing a show and the power went off in the middle of his band’s set.
The Blue Room filled that quality gap for a year and a half, producing shows with professional sound production almost twice a week. But this summer, Hansen and his roommates moved out.
That’s when he and a few other people began to brainstorm ideas to continue producing house shows in Eugene that maintain the quality found at the Blue Room.
At the same time Hansen was moving out, beloved Eugene band Spiller was on a nationwide tour. Hansen broke the news to the band, and Spiller’s Sam Mendoza and Luke Broadbent, among the band’s other members, began brainstorming ideas about expanding the Blue Room’s mission.
(Left to right): After learning of the closure of a popular Eugene house show venue, The Blue Room, Spiller’s Sam Mendoza and Luke Broadbent began brainstorming ideas about expanding the Blue Room’s mission and trying to include others. (Sarah Northrop/Emerald)
With Blue Room’s closing and Spiller’s upcoming return, the timing seemed to click for the collective’s members.“It just felt right,” Broadbent said.
When Spiller returned to Eugene late last summer, other members of the scene joined the conversation, and soon Blue Plant Collective was created. Its name is a mishmash of The Blue Room and the Plant House — where Spiller began hosting and booking shows nearly two years ago.
In the collective’s few months of operation, members have met at an eclectic bunch of apartments to plan concerts and events, make partnerships with student co-ops such as the Lorax Manner and standardize their production process. The collective held its first show, with a lineup of Eugene bands including Novacane, Spiller and the Breakfast Boys Leisure League — at a house called The Fish Tank on Sept. 29.
At a meeting about a week after the show, members sat in an apartment near the School of Music and Dance drinking coffee out of worn mugs and eating birthday cake-flavored Oreos. They reflected on what went well at the show: Attendance was high, people came with relatively short notice and audience members seemed to enjoy it.
But they also learned a few things about interacting with a house’s residents and how to streamline certain processes — such as setup, cleanup and door security. One member of the collective, Rachel Hammack, brought up how she found out an audience member jumped the house’s fence during the show. The collective had a discussion from there about how to take better care of the spaces where it books shows.
“We’re constantly keeping our ears to the ground about how we can better streamline the show and make it feel like it’s a club show, but in a house space,” Hansen said.
These reflections led to a conversation about paying artists, insuring sound equipment and providing money to those who lend their houses for shows. They discussed potential legal questions about space use and noise complaints.
At the meeting, they also talked about upcoming shows and a potential partnership with the Lorax Manner to host Blue Plant lineups. Conversation flowed from one topic to the next, riding waves of ideas and excited interjections. Hansen said meetings have had a very unilateral decision-making process.
Although KWVA programming director and DJ Bobby Schenk took notes at the meeting, the collective doesn’t have a typical administrative structure — yet. Schenk said he’s creating a workflow so members and volunteers know what they are responsible for at each concert and each meeting.
The next event the collective has planned is a DJ show and art gallery on Oct. 20. Schenk will be DJing, along with another member Josh Berliner, who performs under the name Kid April.
Members of the collective were also present at a concert at the Lorax on Oct. 13. Spiller headlined right after Doink! (another Eugene band) and Connecticut band The Most also played.
Blue Plant Collective members (top left to right) Bobby Schenk, Sam Mendoza, Aidan Israel, (bottom left to right) Rachel Hammack, Rhuby Noriyuki and August King gather in a yard of a popular Eugene house show venue as a crowd forms inside. The collective and its 40 or so members aim to produce house shows with professional production values around town. (Sarah Northrop/Emerald)
At the show, members helped run doors, emcee and had a general presence. Though this may have been a typical Eugene show music wise, Spiller’s Mendoza said Blue Plant is aiming to book more than just indie-rock shows. Themed events, newcomer nights and smaller acoustic shows are all ideas that members have come up with. An all-ages, accessible ethos colors all the events they have planned.
“Where the young people are is where some of the best stuff is happening. That’s where all the energy and youthfulness in music is happening,” Mendoza said. “And if you can’t give people a platform to play, then what’s the point?”
Maybe, some members said, the collective will add a multimedia component like acoustic house show purveyors Sofar Sounds or even try booking shows at Eugene music venues in the future.
But for now, Blue Plant Collective is just aiming to put on well-produced shows in a streamlined way at houses that will take them. Anyone can volunteer their house for shows.
“Everyone is like ‘Yeah, Eugene has a great house show scene,’ and it totally does.” Spiller’s Luke Broadbent said. “But it only does if you maintain it.”
To find out more about Blue Plant shows, visit the collective’s Facebook page at Blue Plant Productions. House addresses are usually posted in a concert’s Facebook event the day of each show.
In her recent essay for the New Yorker, Eugene native and musician Michelle Zauner writes about her biracial identity and her connection to her mother who died in 2014. Much of the essay, “Crying in H Mart,” is about Zauner’s connection to the Korean food her mom used to make, and therefore, to her mom and the culture she came from. The essay explores grief, identity and connection in a playful but soft voice. Zauner is clearly a skilled writer.
It makes sense then that Zauner, who plays music under the moniker Japanese Breakfast, is also a wonderful lyricist and vocalist — able to bring you to tears from the minute details she sings.
“My grief comes in waves and is usually triggered by something arbitrary. I can tell you with a straight face what it was like watching my mom’s hair fall out in the bathtub, or about the five weeks I spent sleeping in hospitals, but catch me at H Mart when some kid runs up double-fisting plastic sleeves of ppeong-twigi and I’ll just lose it,” Zauner writes in “Crying in H Mart.” “Those little rice-cake Frisbees were my childhood: a happier time, when Mom was there and we’d crunch away on the Styrofoam-like disks after school. Eating them was like splitting a packing peanut that dissolved like sugar on your tongue.”
Zauner played with bands in Philadelphia after college, but when her mom was diagnosed with late-stage cancer, she moved back to Eugene to provide care and help her dad after her mom passed. Much of her first album, “Psychopomp,” comes from this period, and the record — like “Crying in H Mart” — explores grief and identity in a hazy and dreamy way. Zauner released her second album, “Soft Sounds from Another Planet,” in 2017, and she will return to Eugene on Friday, Sept. 28, almost exactly a year after her last show here.
Just as “Psychopomp” features Zauner’s mom reaching out toward the camera on its cover, “Soft Sounds” features a photo of Zauner bathed in orange light, looking up at her shadow. Displayed in the metaphors of the artwork, there’s something both externally and internally focused about her work.
“Soft Sounds” expands Zauner’s thematic reach to encompass more than just grief and familial relationships, like in her first album. The result is just as heartbreaking as her first album. In “Boyish,” she sings “I can’t get you off my mind / I can’t get you off in general / so here we are, just two losers / I want you and you want something more beautiful.” Swelling strings and rising drums accompany her drooping but warm vocals on the track.
There’s also something effervescent to her music. Much of Zauner’s lyrics are coated in shimmering indie-rock sounds — but nothing is ever too polished or dreamy. In her National Public Radio Tiny Desk concert, Zauner plays a beginner’s nylon string guitar despite being a skilled player. When she croons, her voice takes on a closed shape. Her vowels seem to lengthen sidewise instead of rounding out.
In profiles and interviews, Zauner talks of growing up in the primarily white Eugene unsure of her relation to her own culture. In so much of her music, she holds this unsureness in the palm of her hand, twirling it around and looking at different angles. But she embraces the subject matter — even if there might be no final place to settle after exploration. “Try your best to slowly withdraw / From the darkest impulses of your heart / Try your best to feel and receive / Your body is a blade that cuts a path from day to day,” Zauner sings on “Soft Sounds.”
It’s probably best — for all of us — to follow Zauner’s advice.
Japanese Breakfast plays WOW Hall with Ought on Friday, Sept. 28. Doors are at 7 p.m., show at 7:30 p.m. Tickets are $16 in advance or at the door. Fore more information, visit www.wowhall.org.
Last spring term, Father John Misty’s third album, “Pure Comedy,” took over the Emerald’s Arts and Culture desk. Three A&C writers broke down the album in a rare Triple Take review, each with their own opinions on the character the former Fleet Foxes drummer inhabits. A little over a year later, the Emerald A&C desk is back — and ready to break down another album from Josh Tillman’s alter ego. This time we tackle “God’s Favorite Customer,” in which Tillman hits rock bottom. Hopefully, we won’t follow suit.
Last year when Father John Misty released his sprawling take on modern humanity, “Pure Comedy,” I was deep in the throes of a bad sinus infection. The album’s tracks were dire and slow, moving through my ears like the cough syrup through my veins. Despite this, “Pure Comedy” was more of a collective experience for listeners like me — both a comment and a critique on expansive technology, political divides and the fate of humanity through all the commotion those things cause. The ever-sarcastic personality addressed these big ideas well, so well that sometimes it was hard to figure out what was authentic and what wasn’t.
But Tillman’s new album, ‘God’s Favorite Customer,” finds the songwriter addressing a lingering depression, and it’s not necessarily one caused by the fate of the world. This time around he addresses mental illness, marriage issues and the concept of his own celebrity through a more rollicking sound. There’s clashing cymbals and expansive piano, and Tillman’s soaring voice, still. He’s just addressing himself, not the world.
In the absence of languid “Leaving LA,” — which capped in at 13 minutes — there are songs that explore suicidal tendencies and self-destructive behavior. Just because Tillman is exploring this internal state doesn’t mean that his sense of humor or his musicianship — defined by his soaring voice, clean piano licks and musical breaks with roomy acoustic guitar — have changed.
On the album’s lead single, “Mr. Tillman,” which sounds like he’s unraveling right in front of the listener, he sings from the point of a hotel concierge: “Jason Isbell’s here as well / And he seemed a little worried about you.” There’s a tinge of apathy and comedy in his voice when singing about the other musician. Tillman has always had a sense of humor that’s bordered on dangerously dark and in this album, there’s no shortage of it. It just manifests as more emotional, and maybe more true to his own character than his chosen moniker.
Yet, there are still moments where Tillman generates laughter at his sad state, even in some of the album’s most sincere songs. “Last night I wrote a poem / I must have been in the poem zone,” he sings early in “The Palace.” But later, he sings, ‘I’m in over my head,” almost wailing, and it’s easy to know exactly how he feels.
But two tracks before “The Palace,” Tillman sings “Nothing surprises me much” in an eerily similar way to Shania Twain in “That Don’t Impress Me Much.” He may switch between the humor and the commentary, still, but it’s more subtle than “Pure Comedy.” Maybe that’s because of how personal this album seems to be, but it’s hard to tell. “I’ll take it easy with the morbid stuff,” he sings on “Please Don’t Die.” There’s no way in hell that the Father John Misty everyone knows will actually do that, right?
Nic’s take:
On the title track from his 2017 album “Pure Comedy,” Josh Tillman — better known these days by the moniker Father John Misty — decided to become somewhat of a social critic. Backed by lush orchestration, he tackled a number of big topics such as politics, religion and entertainment.
But instead of sounding like a ‘70s John Lennon, Tillman came across like a high schooler who had just discovered existentialism. Despite Tillman’s valid viewpoints, the lyrics felt like low hanging fruit. Yes, life is absurd, society is messed up and religion is weird, but nobody needs Father John Misty to tell them that.
It might be a good thing then that Tillman stepped away from this broader social commentary for his fourth Misty album, “God’s Favorite Customer.” Concerned more with Tillman’s personal emotions and struggles, the record is dark, sincere and candid — and possibly some of the songwriter’s strongest work yet.
A standout track, “Mr. Tillman,” establishes themes of emotional breakdown early in the album. Keeping with a typical self-aware approach, Tillman frames the lyrics through the perspective of a deeply concerned hotel concierge.
Referencing numerous instances of odd and unhealthy behavior — “And oh, just a reminder about our policy / Don’t leave your mattress in the rain if you sleep on the balcony” — he creates a scenario that is both laughable and worrisome.
Tillman takes a similar approach on the song “Please Don’t Die,” taking an even darker subject matter with choruses sung from the perspective of his wife. On this track, the album achieves some of its most grim and forthright lyrics with literal pleas against suicide, or at least life-threatening behavior: “You’re all that I have so please don’t die / Wherever you are tonight.”
“Date Night” offers up some comic relief with Tillman taking on the character of a self-assured asshole. “Come on, I bet you know most of my friends / They’re some real exclusive dudes from just around the bend,” he sings. Eye-rolls are acceptable here. Tillman is, of course, in on the joke.
The record’s production, which Tillman handled himself with help from a few frequent collaborators, is solid as usual. The sound is similar to a few post-breakup Beatles albums — the ones produced by Phil Spector — which is surely intentional considering how well Misty’s work fits in with ‘70s pop and singer/songwriter music.
The song “Disappointing Diamonds Are the Rarest of Them All” not only qualifies as one of Tillman’s best song titles but also as one of his most satisfying melodies. With a slightly faster tempo, it’s one of the more upbeat tracks on the album. The piano hook, in the beginning, provides a much-needed jolt after some of the album’s gloomier points.
Near the end of the record, on a track entitled “The Songwriter,” Tillman contemplates switched roles in which he is the muse and his wife writes the music, and it is one of the best moments on the album.
“Would you undress me repeatedly in public / To show how very noble and naked you can be,” Tillman sings. It’s an arresting line that not only displays Tillman’s own shame, but it goes far enough to put the audience in an uncomfortable position just for listening — like listeners are invading his privacy.
That, however, should be a natural reaction. Tillman may still act clever as hell, but the weight of the album comes from its honesty and pathos. “God’s Favorite Customer” further displays Father John Misty’s talent for songwriting and functions as one of his most sincere moments yet.
Dana’s take:
The term “Lennon-esque” has been popping up in reviews and blogs about Josh Tillman. The comparison isn’t 100 percent apt — Tillman carries Lennon’s swagger but detests the band that made him famous. But the two collectively share a manic form of self-absorption. “I’m an artist,” Lennon was once quoted. “Give me a tuba, I’ll bring you something out of it.”
Tillman is an artist, alright. The singer-songwriter and former Fleet Foxes drummer released eight earnest folk albums under “J. Tillman” to very little fanfare, before his career nearly went down in flames. His songwriting ability was obvious and prolific; he just needed a credible outlet.
He found it in “Father John Misty,” a bearded hipster who writes ballads about threesomes, America and the concept of celebrity. Underneath self-serious, soulful folk instrumentation is a heightened degree of self-awareness. His persona is made to be hated and hilarious. “I can’t imagine a guy who calls himself Father John Misty having a good reason for anything,” he once told Seth Meyers.
Tillman didn’t act that way on his last album, “Pure Comedy,” which took a broad, searing look at society’s ills. Accompanied by an 1800 word essay that reads like a rambling acid trip, the record is 75 minutes of unfiltered bloviating. It wasn’t for everyone — though the Emerald consensus was largely positive — and at worst its title was unbearably ironic. It was an indication that Misty had become his own victim.
“God’s Favorite Customer,” the latest FJM effort, is the first time Tillman has actively worked against the persona that made him famous. Written during a two-month bender at a hotel, the album is devoid of a broad concept. Instead, we’re offered snapshots of Father John Misty on the straits, sans his usual swagger. “Is there someone we should call Perhaps you shouldn’t drink alone,” says a concerned concierge on the lead single, “Mr. Tillman.”
The album is a welcome change of pace for Tillman both lyrically and musically. Largely self-produced, “God’s Favorite Customer” leans more heavily on complex instrumentation than its predecessors. “Just Dumb Enough To Try” morphs a somber piano ballad into a pulsing wave of sadness. “Date Night” sends Tillman’s voice through an echo-y filter while he obviously struts through an evening out. “I’m the second coming / I’m the last to know / I didn’t get invited but I know where to go,” he drawls.
Elsewhere, Tillman maintains his romantic side, dedicating several songs to his wife Emma and revealing layers to their marriage. “Last night I texted your iPhone / And said I’m ready to come home / I’m in over my head,” he croons in a cry for help in “The Palace.” In the same song, he sings about “the poem zone” and surviving on room service. Even at his lowest point, Tillman’s wit is as funny as ever.
“God’s Favorite Customer” is essentially a war between two sides of Josh Tillman, waged as if the artist has finally realized the damage his persona can cause. “What would it sound like if you were the songwriter / And you made your living off of me,” he tells Emma on “The Songwriter.” It’s the first time Tillman has wrestled with the consequences of being the judgemental funny man. Instead of taking aim at social media and “bullshit bands,” he takes aim at himself, and the change in direction is as surprising as it is effective. A little humility goes a long way, even for Father John Misty.
When I was touring colleges, my dad brought along a stack of CDs he loved during his college days. As we drove through the Midwest, he pushed “Talking Heads 77” into our gray Honda CRV’s CD player, and we talked about the bands that shaped his college experience. Through David Byrne’s eclectic vocals, I saw a glimpse of my dad’s experiences at school: drunk roommates, studying in Bologna, Italy, and eventually meeting my mom.
David Byrne is probably something else to the current generation of college students — not archaic but not new, either. The band’s former frontman is an icon— but arguably not one of the defining musical icons of our college generation in the way that he was for our parents.
But that doesn’t mean students should skip out on seeing Byrne’s current tour in support of his first solo album in over 10 years, “American Utopia.” His music is as relevant now as it ever was. After a stop at Sasquatch! Music Festival just a few days ago, Byrne played the Keller Auditorium in Portland on Sunday, May 27. He will play the Hult Center in Eugene tonight, May 28.
The show began in darkness and ended with a crescendo. British musician Benjamin Clementine opened the concert sitting at a grand piano in a dark blue shirt with elbow patches and a white cowboy hat. After playing a few songs, Clementine had trouble with one of the looping pedals on his black baby grand piano. “That’s the 21st century for you,” he said before leaving the stage for a bit to figure out the technical difficulties. He returned to play tracks such as the eerie and spacious, “Jupiter,” and “One Awkward Fish,” where he walked to a tiny mannequin of a baby on stage next to a mannequin of a pregnant woman draped in an American flag. He struggled to put arms on the baby, walked across the stage and kicked the baby off at the end of the song.
Clementine’s discordant piano playing, wide vocal range and odd stage habits fit perfectly with Byrne’s art-rock aesthetic. Byrne has championed Clementine’s music during interviews in recent years and is bringing the musician along for the whole tour. As stagehands undid the gray chain curtains, audience members craned their heads to look at the bare stage. A stagehand brought out a desk and chair.
The lights went out and the audience hushed. Clad in a gray suit and holding a prop brain, with gray chains rising behind him, Byrne appeared alone on stage singing “Here.” “Here is a region that continues living / even when the other sections are removed,” he sang as the lights went up on him. Members of his band, also all in gray, emerged from the curtain playing their instruments. Every instrument was wireless and the band danced as they moved throughout the setlist like the marching bands and color guards Byrne has been fascinated by for years. Byrne’s two back up vocalists danced freely across the stage with simple and jagged choreography, and occasionally Byrne would grab a guitar from off stage to join them.
With such a physical and intentional presence on stage, it was hard to believe that the band was playing live, but according to Byrne, they were. The setlist ranged from Talking Heads classics like “I Zimbra” and “This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)” to songs from the musical about Imelda Marcos, a former first lady of the Philippines. The audience was standing for most of the show and danced in sync with the sporadic percussion in Byrne’s music.
The show didn’t wind down towards the end. Instead, Byrne pulled out the Talking Heads’ classic “Burning Down the House,” before two encores. He and the band came together on stage for an extended version of Janelle Monae’s “Hell You Talmbout,” a protest song naming Black people killed by police brutality. “Say his name!” the band shouted to the audience, voices hoarse and chests out. For those who doubt Byrne’s relevance or maybe skipped his set as Sasquatch wondering, “Who’s this old guy?” He’s so much more than the white hair on top of his head.
Setlist:
Here Lazy I Zimbra (Talking Heads song) Slippery People (Talking Heads song) I Should Watch TV (David Byrne & St. Vincent) Dog’s Mind Everybody’s Coming to My House This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody) (Talking Heads song) Once in a Lifetime (Talking Heads song) Doing the Right Thing Toe Jam (Brighton Port Authority cover) Born Under Punches (The Heat Goes On) (Talking Heads song) I Dance Like This Bullet Every Day Is a Miracle Like Humans Do Blind (Talking Heads song) Burning Down the House (Talking Heads song) Encore: Dancing Together The Great Curve (Talking Heads song) Encore 2: Hell You Talmbout (Janelle Monáe cover)
“Tully” comes off as a combination of screenwriter Diablo Cody’s past works, “Juno” (2007) and “Young Adult” (2011), but with a magical realist twist. The shaky camera style and subdued performance by Charlize Theron make the story feel more intimate, more tangible, as Cody and director Jason Reitman themselves have grown from quippy 20-somethings to bona fide 40-year-olds.
But maturity doesn’t necessarily equate to wisdom. The film follows Marlo (Charlize Theron), an overworked, pregnant mother of two — and soon to be three — as she struggles with the harsh realities of parenting. After her new baby is born, Marlo slips into postpartum depression, which worries her brother Craig (Mark Duplass). Enter Tully (Mackenzie Davis), the titular millennial “night nanny” whom the much wealthier Craig hires to take care of the children so Marlo can sleep through the night.
Tully is a free-spirited, crop-top and skinny jean wearing 26-year-old manic pixie dream girl. In other words, the character is the very embodiment of the pre-motherhood life that Marlo misses, representing the “Juno” era of Cody’s life — she had won an Oscar for that film’s witty screenplay when she was around Tully’s age. Meanwhile, the character of Marlo represents Cody today. Theron gained 50 pounds for the role of Marlo, who repeatedly stares in wonder at Tully’s slim frame as she effortlessly flits around the house, speaking in fun facts (“I’m like Saudi Arabia — I have an energy surplus!”).
At the same time, Tully serves as a reminder to Marlo that being young and aimless is only fun for a few years, and that growing up and settling down can be just as, if not more, fulfilling. Marlo learns to find joy in the little things, such as badly singing Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe” at karaoke with her daughter.
The idea of having a child and not immediately feeling that maternal love and joy is absolutely terrifying, and “Tully” validates mothers who may feel guilty for craving their pre-motherhood lives. It’s not that Marlo doesn’t love her kids; she’s just suffering from postpartum depression and doesn’t have the energy or support she needs to care for them. When her husband Drew (Ron Livingston) isn’t working, he’s isolating himself in their bedroom by putting headphones on and playing video games. When Marlo isn’t taking care of their three children, which is rare, she’s fantasizing about an ethereal mermaid rescuing her from drowning in postpartum depression.
Movies about motherhood don’t often show the messiness of breast pumps, catheters and debilitating exhaustion. “Tully” offers a raw, unfiltered look at these complicated real-life aspects that are often glossed over in favor of one-dimensional squeaky clean or overtly abusive portrayals of mothers. While Cody’s past work may have been more comedic and quippy, she has retained her skill of writing relatable, complex anti-heroines who aren’t interested in conforming to traditional feminine standards or being perfect role models.
Friday, April 20 isn’t just for stoners. In fact, the date was a special day for Jillian Medford, lead singer of the band IAN SWEET: It was her birthday and her last night on tour with Frankie Cosmos. Her band, along with fellow opener, SOAR, and New York lo-fi band Frankie Cosmos, played to an audience of mostly young women in Portland. The band, which started as a solo project by Greta Kline in high school, set up the stage and hung a sparkling gold banner that read “Frankie Cosmos” at the front of the venue before launching into an hour-long set.
Kline’s poetic and effortless songs took a more vibrant shape at her live performance, especially with backing harmonies from band members Lauren Martin (guitar, synthesizer), Alex Bailey (bass), and Luke Pyenson (drums). The band played songs from across its discography, relying mainly on tracks from its new Sub-Pop release, “Vessels.” Kline ended the band’s set with “Fool,” a song many of the audience members seemed to relate to. “You make me feel like a fool/waiting for you,” Kline sang as the audience mouthed every word. After exiting the stage, Kline and the band returned, asking the audience what song they wanted to hear for an encore. “Choose your own adventure,” Kline said.
Greta Kline checks the band’s set list. Frankie Cosmos, IAN SWEET and SOAR play the Wonder Ballroom in Portland on April 20. (Sararosa Davies/Emerald)
Greta Kline makes eye contact with an audience member. Frankie Cosmos, IAN SWEET and SOAR play the Wonder Ballroom in Portland on April 20. (Sararosa Davies/Emerald)
Lauren Martin adds backing vocals during Frankie Cosmos’ set. Frankie Cosmos, IAN SWEET and SOAR play the Wonder Ballroom in Portland on April 20. (Sararosa Davies/Emerald)
Members of Ian Sweet join Frankie Cosmos on stage for the song, ‘Being Alive.’ Frankie Cosmos, IAN SWEET and SOAR play the Wonder Ballroom in Portland on April 20. (Sararosa Davies/Emerald).
Jillian Medford of IAN SWEET celebrated her birthday by playing the Wonder Ballroom on Friday. Frankie Cosmos, Ian Sweet and SOAR play the Wonder Ballroom in Portland on April 20. (Sararosa Davies/Emerald)
Shannon Bodrogi of the band Soar shared Vocals with bassist Mai Osteo for most of the show. Frankie Cosmos, IAN SWEET and SOAR play the Wonder Ballroom in Portland on April 20. (Sararosa Davies/Emerald)
Science and music connect on an inherent level for Naked Giants’ bassist Gianni Aiello — maybe more so than they do for the average person. While studying biochemistry at the University of Washington, he found that some people have a natural skill for flipping molecules around visually in their brain, relying on 3D spatial awareness to connect concepts. He processes songwriting in a similar way. After dropping out of school around age 20, Aiello sees science as influencing his artistic process, even though he doesn’t study it anymore.
“It’s fun to rotate a song in my head and see how all the parts bond together,” Aiello said in an interview with the Emerald before the trio’s frenetic and pedal-laden show at WOW Hall on April 6. “I like the way the pieces fit together. It’s like a puzzle.”
Naked Giants has played in Eugene three times in two years, but for their current tour, the band is opening for and playing with Car Seat Headrest in support of the fellow Seattle band’s re-imagined album “Twin Fantasy.”
Naked Giants released its debut full-length album, “Sluff,” on New West Records on March 30, but for its members, the songs exist in the past. Aiello and his bandmates Grant Mullen [guitar] and Henry Lavallee [drums] have been working and writing non-stop: playing South by Southwest, hopping all over the United States for shows and brainstorming new music, all while processing responses to “Sluff,” an album Aiello is glad people are at least listening to. He says he agrees with criticisms about the album losing its footing or even having a different feel than the first half during its ending tracks.
On this second Northwest tour with Car Seat Headrest, Aiello hopes to “win over” the audience with the band’s live presence. With Mullen flailing around on his back, Aiello playing his bass behind his thick wavy hair and Lavallee’s wild arms circling about his drum set, the band’s Eugene performance was exhilarating, even for the audience. But for Aiello and his bandmates, the energy expenditure is well-worth it because it’s their job.
As long as an audience — live or not — is interacting with his work, Aiello says he’s excited.
“Beyond that, what they think of it is good — no matter what they think,” Aiello said. “If they care about it enough, about music, about art that’s being made right now, to go out and buy it — they could love it, they could hate it, they could have a million ideas about the politics of it. That’s all good. That’s causing stuff to happen.”
The diary-like Bandcamp songs he released as a high schooler might not have as much impact on another person, he says, because he wrote them in his bedroom.
“When it’s more in a public eye, I’ve tried to get a little more purposeful with the writing. Not everyone is going to be transported in to my head as I would with my own music,” Aiello said. “That’s impossible. And I think that’s what makes good writing and good art in general — is when you can transport someone right in to your brain.”
That being said, Aiello says that writing with his fellow band members in Naked Giants is more of a balancing act between different songwriting styles. Mullen’s style is more subversive, according to Aiello, and Lavallee contributes his own ideas and pop sensibilities, too.
While the songs on “Sluff” are ones the band has been playing for years — the band is hoping to record demos for a new album in the weeks off they have from touring — they reflect a more subversive songwriting style, sometimes with nonsensical lyrics like the ones on the album’s titular track. “Sluff!,” the band members shout over grungy guitars. The song functions because the word both means everything and nothing, as Aiello has told publications such Billboard and Uproxx. Sluff is whatever the beholder of the word thinks it is, but it’s not just that one thing.
Ultimately, this goes back to how Aiello writes music and perceives art, scientific connections and the processes that come with these way of thinking.
“You can program emotions into anything,” Aiello said. “It’s kinda cool.”
Sun leaks in to the Janet Smith House’s living room, lighting dust particles and debris from maintenance work happening in the kitchen next door. A small white projector screen sits blank on a metal stand and there are pillows, instruments and other knick knacks scattered around the room. Just outside, a fridge with a sticker that reads “Meaty-Mcmeat-Face” quietly hums.
This is the room where most of the important housing decisions happen at the Janet Smith House, a cooperative living community on 18th and Alder. Members of the non-profit Students’ Cooperative Association in Eugene, including those who live at Janet Smith, the Lorax and the Campbell Club, make these decisions by consensus.
The Janet Smith house has separate refrigerators to accommodate the diets of its members. (Sarah Northrop/Emerald)
Other students might assume that the houses’ residents are hippies who throw large house shows all the time, or that the cheap rent ($433 for a single room, food and utilities) is the only reason worth living in a co-op. The Lorax and Campbell Club look like rustic castles on the outside, sometimes adding to this mystique. Co-op members say they see their houses as a respite from a sometimes harsh and difficult environment.
“For me, personally, honestly, I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for the people in this house,” Mark Landon, a Janet Smith resident, said about the support the community has provided.
The setting sun beams on the rustic exterior of The Lorax. Members of Eugene’s Student Cooperative Association include those who live at the Lorax Manor, the Campbell Club and the Janet Smith house. (Sarah Northrop/Emerald)
Janet Smith members like Landon — specifically a slew of graduate students and non-traditional students — decide on everything from house quiet hours to accepting new members by reaching an agreement or consensus that everyone in the house can live with. Rather than have a vote on a specific rule or action with the majority winning, decisions must all be agreed upon.
For instance, the SCA board will have to decide to close one or two houses for a much-needed summer term renovation — a touchy subject among some house members because they would have to move out. Additionally, they’ve been losing money. According to the SCA’s nonprofit 990 tax documents, the organization reported financial losses from 2014 to 2016.
But the SCA, which has roots in Eugene dating back to the 1930s, is seeking to do more outreach in the UO community to change perceptions and increase students awareness of the co-ops.
In order to address the issues, the SCA says it plans to recruit more students by tabling at housing fairs and having more of a presence on campus, which is something it hasn’t done in recent years.
Most important decisions at the Janet Smith house happen during meetings in the living room. Everything is reached by consensus, where house members must all agree. (Sarah Northrop/Emerald)
For students who currently live in the co-ops, the houses are a place of intentional community — their members work a few hours a week to keep the community self-sufficient and thriving, and in return they have a ready-made community and a cheap place to live. Co-op members coordinate everything from house shows and events to shaping what the food budget is for the month.
Aakash Upraity, an environmental studies graduate student who lives at Janet Smith and served as its president last term, says one of his favorite parts of the decision making process is the hand gestures co-op members use. Besides the normal hand raise for voting or the raise of a fist to abstain, there are others, such as a jazz-hand style gesture to emphasize points made in discussion. With the 15 residents living there now, this is a way to value all voices, according to Upraity.
Susanna Payne-Passmore is a graduate student in the music school and a Janet Smith resident. They serve as the house’s treasurer and help coordinate the house’s food budget. (Sarah Northrop/Emerald)
Susanna Payne-Passmore, a graduate student in the music school and Janet Smith resident, serves as house treasurer and helps to coordinate the house’s food budget. They said that members of Janet Smith have a wide variety of dietary restrictions — from vegan diets to gluten sensitivities to an allergy to brassica (vegetables like cauliflower and broccoli), so they have to coordinate meals around those needs.
Landon helps cook meals and says he values the time he spends with other housemates when eating dinner. Dinner is at a set time everyday at Janet Smith. Its members sit down together and reflect on the day, naming their highs and lows, while eating meals such as rice and beans.
Janet Smith, because of its older residents, is sometimes known as the quiet house among SCA community members.The Campbell Club and Lorax Manor often have a younger and slightly larger membership population, and these two houses often hold more parties, house shows and events than Janet Smith.
Janet Smith house members are usually so engulfed in studying that they rarely hold events at the house. During the Emerald’s tour, Payne-Passmore repeatedly mentioned “thesis holes,” referencing graduate students’ deep studying.
The Janet Smith house is home to many graduate students. Inside its walls are a kitchen, living room, tool room, storage room, roof hatch and many bedrooms, as well as nooks where house members tend to study. (Sarah Northrop/Emerald)
But that doesn’t mean that Janet Smith’s members don’t have fun. On an upper floor of the house, a ladder leads to the roof where a little wooden deck covers the flat area. During the summer, its members like to watch the sunset there.
“People would be coming up here no matter what, so we decided to make it easier,” Payne-Passmore said.
Some members of Janet Smith have pets, and the walls are adorned with art prints, political posters and paintings of cherished house cat, Pichu. In the kitchen, a whiteboard is adorned with notes and Polaroids of the house’s current members.
Fifteen people live at Janet Smith right now, and the house is in disarray because of kitchen renovations, but still, its members say they enjoy living there, even when it becomes difficult with elbow-grease work abounding.
“I’m used to living in a functioning house, I guess,” Upraity said. “Which is why I definitely sought out a cooperative setting.”
While some students like Upraity live in co-ops because they don’t want to live alone, students like former SCA president Leni Ament and Payne-Passmore are drawn to cooperative living because it’s what they are used to. Ament grew up in Eugene and says she was drawn to the co-ops after living in the dorms for a year because she wanted a sense of involved community. She moved into the Lorax two years ago and just recently moved out.
A typical Janet Smith bedroom includes a bed and can be decorated and painted by the member that occupies it. (Sarah Northrop/Emerald)
Payne-Passmore was drawn to this specific living arrangement because it’s what they are used to. Payne-Passmore grew up Quaker, a religious community that uses consensus decision making, and when they came to Oregon to study music, they sought student co-ops because of the familiarity.
Everest Jarvik, who is moving from the Campbell Club to the Lorax, is a part time student at UO studying music technology. They have booked, organized and run shows at SCA houses and have found that living in an SCA house has not only provided a cheap place to live and a community, but an opportunity to acquire hands-on experience doing what they love.
Jarvik, who has lived in intentional communities their whole life, sought out the SCA after a bad experience with a roommate during their sophomore year. They walked past the Campbell Club and saw flyers for shows.
“Campus culture was starting to get me down a little bit,” Jarvik said of the time they found the Campbell Club. “Just like how many frats there are, a whole bunch of stuff like that.”
House membership still sometimes fluctuates due to turnover that happens normally in student populations, and the natural flow of people moving in and out with friends, according to Jarvik.
Other members of the SCA community say that despite the hard work and involvement it takes to live in the houses, the effort is generally worth the reward. The SCA houses, despite some contention between them at times, have served as intentional and supportive communities for those who live in them, food allergies and all. While some members of Janet Smith feel like the house serves a guiding role for the rest of the SCA, it still is worth being involved.
“I’m constantly so surprised at the amount of compassion, the amount of kindness, the amount of care my housemates have for me. I just often feel really alone in this world,” Landon said. “Knowing that I do have a family here is very amazing, just feeling like I am being a part of something bigger.”