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The Queen of Quirk Column
Offbeat Portland
By VERONIQUE CHEVALIER
 eginnings are an occasion to celebrate, so I wanted my column for the maiden voyage of Bluerailroad, to be an exploration of an exemplary alternative performance venue called The Someday Lounge in Portland, Oregon.
In December of 2006, I received an email from Damien, the Chair of the Convergence 13 Committee. Convergence 13 is a three day Victorian/Goth arts festival to be held in Portland this Memorial Day Weekend, May 25-27, 2007. He'd gotten wind of my production, Veronique's Red Velvet Vaudeville Variety Show, and felt that I could assist him in locating talent; specifically a can-can troupe (ala Moulin Rouge) to perform at the festival. I agreed.
Before I knew it, I was on my way to Portland to meet with him and other members of the Convergence 13 Committee. They had even gone so far as to very kindly secure me a couple of performance opportunities at venerable The Someday Lounge during my visit to the City of Roses.
The night before I left L.A. for my sojourn to the frozen North, Noah Mickens, Creative Director at the Lounge, invited me to join the cast for the premiere of the full production of Dan Abbot's rock opera "Day Of The Zombie." I had originally been booked only to be one of the opening acts that evening, but never having appeared in either a rock opera, or as a zombie, I welcomed the opportunity.
The venue, known for its presentation of the most avant-garde performances in the city -- everything from butoh, to circuit-bending -- is located in the artistic heart of Old Town Portland. Before the Someday Lounge existed as a legitimate venue, the room was occupied by a number of DIY arts collectives, who used the space for shows and surreptitious gatherings. Principal among these were a group of "noisicians" called Cacophony, a pain threshold performance troupe called SHIFT, and an arts non-profit called 2Gyrlz Performative Arts that Noah was involved in.
Two of the future owners of the Lounge, brothers Eric and Kris Robison, weren't officially part of these shows, but they were aware of them because they frequented Backspace, the city's most notorious Cyber-café, which was two doors down. The artists and their future benefactors had developed quite a friendly and supportive relationship by the time the room was simultaneously discovered and shut down by the Fire Department in November of 2005.
There are five owners involved in the space today, which, depending on the night, serves as a night club, community center, and circus big top. The interior is sleek with welded steel, blonde wood floors and Cubist wooden architectural elements, juxtaposed with an Old World feel, provided by the walls of exposed brick and the red velvet stage curtains. The first time I entered the lounge was for a Zombie rehearsal the evening before the premiere, and there in the spotlight was the magnificent orchestrator of oddments, Monsieur Noah Mickens, who is truly an architectural element himself.
Noah is a champion of the DIY Arts Movement. He's had his hand in everything from butoh to flesh hook suspension, to scoring a German Expressionist play. He's also toured with Steve Mackay & the Radon Ensemble, performing experimental music, as well as serving as ringmaster for the troupe of human oddities known as 999 Eyes ov Endless Dream.
He is tall, majestic, and trim, but most arresting of all was his closely-cropped, electric blue hair. His rich baritone was barking directions to the Zombies-to-be who'd preceded me. His movements were so swift and fluid that one hardly noticed his khaki-clad body, and his head appeared to be a sort of hovering, animated Nerf ball. But far from seeming ridiculous, he was sublime. He has a superhuman ability for memorization, for as the scene unfolded, it was apparent that he not only knew his role (as the villain), but he also seemed thoroughly acquainted with all the other parts in the production as well. In fact, I've no doubt he could probably have enacted the entire thing as a one-man show, and it would have been splendid.
(The Reader's Digest Abridged synopsis of "The Day of the Zombie" is thus: Dr. McKelvey, a deranged scientist hatches a diabolical plot to rid the earth of its human vermin, which he loathes, vowing that he'll be the last man left alive. With the aid of his super-computer [a role also sung by Noah, in high falsetto, from the wings]. Dr. McKelvey unleashes a radiation-filled apocalypse upon the Earth, which causes the remaining humans left to mutate into Zombies. These horrid creatures have been gradually killing off and consuming the brains of the sporadic clusters of humans who, from time to time, have been foolhardy enough to sally forth from their underground sanctuary, in an effort to find out, ironically enough, if it is indeed safe to go outside. Ultimately the villain gets his wish, and finds himself the sole human alive, but, unfortunately, he, too, becomes Zombie food, when the Undead discover the entrance to the sanctuary, and swarm in on him like the bestial carnivores that they are. The show closes with a rousing Broadway-styled finale, with Zombies running amok in the audience and singing with gusto, "Brains, brains, brains, I want to eat your brains.")
During Friday's rehearsal, we, as an ensemble, were quite disorderly, and for the most part, clueless. In other words, typical Zombies! By the conclusion of the evening's rehearsal I didn't hold much hope for the premiere. Luckily there was also a dress rehearsal the following afternoon, so at least we'd have one more chance to get all our gaffes out before the grand opening Saturday night. I was extra nervous, because not only was I to perform as one of the opening acts, but then I'd have to quickly change out of my chanteuse attire, into my Zombie garb, have my face made-up in chalk white, and then get onstage again in time to sing the first lines of the initial verse of the big underground shelter scene, in which the humans begin venturing up to the surface.
I have no idea what it actually looked like to the audience that night (I'll have to wait until the web cast is archived in the Virtual Stage section of their wonderfully comprehensive web site. All shows at the Lounge are streamed live), but as the show unfolded, I realized that our unruly band had somehow morphed from novices into top-notch Zombies, with none of the faux pas committed during rehearsals in evidence. Oh sure, there were a few minor glitches during the premiere, such as when our Zombie horde swarmed the upper stage and I tripped and accidentally knocked over the painted cardboard representation of the nuclear mushroom cloud that had been duct-taped to the backdrop.
Shortly after that, there was a section in the narrative in which our horde was to remain unmoving upstairs, for the duration of two songs that were in progress on the lower stage. The fact that one of my fellow Zombies had managed to land on my hair, thus pinioning my head to the floor, and another had inadvertently gotten my right leg wedged between his rib cage and the wall, truly enabled me to achieve that authentic motionlessness that my role demanded.
As I lay trapped within the Zombie cluster, I had the chance to flash back over the three songs that I'd performed before I'd joined the ranks of the Undead. My set was sandwiched between morbid puppeteer A Dictionary of Blood Theatre, and progressive punk duo Childhood Friends, neither of which I was able to experience as I was, alas, involved with getting ready for my own performances.
I was quite pleased with the audience's attentiveness during my short set, which was comprised of Tom Lehrer's "Masochism Tango"; my original parody of "La Vie En Rose" which I've entitled "Escargots" (about a poor French girl who is not only allergic to snails, but then suffers the indignity of having her lover leave her for a drag queen who happens to have a much better wardrobe than her's); and I closed with a great send up of the dark cabaret genre, by one of my favorite master songwriters, Ray Jessel, a tune he calls "That Old Kurt Weill Song."
When I'd warbled my last note, I was showered with much appreciative applause from the crowd, but what made me happiest of all was when I went backstage to be Zombie-fied, many of my fellow performers came up to me to say how much they'd enjoyed my set.
I am also very grateful to the good-natured Ryan Olson, of Synchronicity Frequency, who runs sound for the Lounge. I'd brought accordion tracks, recorded for me by my colleague Francis Soriano, whom I'd directed to flub up on some of the numbers, as I planned to introduce him as my invisible accompanist, and make reference to his musical blunders as part of my schtick. Ryan took my cues perfectly, and my gimmick came off so well that later someone remarked to me that he'd really believed there was a live accordionist playing for me from backstage.
So after my first night of success behind me, it remained to be seen how I would fare with my second gig at the Lounge on the following Monday night. It was good that I had Sunday off, because I was feeling a bit frayed about the edges after my stint as a Zombie the night before. Brains are definitely not high energy, stick-to-your-ribs kind of eating, so I went out for a Chinese dinner with my old chum from University days, Carmelleta (with whom I stayed during my visit). I wanted to hit "Hung Far Low" a local landmark for 90 some odd years- yes, that is really the name of the place- for old time's sake, but instead, we ended up at PF Chang's, which is part of a national chain. So much for local tradition!
By the way, if you are in Portland, after you drive by to gawk, and snicker at the sign with the name of the aforementioned restaurant boldly emblazoned upon it, you really should visit Carmelleta's shop, located in the historic Hawthorne District, Beads Forever, a haven of creative inspiration for everyone from Deadhead twenty-somethings, to Grey Panther grannies. On the afternoon that I was visiting the store, I saw more than a few males in there seriously perusing the wares. In fact, many of her display ads feature men casually wearing some of tastefully subtle creations, many inspired by Nature, any of which would look right at home on your favorite guy.
After my Sunday off, I was somewhat refreshed, but also feeling the faint scratch at the back of my throat that often indicates a cold is on the way. This was hardly surprising considering that the temperatures were in the low to mid-twenties during the day, and in the teens at night! I was determined to delay the inevitable because I wanted to be in fine fettle for my Monday night appearance, again at the Someday Lounge, in Batty's Hippodrome, a scaled-down version of Victorian low-life circus, which was convening to honor author Carolyn Turgeon.
She's on a cross-country tour, to promote her new novel, entitled Rain Village, which is about a young misfit girl who becomes a famous trapeze artist in an old-time traveling circus. Between her readings of passages from the work, we performers alternated in our respective acts. There were two aerialists from Portland's AWOL Dance Collective- Jen Harbaugh on trapeze, and M'liss working with silks and a suspended hoop; physicist and master juggler Rhys Thomas; concluding with Lana (Hair Nurse) Guerra's Power Circus circuit-bending "noisicians". (Lana had also been the make up artist who "Zombie-fied" us on Saturday).
Appearing in yet another incarnation, in the spirit of William Batty, that penultimate ringmaster of a bygone era, once again was the inimitable Noah, sporting the most elegant tails, top hat, cravat, with his crowning glory this time spiked and dyed a flamboyant red (He'd bleached it white for his stint as Dr. McKelvey two days earlier!). He was a commanding presence with his flawless British accent and booming banter. Just being introduced by him was a privilege.
For my two songs of the evening, I presented my parody of "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes," which I have reworked as "Chanel No. 5", my homage to French fashion designer Coco Chanel; and I closed with my cover of "People Are Strange" by the late-great Jim Morrison. I like to introduce that song by saying, despite the fact that he was American, he at least had the good sense to be buried in Paris.
Although the audience for this Monday night convocation at the Lounge was much smaller than the one for Saturday's show, they too were quite rapt and appreciative of the artistic offerings. After I'd completed my second song, I retreated to the balcony to watch the rest of the show. I was pleased to see that one of my former professors, Brad Ness and his wife Brandy Pace, had come to see me perform. Together they now run NessPace Photography, a successful commercial enterprise in Portland. Joining us was Misery Tree, the General Manager of Convergence 13, one of my fellow Zombies. I had to bow out a short time later, because I had to head back to L.A. the next day, besides the fact that my throat was getting too sore to ignore.
I awoke Tuesday morning to what would have been grist for that old Bing Crosby chestnut from days of yore, but on this day slated for travel, a belated White Christmas was just about the last thing I had been dreaming of.
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