Oregon Music News

Brendan Benson put a smile on Portland’s face with as much ease and speed as he’d cruise the Lapalco Boulevard in Louisiana.

With driving pop rock, Benson pushed a button that exists inside all of us–one that released our natural rock endorphin making us bop to the simplest, most enjoyable elements of rock.

Benson led front and center relying heavily on his bounciest, poppiest tunes from 2002’s Lapalco.  Opening with “Folk Singer” and rolling into “Good To Me,” he continued cranking out audience favorites like “You’re Quiet” and “Tiny Spark.”

His solo work is much sunnier and twee than The Raconteurs alt garage rock, singing songs about love lost and gained–whether that love be women or cars.

Benson allowed his backing guitarist to run through the solos and add soft keys between his own snappy, powerful chords while the blasting backbone of drums and bass kept the gig charging.

Featuring tunes that spanned his solo career, Benson was dulcet and country soaked at times but more often plainly rocking like on “Spit It Out” and a peppier, heavier “Alternative To Love.”  A small reprieve with his acoustic guitar allowed some slower, softer songs but it didn’t last as “Metarie” became electric with help from his band.  New tracks from 2009’s My Old, Familiar Friend like “Gonowhere,” “A Whole Lot Better,” and “Garbage Day” (by shouted request from the crowd) blended nicely with his earlier repertoire.

Returning to the stage for a four song encore, Benson covered Graham Nash’s “Better Days” on acoustic guitar before sing-songing the splendid “What I’m Looking For” and closing with the thumping, stomping march of “Feel Like Taking You Home”–pure pleasure for those seeking a sincere performance.

Brendan Benson said it best–watching Frank Fairfield was “like a time warp.”  The 23-year-old LA native belonged beneath the shady porches of the Appalachians rather than the über-hip hewn logs of the Doug Fir.  As the rooster crowed, the cat meowed, and the hen clucked, Fairfield yelped himself and eerily chuckled into the evening oblivious of the audience.

Was he demented or divine?  He was an actor amazingly capable of recreating a bygone, Depression-era sound and style.  From his woolen, pleated slacks to his pomaded hair part, Fairfield definitely lives and feels this bluesy folk and plays it skillfully.

Possessed by ghosts of past with his kooky drawl and detached mannerisms, Fairfield fiddled emotively then picked and flicked his banjo strings with rapid abandon.  A stagnant body connected to spirited limbs was just enough to captivate and hush concert-goers as soon they entered the subterranean lair to watch a memoir write itself live on stage.  Alone Fairfield was just enough to transfix, but add a couple other buskers and he’d burn the barn down.

Watch Frank Fairfield’s video for “Nine Pound Hammer”: