There’s a certain magic about waking up in an unfamiliar place at an unusual time. Even when pain and confusion are involved, there’s still a special glow surrounding the experience. One that I suspect serious alcoholics and other addicts simply register as standard turbulence in the regular flight logs they file in pursuit of those sweet, weightless moments that hit in the scary parabolas between the heat of a full-throttled ascension and stratospheric freeze of a stalled decline. Nothing against those folks — I can talk shop with many professional inebriants — but at my age and temperament, I can’t pretend to have the “right stuff” to endure any G-force binges and hangovers. I need to encounter my confused moments of blurry repatriation with the cold, hard earth in a different fashion. So, I went camping last weekend. Hard ground, cold mornings, thin tent. Easy work for drunks or monks, but I am neither. Still, I got to hear a pre-dawn chorus of birds that was entirely new to me. It was absolutely gorgeous, and worth all the pain and inconvenience that fueled the flight.
The experience snatched me up and rolled me over completely. It made me think about absolutely nothing and then a lot of things at once. Far too many things. It took me out of my own head and then forced an examination of the ugly clutter when I popped back inside. Which is great for a catalog of writing prompts but terrible for any immediate reporting. To those of you who enjoy these intros: I’ll work it out shortly. For everyone else, see below.
Thursday
Sir Richard Bishop has been here before, and has thankfully now come again, right on the cusp of the solstice — the summer’s brightest edge — in a year when we could all use something transmundane to drag us out of the muck and toward the light. For those of you who haven’t heard his work, he is a phenomenal guitarist who has been playing in his own fashion for a very long time. Comparisons are pretty lousy for folks of his ilk, so while some writers might liken him to the late, great John Fahey, I prefer to think of his music as a hidden alpine headwater spot full of beautiful critters of bespoke habits and colors, all expressing a strange dance of life to echo the weird contours of their unique and glorious home. In short, this is going to be a fantastic show, with support by two local treasures who are perfect for the occasion, Meg Baird and Oryan Peterson-Jones, each themselves a library of great music and live art.The fun starts early at 7 p.m. at — where else? — the Miniplex ($20).
Friday
Back to the Miniplex again tonight because that place is absolutely cooking with good shows this week. Tonight’s headliners are dear to my heart, as they are among the fine flock of critters I got to enjoy as a teenager long ago in my old home of New Orleans. I’m talking about the fabulous synth and puppet stylings of Quintron & Miss Pussycat,the radical inventors of many good times and good time aides, from Drum Buddies to beyond the uncanny valley of plush theatrics all the world around. My best advice for the uninitiated is to look up some of their live shit on YouTube or, even better, trust me on this one and nab some tickets ASAP to see for yerselves ($15 for earlybirds, $20 at the door). Oakland/Bay Area duo Bat Noise will provide an excellent companion sound, and DJ Anya Slayer and the WOAH (Women on Air Humboldt) Collective will tune the vibes right, so be sure to be there when the doors open at 8 p.m.
Saturday
I’m not here to either sell or slag off Oyster Fest. There are more than enough voices out there slinging all the cheers and jeers to top off anyone with a set of eyes and ears — willing or otherwise. Let people have fun, I say, whether that fun involves advocating for or talking shit about something is entirely their concern. I’m like the placid gibbon: munching away on the leaves and fruits in a treetop just nearly far enough away from the forest floor to be ignorant of any rumbles in the jungle. If you’d like a taste of the canapés in that canopy, here are a couple of gigs outside of crowded Arcata.
The Fortuna Monday Club is hosting Oregon folk duo Lisa Lynne & Aryeh Frankfurter, whose tunes peel magic from a catalog of whirligig wonders from their shared knowledge of global acoustic instruments. The show starts at 7 p.m. and costs $15 a gander. Meanwhile, two hours later at the Logger Bar, it’s an evening of free bluegrass tunes courtesy of Turtle Goodwater and Company. I’ve said it before and I will do so again now: This is the perfect place for this kind of fun.
Sunday
The Summer Music Series at the Humboldt Botanical Garden continues its aestival Sunday celebrations with an Irie Rockerz show from 1 to 3 p.m. If you’d like to enjoy some tunes by some of SoHum’s favorite reggae regulators, the ticket pricing is as follows: $10 for general admission, $7 for seniors in that grouping, $5 for all members.
Monday
Once more to the Miniplex for an excellent early-week show. Alice Sandahl was a longtime member of Seattle’s dark tremolo and nighttime surf rock act La Luz, but has struck out on her own in the last couple of years, playing a type of moody blues and slow-burn bubblegum that sounds just right in the afterglow of the day. She will be supported by a similarly enigmatic local group, the excellent Widdershins. The doors open at 7 p.m., so this will be an early show, consider it an evening introduction into a night haunted by the ghosts of rainbows past ($15, $12 advance).
Tuesday
Stay home and listen to the sounds of the recently late — as of two weeks ago — James Blood Ulmer, one of the fiercest and truly freest guitarists to have ever tuned up and played. A man who tested Ornette Coleman and Art Blakey in the beginning of his career. Never dull, always thinking, he made music because he had to, and appeared feral to people too caged and stupid to appreciate that he was cutting us all loose from the string, the labyrinth and the beast stuck inside. Check out his record Odyssey for starters.
Wednesday
Jamaican roots-reggae revival rocker Jesse Royal is making a midweek stop at Humbrews tonight at 9:30 p.m. This presents the perfect opportunity to hear how one of the best from the younger generation is keeping the sounds of the classic era alive and kicking ($25, $20 advance).
Collin Yeo (he/him) is a powerless alien in a familiar place where he probably doesn’t belong.
This article appears in Duane Flatmo Wants to Wow.