Stolen Sweets
Feb. 19th, 2006 08:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfsOmaha and I found dinner and the Portland Chophouse, which was expensive as all heck and worth every penny. Real meat, real alcohol (although the bartender was annoyingly light with the booze, and neither Omaha nor I felt much of a buzz from it). Simply by being there in the bar, we put pressure on the maitre'd to find us a seat and, instead of having to wait until our 10:00pm reservations, we were seated by 8:30. Excellent.
Later, we strayed by two of the Portland Jazz Festival venues. The first was with a band called Stolen Sweets, which was a trio of women singing, backed up by two guitars and a bass. The bassist looked like a bassist, big, tall, bearded, cool; the second guitar was an ordinary fellow, black hair, calm; the lead guitarist also their only male vocalist, was a blonde, close-cropped well-dressed young man who had the flare for looking both intense and cooly unperturbed at the same time. His patter, however, was very professional.
The three women were highly contrasted: the deepest voice and best range belonged to a bulky woman with Mediterranean features who was intensely, blatantly sexy and she knew it; the most precise voice belonged to an extremely skinny woman who had almost no emotional connection with the audience, her eyes wide and scattered with too much caffeine or something while she sang. When she was just talking, she seemed more human. It was the woman in the middle who carried a lot of the performance: short, muscular, beautifully comfortable in her body, and with the kind of face and eyes that expressed sly, sensuous understanding, the sort of face that said she would never be surprised by anything without thinking about it first. Her voice was just as fine-tuned. The three of them were just amazing together, and all in all they're a very professional, well-assembled band.
The other venue was some guy solo on a guitar, and he had no microphone presence whatsoever. I don't even remember who he was. He was terrible. We went back to our hotel room and went to bed.
Later, we strayed by two of the Portland Jazz Festival venues. The first was with a band called Stolen Sweets, which was a trio of women singing, backed up by two guitars and a bass. The bassist looked like a bassist, big, tall, bearded, cool; the second guitar was an ordinary fellow, black hair, calm; the lead guitarist also their only male vocalist, was a blonde, close-cropped well-dressed young man who had the flare for looking both intense and cooly unperturbed at the same time. His patter, however, was very professional.
The three women were highly contrasted: the deepest voice and best range belonged to a bulky woman with Mediterranean features who was intensely, blatantly sexy and she knew it; the most precise voice belonged to an extremely skinny woman who had almost no emotional connection with the audience, her eyes wide and scattered with too much caffeine or something while she sang. When she was just talking, she seemed more human. It was the woman in the middle who carried a lot of the performance: short, muscular, beautifully comfortable in her body, and with the kind of face and eyes that expressed sly, sensuous understanding, the sort of face that said she would never be surprised by anything without thinking about it first. Her voice was just as fine-tuned. The three of them were just amazing together, and all in all they're a very professional, well-assembled band.
The other venue was some guy solo on a guitar, and he had no microphone presence whatsoever. I don't even remember who he was. He was terrible. We went back to our hotel room and went to bed.
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Date: 2006-02-19 05:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-20 06:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-19 06:27 pm (UTC)