HEE HAW: The Art of PATRICK PORTER

"My brain feels like a saxophone; it's all downhill from here..." 

-- Patrick Porter

Some of you who know me well, or who have been following my online chattering for awhile, will have heard me go on and on about my friend Partick Porter.  Patrick is an artist-- writing novels and poetry, painting, and making music.  In this post, I wanted to share some of Patrick's art with you, cuz it's some of my favorite stuff ever.

I met Patrick sometime in 1993 or so, when he was 15 years old.  I was at Wax Trax one day (legendary Denver underground nexus), and picked up a copy of his zine, Our Comics Suck.  In it he expressed his wishes to buy an old Fender guitar, and I had a Duo-Sonic that I never used anymore, so I wrote him a letter telling him about it.

A few days later Patrick came over to my apartment to look at the guitar.  It was a piece of junk, to tell the truth.  It'd been stripped and "refinished" with a sticky, gloppy dark brown stain, and the neck was jerryrigged onto the body with ugly bolts.  Didn't sound too good either.  But it was cheap.  Patrick agreed to buy the guitar for $125 (a rip-off, looking back), but he only had $75 on him.  I took the money and said pay me the rest when you can.

(You can read another version of this event in the story "Lost and Found," in King-Cat Classix.)

Turns out Patrick loved that guitar, and used it in his band Neglected Lawn, up in Bailey, in the mountains, where he lived.  But he never got back to me with the remaining payment.  I kind of figured he never would, but then one day that fall he called me up and said he was in town, and he had the money.

I drove down to DU and he came out of the apartment, with, no shit, a plastic bag with $50 in change in it.  Pennies and everything.  That's when I knew I was dealing with a special person.

Years passed.  Patrick learned jazz guitar, and began making his own music.  I moved back to Chicago, Patrick shifted all over the country.  We had some kind of weird bond, and many 2 AM phone calls ensued.  We became really good friends.  I never had one in real life, but in many ways Patrick is the closest thing I've ever had to a brother.

The stuff Patrick makes is messy and brilliant, and deeply beautiful and sad, to me.  His music is some of my favorite music in the world.  One day Patrick decided to start painting, and lo and behold he was good at that too.  He likes to paint because he doesn't know how. 

Over the years his music has grown from funny punk noise to hushed shoegazery pop, to his current style, which is a splattery mix of crazy/delicate singing, smart lyrics, trashcan/luminous guitar, drums, piano, reverb, and haunting beauty.  Real beauty, like looking out at the real world.  Even before Patrick started making canvases, I felt like his songs were paintings.  They have that feel to me.  People looking for the latest "indie rock" car commercial are going to be confused and knocked back by this kind of thing.  It's real art by a real artist.

Without going into details, Patrick has lived an oftentimes rough life.  Of all my many poor friends, Patrick is the only one who, to my knowledge, has ever spent nights on park benches.  To me this is a crime.  But that's America™ for you, right?

I'm including here some videos, images, and poems, plus links where you can find more of his work.  I hope you enjoy it.

--John P.

Patrick Porter Wikipedia entry

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MUSIC

Patrick has released over ten full length albums, on various small labels.  His 2007 recording, A Swan at Smiley's, is, I think, a masterpiece.  His latest album, the achingly warm, crazy, and funny Bachelor Pad Blue; Bent Pants and Stray Cats, has not yet been "officially" released, but is available for download from bandcamp.com.

For studio versions of his songs, please visit:
Patrick's Bandcamp site
Myspace site with art and music
More unruly songs

Recommended tracks for first time listeners:
"Bond Funeral Home"
"Wait For Another"
"Hee Haw"
"Feed From a Holy Lite"
"Fogelburg"
"Hollywood is a Word on a Wall"


Video for "Wait for Another," from A Swan at Smiley's:


"When The Summer's On" live in NYC


Patrick Porter Plays "Hee Haw" Live Behind The TV Set:

* * *

ART

Coconut Soop (2007)

Ten Million Mules (2008)

Freeway (2008)

Band (2009)

Quiet Girl (2009)

Schdy 1 (2009)

Video: Patrick Porter Paints Live From His Horse Pillow:


Video: Patrick Porter-- District Attorney Painting, In Progress:



Patrick's etsy shop

* * *

POETRY

Just a few short samples:

OCEAN

my house
is in
the
middle
of the
ocean

i open
doors
and the
waves
push me
through

i have
to walk
with
conviction

from
crag to
crag

the
water
is warm
milk
white



MINER

I spend
My time

Mining
Diamonds

From
Atop

A floral
Mattress

I eat
Raw glass

And widen
My eyes

I mine
Diamonds

In my
Own
Likeness



HOME

I have
To
Talk
Backwards

Just
To make
Sense

I have
To
Walk
Backwards

Just
To get
Home


Patrick's blog

EVEL KNIEVEL STORY

A super rare comic that originally appeared in Steve Mandich's classic Evel Knievel zine, Heinous, Oct. '95.

(Sorry it's a little fuzzy.  I don't know what I'm doing!!!)

FEBRUARY THAW

Filmed behind our apartment building, Denver, Colorado; Feb. 22, 2010.

JUST SOME OWL PHOTOS FROM AL

Great Horned Owl, Northern Illinois University Campus - DeKalb

Ditto

Barred Owl, Franklin Creek Natural Area - Franklin Grove, Illinois

Check out Al Stark's etsy site!

(THINKING ABOUT) THINKING ABOUT ART

We all have our personal tastes, but the fact is, taste doesn't determine quality.  To me, when an artist makes art, they make a world.  That world may not appeal to me, but that in itself shouldn't affect how I appreciate that world critically.  In order to really appreciate art you need to be willing to confront it, work with it, and explore it, using your own mind.  Your mind is the connection between you and the art.

When I look at art, I try to look at it on its own terms.  Comparing only gets you so far, and oftentimes not very far at all.  I try to understand the artist's intentions--  what they were trying to do-- and whether that attempt was successful or not (which is a subjective thing, as I'd say it's impossible to objectively define success).  Even if it was "unsuccessful" in this way, a work can still be interesting, since art isn't necessarily about winning.

So when I look at art, I look at this world the artist has created.  What I'm looking for is a kind of integrity--  do these pieces fit?  Has the artist conveyed a sense of totality, where the art, whatever its form, feels complete, as it is, on its own terms?  Is it whole?  (Even art about fractured bits can be whole in this way.)

To me, that's what ultimately determines what I call quality.  It's hard, because we're all humans, wired with our own personal tastes and inclinations, but if we too often stumble over our own taste, we can miss out on a lot that the world has to offer.

DETECTIVE COMIX

I drew this for Sue, and the Denver Comic Fest Sketchbook.

Then Noah colored it!

Batman and Robin © DC Comics

HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE SMITHS

Back when I was in High School, my friend Fred and I had this bizarre rule that we only listened to "American" music.  That is, the music of the American Underground scene at the time-- bands like REM, Hüsker Dü, the Replacements, Black Flag, and so on.  The only allowable exception, somehow, was the Sex Pistols.  Hey--  we were young--  and bands like REM had a distinctly "American" flavor to them that we couldn't quite put our finger on, but wanted to support.  (The truth is, I have no real excuses!)

When I went off to college, in the fall of 1986, REM was on tour in support of their Lifes Rich Pageant album.  A few days before we left for college, Fred and I saw them at the UIC Pavilion (Fred had tried to pawn his HS class ring to get money for tickets, but no go).

Then, it was announced that REM would play a show in DeKalb of all places, where we went to school, with Camper Van Beethoven opening.  This was unbelievable!  In my naïveté, I thought "This must be what college is like!"

John Lyons and I slept out for tickets, along with a decent sized crowd, out on the sidewalk in front of the Chick Evans Field House.  This guy we had recently met, known only to us as "Terry the Skater," was there too, and had brought a boombox along.

Early in the evening, he put in a tape.  "What is this stuff?" I asked.  He said, "The Smiths-- The Queen is Dead."  I probably rolled my eyes.  The Smiths were "mopes" that only the girls liked.  Plus:  English.  The truth is I'd never heard them before.

When the album was done, Terry started it all over again at the beginning.  I must have been subjected to that record at least a half a dozen times that night...  he just played it over and over and over...

My consternation gradually turned to acceptance, and then--  I actually started listening.  Suddenly it started sinking in.  I remember it was "Frankly Mr Shankly":  "You are a flatulent pain in the ass," and "I didn't know you wrote such bloody awful poetry!"  Melodic and wry, with a beautiful, loping acoustic-based rhythm behind it.

Afterwards, I told my friend Anne about this.  She was a hardcore Smiths fan, and quickly loaned me her cassette of Louder Than Bombs.  I listened to it nonstop for weeks--  I was hooked.  The next year Strangeways, Here We Come was released, and I saw the video for "Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before" on 120 Minutes.  I was officially a Smiths fan.  (It helped that my poor heart was broken at the time.)

Looking back, you really have to wonder if the Smiths were the greatest band of the 1980's.  Who else is there?  The only ones that come close (to me) are REM and the Buttholes.  And as great as they were, the Buttholes were in a different category altogether.  REM is a close second, but, in my opinion, they kind of petered out towards the decade's end.

The Smiths were one of those gestalt bands, where the unique combination of players, time, and vibe transcended the individual parts.  Johnny Marr is an amazing guitarist, Morrissey is an amazing lyricist and singer, but together they're really something else.  Mike Joyce and Andy Rourke tend to be forgotten, or given short shrift critically (and, apparently, financially), but they were the perfect dynamo that set the stage for everything else.

For a musician with no "flash," Marr must be the greatest guitarist in post-punk history.  His ability to weave complex but nuanced layers through a song is untouched.  And Morrissey--  I can't really think of a more interesting, literate lyricist in all of rock and roll, except maybe Becker and Fagan*, but Morrissey's passion and risk-taking beats out the Dan's ironic cool any day.

I'm not gonna convert anyone with these poorly thunk lines, I know...  Is there any other band of the Smiths' ilk that is so divisive?  All I'm saying is that this music is absolutely smart, vital, and timeless, with hardly a missed note or blown opportunity to be found.  Pretty impressive.

* * *

(As for the REM concert...  it was great.  During CVB's opening set, all the frat boys in the front row stood and gave them the finger the entire time.  Payback from the band came in the form of a 20 minute version of "Interstellar Overdrive."  And for REM's encore, Jonathan Segal came out in a witch's hat, and played violin on "Feeling Gravity's Pull."  Amazingly, a bunch of footage from this actual show is up on YouTube.  It really was a Golden Age.)

* * *

*(We shall leave Maestro Dylan up there on his throne where he belongs...)