The Great Northwest

The Great Northwest   “Chief John”

from The Widespread Reign of the Great Northwest (The Kora)

outdoor// Out Now

review/interview, orig. pub July 2008; this is the unpub. uncut)                                                                          

Midway through the trek to and through the Great Northwest, as scout-of-many-colors Brian Coates recounts it, the scene is now:

“In ’04 we decided to host these parties in New York called “Everything Parties” in warehouse spaces, where we would attack all six senses, incense burning, beach balls,  light shows, artists’ works on display, cute girls handing out free cigarettes and booze shots to the wallflowers to bring them closer into a social setting and force human  interaction, and all in conjunction with us performing music.”   “Us” (“We called the musical part of the Everything Parties the Every Thing”) included, and sounds like it still includes, twin players of twin autoharps, “amplified through effects and Fender Twin amplifiers,” also two guitars, two bass players, and later, sometimes, drums; later still, the keyboards, especially organ; and it grew, and “It was perfect. The Everything parties could exist easily, whoever was able to escape work or reschedule other band responsibilities could jump in the van and tour this little circus.” (Cue the soothing sounds of the Great Northwest’s “Be Coming”, lapping like little cellophane waves, “You were tired of the grind, you had something in mind, you’ll be com-ing with me-e-e…”

And Brian Coates smiled, and saw that that this stage of the perfection was completed. “I had taken in as much of New York as I needed, which is easy when you’re there for a year and a half and work only a single day in the city the entire time. Things like museums, libraries, walking, and learning crafts like communication, and that loaves and fishes thing.”

Ah yes indeed, that loaves and fishes thing. Once found, not so far, as the story flies, from where the waters changed to wine, coming through again, after many more rides, sweet and bumpy, until Coates landed back in Portland, Oregon, and the Every Thing’s first album,“tentatively entitled No Progression Is Too Simple,” came together. But there were too many other bands called Everything, so Coates’s tribe had to coalesce a bit more, becoming the Great Northwest, and they set forth upon a stout craft re-dubbed The Widespread Reign Of The Great Northwest. Cue “Split”:  “These days are all I need/I’m not running I’m just burning leaves, let’s split this joint, go far awa-a-ay, on a plate of gold, under the stars, over this time’s bazaars,” or maybe it’s “this time bizarre”--either way, they could cope, as always, under the stars, and with the tips of firs swaying, brushing along, not too troubled by the night’s winds, and the Northern Lights may be glimpsed when the keyboard’s saucer-eye opens and, peeks, bulges just a little through the horizon line, and some sense of a pendulum gets just a little push by bass as it approaches the lowest point on its arc, while Coates’s discreet voice and the rhythm guitars keep watch, and a cymbal may tap politely but persistently. Perhaps it should tap faster at times, but still it knows when to, for instance, go tap on the gate along the side road, behind which “Game” and “Ready or Not” lead rounds of hide and seek, mainly for the moonlit goosebumps, or so it can seem, since the voice is always too lulling to be quite (or consistently) creepy. It’s not a complacent calm, because, as the earlier “Western American” testifies, confides, the seeker’s been in need of being sought too:”If you can read my mind, come, tell me what you find…I won’t let you say, that I let you slip away, you know I love you more than more.” And he knows it too well to be petulant, even as he wonders, “Did you meet that grace, runnin’ on a sense of space, or was it worth it just to take that fall…” Who is he questioning, himself and/or his not-quite-elusive muse? “Wes-tern Amer-I-can.” So the inclusive, distinguishing sketch-mark of identity, the point of arrival and departure, is clear enough, to trace back and forth along the track of The Great Northwest’s tunes (sounds like they’ve only got a couple, but both are still in service). Back to where somebody entrusted with “The Key” told him it got lost, but it’s alright, “I’ll look for myself”; back to where the “Reverie” was found, along the river that led and leads to the source and replenishment of some strength, to “Chief John.”

Coming into this campfire shadow, a breeze can wipe your brow: the Great Northwest make “stoner” music, surely, but not as in sludge and/or agitated fixation, but insinuatingly up front, sinuous, yet acrid more than acid, when a little smoke gets in your eyes, from the fuel of travel—but here, just a little bit of effort, of breath and friction, seeps up from the organ bass flexing under “I will not stop for miracles”—the seeker’s pledge to himself and all others, including those who loiter in levitation, like Battlestar Galactica’s Gaius Balthar and his handmaidens, effortlessly upstaged by the afterimage of Chief John, dropping gospel in and of freefall, just like St. Galileo (for a minute).

The Great Northwest’s Brian Coates on “Chief John” :

Who is Chief John?

Chief John came to us after some wine and other spirits, in Fresno, California. We were looking for the name, waiting for the right one, until (keyboardist) Joe Kaczmarek asked, “What did you say?” It was obvious so we hung up the search and committed.

Did he appear to you all at once, or in parts?

Very much all at once, twice, though it wasn’t until the second time that it lit on us and we made a decision. We rented a room in a former radio station. While dialing in the space we found the progression by looking for tones and levels. We were in a candle-lit control room, not so much for effect as affect. We had trial versions at first so we could test whether we would get bored by repetitive listenings or not. After hours, we didn’t, and we followed with words and focus.

What do you think of the results?

I feel like a new man.