There is no other Heaven on Earth for me than trippin’ at sunset in the Gorge Amphitheater, watching Dave Matthews Band expel pure musical magic. The only thing even close to the Holy DMB, is my beloved Portugal. The Man. I feel like if my twenties had a soundtrack, P.T.M would be the primary background music. As I navigated who I am and what my identity meant, they were there. They were giving me 'Holy Roller' & ‘Modern Jesus’, allowing me to have the courage to become an open non-believer. Hearing their first song (but like, 4th album on the radio over 8 years ago), I noted them in my head and had to go home and download their single onto my, now retro, Ipod. A few years later, my husband sat me down to listen to their most recent album- Evil Friends and I fell head over heels. We drove up to Marymoor Park near Seattle to see them in concert- their presence live is just as dynamic as headphones blaring their albums. Watching the front man, John Gourley’s unsettling and dark illustrations fade then return on the screen behind this strange new band, I was caught in a daze of absorption. I remember watching a couple of hippies dancing to ‘Creep in a T-shirt’, probably climaxing on their Molly, when I realized I would be a fan for life. Now, I am coming down from a near year-long high of their most recent album, Woodstock, which only deepened my affection for them and is now burned into my brain as the memorized lyrics bounce around my head daily.
As of last week, my favorite little secret, the band that I have protectively held in my pocket, the group with a thimble full of fans, music that most of these pseudo-hipster hacks hadn’t gotten their greasy hands on yet, finally, belatedly got a Grammy. I have been struggling with the fact that these guys are hitting the mainstream, it’s hard to see mommed-out moms quote ‘I’m a rebel just for kicks’ to caption another dreadful photo of their kids on Facebook. I have toiled hearing their hit single on the radio, overplayed and then the subsequent trial of a few of their other songs from Woodstock, none of them apparently sing-a-longable enough to be a hit.
If I know anything about Portugal. The Man though, it’s that they won’t change as they ride their wave of recognition. During their acceptance speech, bassist Zach Carothers shouted out to the indigenous people of Alaska, the founder’s home state, then mocked the previous category of Best Gospel Album, by ending with “Hail Satan” all while lead, John Gourley used their new trophy to imitate wiping his ass. My God-damned heroes.
Not only that, but I think serious music lovers (if they are anything like me, don’t give a shit about awards shows) can see beyond that candy-wrapped, pop category that they won for. In the pre-show interview, Carothers and Gourley stood in their Beat-Bohemian turtleneck/plaid suit and overwhelming fur coat, answering questions by reporters who were just trying to shuffle them through, clearly saving those hard-hitting interviews for the likes of Beyonce. When asked about their newfound success, they noted that they are kids from a small town in Alaska, (also with ties in Portland, hence Lords of Portland) who have been working on music in P.T.M for over a decade. Carothers brought up the simple, but painful truth of life as an artist: that they are just now seeing acclaim for their years of hard work.
Needless to say, I love, love, love this band. They are real, honest, actual-factual rock. The rock of the 70’s that had a political message, or begged for social change along with a progressive use of instruments, making music that stands out but in a very subtle way, as though each song has a signature attached, allowing listeners to know immediately who it is. A lot like my all time favorite crew, Pink Floyd. P.T.M is open about Pink Floyd’s influence on their path. I can still remember the feeling when they began ‘Another Brick in the Wall’ at the Marymoor concert, and as a forever Floyd fan, they have earned the right to play that classic; if some other stadium-selling, sham of a band rolled out a Floyd song on their set list, I’d be protesting like a vegan at Fashion Week.
They are the modern Floyd, taking music to a different plane, experimenting with sound and scape, all the while, showing gratefulness to their roots. They also have lassoed the confidence to bring up the social unrest around us, to put it into words and provoke change from their activist-prone fans. If music can make an impact with those energizing change, similar to the era of Woodstock, then it has infinite power. Incidentally, their latest album was named after that very music-fueled protest of corrupt government and war, which I believe has a strikingly similar climate as today. As their popularity grows, their lifespan of lyrics makes it clear that they are no group of grown men simply singing about heartache. In 2014, P.T.M teamed up with Smithsonian’s National Zoo to create the ‘Endangered Song’. Only 400 vinyl records were made and distributed in a cry of attention that there were less than 400 Sumatran Tigers in existence, labeled as critically endangered and victims already to loss of habitat and poaching. These 400 vinyls would only be able to play their single a short number of times. The material of the records would begin to disintegrate after more than 1 play, to show how quickly precious parts of nature can disappear if we do not intervene. The only way to allow the song to be heard again was to digitally reproduce it, proving that this band is so much further beyond churning out hits, or doing world tours; they have opinions and real topics to tackle. Nothing proved that more than seeing their awkwardness at the Grammys; not taking the supposed gravity of this affair too seriously, if at all. They looked as surprised as any of their fans were upon hearing they’d be in the pool of nominees. This is what I see in my illustration I couldn’t help but do in their honor. They are becoming a beacon, with national attention, their message against conformity, the model of religion and overall nonsense that society pushes to keep it's rules in place. They are a strong rooted timber, holding their creative vision and honesty to the highest standard. This opposed to other so-called artists, who live beneath the surface of real music, who are lip-service, an army of breasts, sex, and numbing lyrics. P.T.M is powerful enough to shatter the ceiling of this superficial industry and potentially bring about true progression. As I have followed the band, Gourley and Carothers were the two solids that never seemed to change, even though O’Quin had a long stint, I only chose the 2 founders to include in this particular image. They are the roots, I imagine, as their branches blossom to life fresh talent on each album they create. Along with them, I added the ski-masked head from their Atomic Man video,because- I don’t know... I guess I just like that song, so fuck it.
The music industry is, and probably will always be, a consumptive factory, slowly dropping identical spawns of their production line into a vat that grinds out the same, slimy, fetid sausage links of chart toppers, not unlike the Wall’s depiction of school children in Another Brick.... Portugal. The Man is not on this conveyor belt. They have proven success in making something so ear pleasing, so undeniably catchy, that their award is more than deserved, but it is not their goal to be a puppy mill of hits. Does this make them finally successful in my opinion? Absolutely not. They have held the talent, the music, the proof in the pudding under their belts for over ten years. I certainly hope they do not get a Grammy nod after future albums, seeing as the game is being a summer hit and the judge is a panel of wealthy white people. I hope they continue to prove further that, as an artist, work is never done- you are never finished. You must continue to produce and push your material into the world as long as you’re breathing. They inspire me in so many ways, but if I had to summarize why, it would be just that, spending over a decade doing what you love before seeing any recognition is not a delayed reward or an undesired waiting game. It is a consequence of their unmitigated love of what they do. After all, there's madness in us all and who the hell wrote the rules?