Tower of Song - Episode 2

[dog] and [pony] - Tower of Song Sessions
Episode 2 - Lady Lamb The Beekeeper
05.23.09


The Band:
Aly Spaltro - Vox, Guitar, Tambourine, Floor Tom, Whistle
TJ Metcalfe - (Drums), Vox, (Bass, Synth), Acoustic Guitar



The Scene:
There is a glee - quiet and meditative at first, then expanding outwards to fill the room, the corner, the street, the city. The glee starts inside a person, or people - as it may be, it spreads out through finger tips into instruments, it flutters vocal chords and parts teeth as it gets picked up by microphones. It vibrates ear drums and sternums and windows and wires. It bounces off brick and tar and glass and bone.

That glee is music. It took over Portland toward the end of May. It grabbed the microphone at the Tower of Song and wouldn't let go for hours.

That glee is Lady Lamb the Beekeeper. For about an hour, anyway.

Front woman - and currently the only member - Aly Spaltro is the little girl with the big voice. I remember the first time I heard her at Dead of Winter '09 as a watershed moment in Portland music - for me, anyway. Tiny Aly Spaltro took the stage. Hidden behind an acoustic guitar, Spaltro stood in front of a room of carousers, drinking and conversing, making merry.

But they all shut up when she sang.

The room turned to absolute, cricket-chirping, pin-dropping silence save for Spaltro and her voice and her guitar crashing around the room. Spaltro's presence controlled the room as a pebble dropped into still water controls the waves.

The silence was religious, awing. It was pure and real.

Lady Lamb will do that.

The songs are, at first, at least, simple little tales. Naïve observations. But that betrays a purity at the core of the music. Giggly pop delight abounds as Spaltro coos sweet nothings to the fast food drive through box. But beyond that, Lady Lamb the Beekeeper muses on the simple things that you care about when you're younger. These first values are true values - truer than many that accrue as years pass by.

The irreverence-at-first that shows through Lady Lamb The Beekeeper's music is another facet of the Tower of Song. The festival is a joyous celebration of Portland's music. It's a pop festivity. Songs ring giddy down Congress street as bands blast their music over the crowded square. But that joyous celebration belies a deeper core. The celebration is more than a simple get-together. Just the fact that the Tower of Song exists says something profound about the Portland music scene. It is packed with talent. It is diverse. It is brimming with celebration and passion for the scene.

The Tower of Song is ostensibly just a show. But look deeper and it's a community. The festival had beaming organizers, rows of vendors, corporate sponsorship. The festival had nine bands featuring dozens of performers. The dedication, devotion and worship of a scene coming together for something that is, superficially, just a rock and roll show is so much more.

So when Spaltro vacillates on what size fry to order, she's singing not only about treating herself to a delicious and unhealthy snack - she's singing about everything behind that decision. She's singing about every moment of dread about waistlines, dollars, and commitments to a greener living. She's singing about the desire for a simple loved thing and all the drive and yearning and satisfaction behind that.

The Tower of Song is a festival, Lady Lamb The Beekeeper sings about ordering take-out. But the simplicity of ordering a cheeseburger and Dr. Pepper is fallacious. There's desire and anticipation. And calling the Tower of Song simply a rock and roll show is a lie, too. There's a community coming together beneath every note. Every banjo-pluck and drum kick represents commitment and drive on the part of the organizers, the band members, the vendors, the sponsors.

The performers at The Tower of Song had a level of anonymity. The names, the music, that was there for everyone to witness. But the performers remained locked up in the tower. There was no face to the music. So when Aly sings into a faceless drive-through intercom, she's experiencing that same level of anonymity. She and her greasy paramour are just voices in the night as she waxes romantic about the life they could have.

Eventually these performers will come face to face with their audience. They leave the apartment and mill about in Congress Square. They play a venue. They sell T-Shirts and CDs. Eventually Aly will get her meal, she'll hand over a wrinkled five dollar bill and exchange a look with her confessee. She'll get a burger and some fries and a Dr. Pepper, Dr. Pepper, Dr. Pepper.

That's the final element, of course, is the interaction. Putting musicians up in a Tower will separate them from the city physically, but having them play ties them in spiritualy. The musicians and the city are not oil and water. Without the one there would not be the other. Sure, Portland would exist without the scene, but not the Portland we love. And sure the musicians would exist without Portland, but they wouldn't have this community which breeds, fosters and foments their music.

So it's all give and take. Spaltro sings sweet nothings and gets a meal. Portland gives support, an audience, a base and gets art, pride and music.

Musicians give their sweat and blood and passion.

Portland gets glee.