Bring the music to the people. That’s not the official mantra
of the Penny Jam (thepennyjam.com), but it might as well
be. The video podcast—like a localized take on the popular La
Blogothèque series—gathers local musicians, places them in
foreign scenarios, and then lets the cameras roll.
Laura Gibson vulnerably croons under the eerie shadow of looming
Chinese dinosaur bones under the lights at OMSI, one-man dance party
Mattress performs alone atop the Lafayette footbridge as the sun
disappears into the West Hills, and the bilingual punk of Magic Johnson
ricochets off the walls of the Dollar Scholar. These are just a few of
the finer moments of the Penny Jam, whose basic template—take
musicians, add an unorthodox locale, and turn the camera on to capture
it all—always equates to an inspiring glimpse at Portland’s
thriving local music scene.
Producer Scott Carver explains how the Penny Jam’s work is more than
just a show without a stage: “Concert venues are great for live shows;
the lighting is usually sparse, the sound is good, and you are close
enough that you can actually see the musicians playing most of the
time. When you shoot a video at a venue like that, the lighting is
harsh and unless you want to interfere with the show by getting between
the audience and the band, you probably aren’t going to get good
footage.” He adds, “Mostly it is about making music accessible to as
many people as possible—by adding Portland locations it creates a
reason for people who live in the city to get into the series, even if
they don’t know anything about the music yet.”
The revolving Penny Jam ensemble—which features a cast of a
half-dozen contributors ranging from lighting to audio
mixing—creates an ideal environment conducive to both their
footage, and the performers themselves, while the audience is blessed
with access to a website with 17 achieved episodes, and counting.
The stable of acts that have performed under the Penny Jam banner
range from the rapid-fire hiphop of Sleep (clutching the mic atop an
industrial Southeast rooftop), to the jazzy ballads of Derrek Wayne
(performing while surrounded by the vintage stock at the Immortal Piano
Company), and are primarily smaller acts, which is part of the initial
mission devoted to sharing this music community with the masses.
“There is a certain element of ‘bring it to the people’ going on
when we put together an episode,” explains Carver. “It’s partially
motivated by the kind of satisfaction that comes with being part of an
introductory process.”
Although in recent months the Penny Jam posse has ventured out some:
“Many have heard Starfucker, not many have heard Starfucker in a
barbershop,” jokes director Sean Whiteman when referring to the
dance-pop group’s performance amid the hair trimmings at Rudy’s
Barbershop. “Yes, we are the ones that finally put Starfucker in
the barbershop, we triumphed where many have failed.”
As for the lineup of performers captured by the Penny Jam crew, the
list is growing. “I’d really like to gig it up with the Builders and
the Butchers in some capacity,” Whiteman admits. “Or the Decemberists
playing the Bagdad while The Adventures of Baron Munchausen is
silently projected behind them. Maybe Mirah singing in the corner of
the Blazers training facility while the team is three-man
weaving.”
While not all of these ideas will come to fruition, the Penny Jam’s
willingness to try anything in the name of shining the spotlight on
Portland local music is commendable. Or as Whiteman explains it, “I’m
just pleased to be able to latch myself like a parasite to this
community of artists. I don’t have a beard and can’t play the dulcimer,
so this is closest I’ll get to being part of a music scene.”