Im not a music reviewer, nor much of a writer, but I do love music and technically this is already written, so it is what it is. In a landscape of too many overly hopped craft beers masquerading as something new, and bands “making art” you may find yourself lost in Portland if you remotely resemble someone craving a time past when keys were kept in your pockets and bikes were what you rode only because you didn’t have a friend who had an older brother with a license, when people hung out, met up instead of tweeting or instafacing each other, and partying was just something you did on a Tuesday. This, to me at least, is what the Mean Jeans, well, mean. Why am I writing about a band? This is a photography blog for crissakes, but the cool part about having a photography blog is all you really need to include is some photography, so I’ll do so. I get asked occasionally how to take pictures of live performances, and all I can offer up as advice with these guys, is hold onto your camera and it wouldn’t hurt if it were waterproof either…
Do you like experiencing live music surrounded by pretentious, snooty, bespectacled, way cooler than you, “I heard them first” types? Standing statically while slowly kinda white person dancing with your shoulders and occasionally glancing around trying to avoid eye contact while not having beer and water constantly thrown all over your person? Well, this band may not be for you.
I first heard the Mean Jeans on the way home from my own band’s practice (shameless self band plug here) and instantly understood why I
wanted needed to hear more. Having recently witnessed my body being sequestered to the beginning stages of middle agedness, I find that while my back and knee can’t handle snowboarding like they used to, my mind still craves that which I am fond of, or comfortable with. This, since you ask, is the toilet humor driven, juvenile, yet remarkably enjoyable action of staying out too late with friends, making crass jokes at each other’s expense and naturally, drinking. The Mean Jeans aren’t so much a band, but a catalyst, a time machine transporting anyone who’d like to go along for the ride, back to that time where kids didn’t wake you up at 5 in the morning and toilet paper doubled as a coffee filter. As a litmus test, I’d suggest watching this to see how you feel. Based on your initial reaction, I’d say that you should be able to tell immediately if we’re on the same wavelength.
I’d definitely have seen them play live more, especially seeing as they love my buddy Weaver’s bar Angelo’s which is about the only bar I make it out to, but too often the newly developed, rational, voice in my head convinces me that a 4 band bill starting at 11pm on a Wednesday night might not be the best decision. But, for those times that the good guy gets a wild hair, you gotta just embrace the party and let it take you where it will.
So, even after my 7 month old alarm clock rattled me from sleep the next morning, and the odd conversation Blaine, Zach and I had while taking a neighborhood tour with the cabbie the previous night echoed in my mind, I found myself rejuvenated and justified in considering the Mean Jeans my favorite Portland band. Find the Mean Jeans HERE and don’t say I didn’t warn you.