Stranger in Vacationland
By Galen Richmond
Strange Maine proprietor Brendan Evans rolls a cigarette while watching a disheveled man push a shopping cart full of records up Congress Street.
“I bet I know where that guy’s going,” he says with a mix of amusement, resignation, and affection. Sure enough, the man comes in to drop off a mammoth stack of vinyl, much of it in the Sing Along With Mitch vein, to either sell or trade. I don’t stick around to find out which, because it seems like things are about to get busy.
On any given day, if you wait long enough, you’ll see a good cross section of the people who populate Portland’s public spaces parade through Strange Maine. Aloof hipsters and young mothers with enormous baby carriages peruse second-hand media alongside earnest punk-rock activists and some of our most conspicuous street characters. Evans treats them all with equal courtesy, chatting as easily with The Cloak Guy as he does with the occasional bewildered tourist who wanders in during the summer months looking for the Arts District.
When it opened four years ago, the store seemed like a charming, but doomed, prospect. It was hard to
picture used comic books, VHS tapes and records supporting a retail space on Congress Street, particularly in the limbo block between Forest and Oak, where businesses tend to sprout and wither like seasonal weeds. But Evans and then-partner Shea Mowat managed to make it work by tapping into both the unique local micro-economy that runs in part on barter and bottle money from Paul’s Food Center, and the slightly more mainstream consumer base of record collectors and pop culture enthusiasts.
While interesting as a shop and quasi-landmark, Strange Maine’s significance runs deeper than retail. The store has also hosted some of the more challenging and interesting musical performances in recent memory.
“Having a shop where I could just sell used video games and records and books seemed like a great idea to me, but it’s sort of unfulfilling,” Evans said. “So I was really interested in having a space for people to display artwork. Definitely a priority was to have a place where I could have experimental or improvisational music shows and [feature] outside or marginalized music.”
He has done a remarkable job at it. Despite the room’s small size (even with the record bins rolled back between the bookshelves, floor space is quite limited), Strange Maine has become an important, if unlikely, live music venue. Local acts that might not be given a chance in a club or a bar have done well there. Perhaps most notably, gospel-folkie Dan Knudsen has reached an audience here that is, if not wider, then at least more lovingly devoted than he would have found trawling open mics. And if there is another room in town that would’ve allowed Modern Syndrome to incubate through two-plus years of live performances, growing from preteen classic rock stumblers to the torch-bearing indie protégés they are now, I’d like to hear about it.
Since the store isn’t a traditional venue and there’s no financial risk to putting together a show, Evans is able to book musicians who attract a very specific audience—stuff far outside the general interest. Noise maestro id m theft able, an artist who doesn’t necessarily pack them in locally, frequently plays to small, but rapt, audiences at Strange Maine.
According to Evans, id m theft able, like a number of acts who’ve graced the patch of floor that serves as a stage, has a scattered, but worldwide, fan base. Acts with a decentralized group of fans can be hard to book in traditional venues, since any given town may only have a handful of people interested in the show. “It’s so rare that more than a few people would show up for a show like that,” said Evans. “It’s in nobody’s best interest to be putting on that kind of show, unless you actually care about the sounds and the performances.”
When someone, like Evans, who does care gets hold of a venue, word gets around. As a result, Strange Maine hosts plenty of touring acts. Some are brand new bands just attempting to move beyond their hometowns. Others are reasonably well known, like Magik Markers, who have occasionally toured with Sonic Youth and record on Thurston Moore’s Ecstatic Peace label. Members of Pitchfork Media darlings Double Leopards have played Strange Maine, as have free-folk favorites Charalambides.
Though the acts that gig at the store vary widely in terms of sound and genre, there is a common aesthetic thread: the vast majority of the performers, almost the entirety of the audiences, and, certainly, Evans himself, seem to value a musician’s intent over his or her ability.
For example, a few months ago, a solo act going by the name Rotundo Sealeg blew the assembled crowd away with a set many listeners would have judged to be more than a little rough around the edges. His performance was engaging and exciting, but totally all over the place. Most music majors would have cringed, but Sealeg’s energy was so much fun that his lack of technique hardly mattered. The small crowd loved him.
Not too long after that show, a singer-songwriter type—whom we’ll spare the indignity of identifying –played a set of reasonably well-crafted and deftly executed songs for a very similar group of people. Though his performance was highly polished, it was also safe and cold, and the audience didn’t respond.
In such a diminutive room, the audience’s response feels more concentrated: the highs seem higher, and the lows can drop through the floor. (Having played Strange Maine several times myself, I know this firsthand.) It’s a much more intimate experience than playing other venues—there’s no microphone in front of you and there’s a lot of eye contact with the listeners, many of whom are sitting within arm’s reach. It’s a bit like playing at a party for a group of your friends, but without the nagging feeling that you’re monopolizing everyone’s time and ears.
As an audience member, Strange Maine shows are especially rewarding. You feel your individual attention and support matter; you have a genuine exchange with the performer. Granted, this is a double-edged arrangement. When the show is enjoyable, it’s exciting to have that sort of communication with the musicians. But when the performance isn’t hitting the spot, the room can seem claustrophobic, and leaving inconspicuously isn’t really an option. Mercifully, Strange Maine shows usually feature several acts with sets on the shorter side, so if you’re not enjoying what’s going on, waiting it out isn’t that taxing.
Far more often than not, the performances are well worth seeing, and while they may not always be appealing to everyone, the acts are consistently interesting.
Isaac Turner regularly attends Strange Maine shows, and gigs there with some frequency as part of the pop-rock outfit The 500’s. Following a recent Dan Knudsen appearance, Turner made a comment that accurately sums up Strange Maine as both a venue and a store.
“Wow,” he said. “I guess that’s a totally different way of being good at it.”
