Rock On
My Uncle Richie, down in Revere, Mass., has a backyard barbeque every summer that I wouldn’t miss for the world. (Hey, we’re talking Revere. What can I say? They don’t hold anything back down there.)
This year, when I got introduced as Richie’s nephew from “upta Maine,” some young guys standing around the grill went berserk and started yelling over one another: “Maine! We’re goin’ up there this summer!” “Portland’s the happenin’ place, man!” “Some of the freakin’ best clubs anywhere!” “They rock!” “Dead friggin’ on!” “And there’s outdoor concerts that are, like, unbelievable!” “The State Pier!” “Barenaked Ladies!” “Peter Frampton and Cheap Trick!” “Portland’s where it’s at, man!” “We’re packin’ everybody into a van, lashin’ a few coolers of brew to the roof, and we’re up there!” “No question! We’re there!”
“Yes!” I yelled, raising my Sam Adams in salute to good ol’ Portland. We actually banged our bottles together, if you can believe it.
That’s the way it is now. They’re flocking here from everywhere. The vision of Portland as a “destination city” is being realized before our eyes. We’ve become northern New England’s most popular location for concerts. Years ago, someone on a panel tasked with envisioning the city’s future told me the “target group” would be coming to Portland, not to Maine. Ah, now I get it!
Portland’s nightlife scene has come a long way over the years. There was a time, many decades ago, when all the city had for entertainment was a rough-hewn assortment of what are now referred to as “howler bars” — hootin’ and hollerin’ honky-tonks where the object was to get lightpost-hanging drunk and call it good. Those were the years when the streets of Portland were spilling over with servicemen — the Atlantic Fleet was stationed here during World War II, and Ft. Williams, in Cape Elizabeth, was still an active military facility. It was a common sight to see soldiers and sailors sleeping it off in doorways around town in the morning.
After WWII, the number of bars leveled off, as one might expect, but it was as if the city had been traumatized by the excesses of the war years, and the tone of Portland’s nightlife remained hushed for years to come. At a certain point, though, starting around the early ’80s, let-it-all-hang-out dance clubs like Oasis and Zootz started to appear and eventually outnumber heavy-drinking bars. Those establishments set the trajectory we’re still on today.
Now we’ve got outdoor summer rock concerts by nationally known groups at the State Pier, the Eastern Prom and Thompson’s Point. The Old Port is swarmed by twenty- and thirty-somethings every night of the week, and uptown, venues like the State Theatre, Port City Music Hall, and the new Portland House of Music are packing ’em in.
On a recent Thursday night I was walking down Congress Street when I heard music coming from Preble Street, of all places. At first I thought it must be an echo from somewhere else, but no — it was a band set up on the patio of Slab, a pizza joint and bar in the former Portland Public Market. The patio was jammed with people, and on a Thursday, no less.
So, what’s up? What’s behind it all?
Well, to begin with, we live in prosperous times. Check out the clothes on people you see waiting in line for rock concerts. The cost of a pair of faded and stylishly ripped jeans could feed … well, you get it. And consider the price of a rock-concert ticket (then multiply it by two, for a date). We’re not talking about your granddaddy’s movie and a Coke here. There’s a whole lot of discretionary spending going on.
Then there’s the current demographics of Portland. Young Americans are very mobile today, Portland is a very desirable place to live, and they’re moving here in droves. Even if they don’t live here, Portland’s an easy place to reach if you live within striking distance. It’s a lot easier to deal with the traffic on the Maine Turnpike than to fight the congestion around New Haven or New York.
There are also the entertainment habits of our fellow Mainers to consider. If you’re 25 and live up in Gray or Livermore Falls, chances are you’re going to prefer what’s going on at the State Pier or Portland House of Music to whatever cover band is playing at the Grange Hall up the road.
To be honest, I still haven’t adjusted to our new image. I was a little surprised those guys down in Revere had even heard of either Maine or Portland. I suppose I’ll always think of the city as a small, out-of-the-way place. I don’t know if that’s because of my own feelings of inadequacy, or because we actually are in a small, out-of-the-way place.
When I was a kid, Uncle Richie worked for Western Union typing out the play-by-play of Red Sox games and sending it over the wires from Fenway Park. He sat in the television broadcast box next to the immortal “Voice of the Red Sox,” Curt Gowdy.
One Sunday afternoon when I was lying on the couch half-asleep — probably during another Red Sox loss — I heard Curt say, “And I’d like to extend a hearty Fenway Park hello this afternoon from Uncle Richie to his nephews up in Maine.”
I remember bolting straight up off the couch and yelling over to my brother: “Wow! Curt Gowdy has heard of Maine because of us!”
