Note: This entry is courtesy of John Shaski, a friend from Franklin & Marshall College. ‘Ski and I were super fortunate in that we got to see the band tour Europe together in October 1990. Today, Ski and his family live in The ABQ, where he works in food waste recycling.
“He really had no equal.”
Thus commented Bob Dylan on the passing of Jerry Garcia in the late summer of 1995. I could read Dylan’s considered line a few different ways, but what strikes me is how unassuming Jerry was, both on and off the stage.
Jerry Garcia Life Lesson #6: Be Kind
I recall moments, not uncommon, with Jer’ layin’ out, standing outside the spotlight, strumming rhythm, searching for the most appealing complimentary chords. Not just turning the rudder over to another musician but putting a shoulder to the effort. The star toning it down, creating “space” in his composition, then encouraging some other artist to grab the opening and run with it, jazz style.
Another example from an otherwise unsatisfying show — where the open musical canvas that was most Grateful Dead shows had to be prettied-up and chopped into segments, as guest after guest paraded to the stage for a cameo — was the Rainforest Benefit at Madison Square Garden. September 24, 1988. Suzanne Vega was center stage, head bowed, strumming chords on an acoustic guitar. She waited for the downbeat, the cue for her to begin the arranged progression and set the tempo with the first verse of lyrics. Then, there was that awkward moment when the band, and then the audience recognized that the cue was missed. A smirk. A few knowing glances. No problem. This is show business. Play it off and wait for the downbeat again.
But Vega missed it again. Oops. Strike two. Tension was creeping in. Will she or won’t she handle the pressure of the moment? Then, right when he was needed, Jerry worked his simple magic. Garcia leaned forward with his head slightly cocked, eyebrows raised, searching for Vega’s eye. She met his gaze, smiled and…viola! He rocked the neck of his guitar gently forward and fingerd the chords. She picked it up, found the one, and was once again herself, with a helping hand from Jerry.
Dylan also said, “To me, he wasn’t only a musician and friend, he was more like a big brother who taught and showed me more than he’ll ever know.”
Action from humility and compassion has always been natural for me. Yet, sometimes our cultural cues cause us to worry whether a bolder, more self-centered attitude is not more productive. Jerry knew that to be a false premise. And his influence, always bordering on HUGE, was consistently collaborative, whether leading the sprawling ensemble that was the Grateful Dead through uncharted musical territory or sitting on a couch backstage, waving a lit cigarette about and contributing to some journalist’s interview.
It’s no exaggeration to say all of the great rewards of my life including my marriage, my children and my work owe their value and meaning to the concept of relationship. Relativity. Reflection. Teamwork. Community. Family. We!
Garcia knew the way, shedding light, never to master. I for one am eternally grateful for his guidance and all that he provided, musically of course, but also in the way he carried himself. Jerry was confident and secure in his gift, which helped him become the humble but effective leader that he was.
Continue in a course of action even in the face of difficulty or with little or no indication of success.
Jerry Garcia Life Lesson #5: Persevere
Grateful Dead formed in 1965. The band’s first hit, “Touch of Grey,” a song interestingly enough about perseverance, reached the airwaves in 1987, 22 years after the band formed. Artistically, Grateful Dead peaked much earlier, but to achieve commercial success it took decades. It’s a lesson many impatient artists, writers and entrepreneurs can learn from. No need to rush, just do what you do and keep doing it no matter what.
I know the rent is in arrears
The dog has not been fed in years
It’s even worse than it appears
but it’s all right.
When Jerry passed away in 1995, Grateful Dead was 30 years old. For a rock band 30 years old is ancient. Most acts simply can not stay together that long, as friendships eventually fade or fray and interests drift. How did Jerry and the boys stick together for such a long time?
For one, Jerry refused to quit even when common sense and every other sense he had told him to lay off for a while. He didn’t want to be the bad guy and let all his friends down. Grateful Dead employed close to 100 people at the band’s zenith, and frankly, had Jerry bowed out and refused to tour, he would have put a lot of people out of work. Nevertheless, I wish he had quit the band, at least for a year or two. Then he could have gone into rehab and taken care of his ailing body.
I miss Jerry, as we all do, but gratefully his music is enduring. Phil Lesh and Bob Weir both strap on their guitars and take the stage with an array of younger musicians like Joe Russo and Mark Medeski who love to play Grateful Dead songs, and who are well equipped as musicians to do the music justice. For a time there, when Phil’s rotating act solidified into “The Quintet” featuring Warren Haynes, Jimmy Herring, John Molo and Rob Barraco, I was hooked again. The Quintet managed to go places with the music that I’d never been to before — they grew something new from the Dead’s mulch and that’s what amazed me. The Quintet wasn’t repeating a song cycle as mimics, they were using the old material as a new jumping off point, just like Jerry used to do.
“Build to last” is another way of framing this perseverance lesson. By working intently on their music, and believing in the trueness of their path, Grateful Dead were able to make songs that meant something when they were first played, and that continue to mean something to fans today. In the case of folk ballads like “Uncle John’s Band” and “Ripple” I contend that the band’s songs will be played for centuries to come.
There’s also a “small is beautiful” message here. Jerry kept his head down and he worked hard. He didn’t seek fame nor did he want it when it found him. It’s a stretch to say Grateful Dead was a “small band” prior to 1987. They played many stadiums in the mid-1970s, but the expenses involved in transporting their Wall of Sound around the country ate up all their profits. From a business perspective, the band experienced some tough times. But they never gave up, they loved playing in the band and they kept experimenting and finding new ways to fine tune their music and their business practices.
With the final tally taken, Grateful Dead is one of rock’s all time highest earning touring bands and Grateful Dead merchandise continues to churn out healthy profits for remaining members of the band. But this source of renewable revenue didn’t occur by chance, although luck and good fortune always plays a role. Somehow, through all the ups and downs including the untimely deaths of Pig Pen and Brent Mydland, Grateful Dead persevered. So, whatever dream you are busy pursuing “keep on Truckin’ on.” There’s no such thing as an overnight sensation, not in the real world.
It is fashionable today to “fail harder” and to “fail faster.” These concepts from the worlds of communications and technology are meant to take the sting out of failure — the purpose being to encourage the kind of risk taking that accelerates growth and positive change.
Jerry Garcia Life Lesson #4: Take Risks
Playing it safe wasn’t Jerry’s way. He was an explorer, and by definition explorers take calculated risks. Sadly, when explorers lose their way, they can also lose their ability to calculate. Such was Jerry’s burden when it came to hard drugs, heroin in particular.
But it is not heroin, it’s LSD that is so closely tied to Grateful Dead and its musical risk-taking. The band and its songs were a jumping off place for the musicians and for the fans. LSD too is a jumping off place, and when you mix the two — Grateful Dead and LSD — you’re in for an epic journey. The band’s hyper-extended song, “Dark Star,” is certainly an epic journey. Performed live in concert “Dark Star” often clocked in at 30 minutes or more. What kind of band plays a song for more than 30 minutes? A band that wants to explore the kind of big ideas that need nearly infinite space to develop.
A band that plays a song this intricate and this long has immense trust in its own ability to pull it off, and in the audience’s willingness to stay interested and involved. LSD fueled the ideas that led to the creation of songs like “Dark Star” and “Birdsong” and LSD made listening to these acid-dipped songs all the more interesting. There’s no removing the LSD from the story or the historical record, nor should there be. Taking LSD was a risk that paid off in many positive ways for the band, for its generation and for new generations of people attracted to the music and to an authentic journey into the mind and self.
On another front, some of the risks we took to see Jerry perform may have seemed extreme to friends, coworkers and relatives at the time. In the summer of 1990, I mail ordered for the complete Europe Tour which was scheduled for October. I had never gone “all in” before. That is, I had never attended every show of an entire tour before, and here was my chance to do it and do it right. I asked for a month-long leave of absence from my job as Operations Coordinator at Conservatree Paper Co., a recycled paper merchant in downtown San Francisco. My boss said sure, but his boss said no way.
Big boss man’s name was Alan, and I recall vividly how Alan asked me what this trip to Europe was all about. I said I’m 25 and I’ve never been to Europe and now’s my chance. He asked why now? I said I’m going to see Grateful Dead in four European countries, is why now. He exclaimed, “People don’t do this!” I said I’m a person and I’m doing it. I added the only question was whether he wanted me back in four weeks. He did not.
Was it the right thing to do, quitting my job to see Jerry? That’s a rhetorical question. Of course it was the right thing to do. I knew there was a time-limit on the scene. That was made very clear to all in 1986 when Jerry slipped into a heroin-induced coma and nearly died. Trouble ahead, Jerry in red. But I digress. I knew, like we all knew, that there would be only one more chance to see Grateful Dead in small venues in Europe and that chance was going to take place during the month of October 1990. I also knew that a new job and new work would be waiting back home, so I didn’t mind taking the risk, not at all.
Europe tour 1990 was special in a lot of ways. For one, we all traveled by train so the experience was a collective one. In the U.S. after a show, you tended to go by car (or bus) to a nearby hotel or to a friend’s house. Lots and lots of little parties after and before the shows. In Europe, 3000 American Deadheads moved pretty much as one, by train, from city to city. This kind of travel made it easy to meet new people and make new friends. It was an epic adventure full of calculated risks, and I am better for having had it.
You have to learn the rules before you can begin to artfully deconstruct them. Of course, all serious artists and thinkers do learn the rules first, it’s the artful deconstruction that eludes so many.
Jerry Garcia Life Lesson #3: Defy Convention
Jerry Garcia grew up in the 1950s–a time of mass conformity in America, San Francisco included. So, where did he acquire the gigantic nut sack it took to dream his own dreams, think his own thoughts and live his own life? I can’t say for sure, but this kind of inner confidence is typically the result of strong parenting.
Jerry also grew up in the Mission District, and while he was a very affable and generous soul, he was also a relatively tough guy from a tough part of town. And tough guys from tough parts of town don’t exactly flock to art school, but Jerry did. He defied convention and the odds, time and again.
I remember driving from Salt Lake City to Tahoe and seeing Jerry Garcia Band perform at Squaw Valley in 1991. Jerry announced from the stage on the first day that he and David Grisman, who were slated to headline the next day would instead play earlier in the day. Jerry felt that The Neville Brothers ought to headline the Sunday festivities, so he defied convention and Bill Graham Presents by rearranging the schedule on the fly, much to everyone in the audience’s liking.
The Neville Brothers are a high energy dance band from New Orleans and they belonged in the headliner’s slot. Jerry’s humility and respect for his fellow musicians put the Neville’s in the spotlight that day on the mountain. His willingness to let his conscience guide him and his readiness to speak up to right a wrong, showcased his personal integrity in an unforgettable way for me that day, and again it speaks to his inner confidence. A lesser man would have never volunteered his headlining spot on the ticket — that’s simply not how show business works.
And frankly how show business works was never much of concern for Jerry and Grateful Dead. They formed their own record label, designed their own sound systems, sold their own concert tickets via mail order, made their own feature film, and so on. Grateful Dead also played concerts at the Pyramids in Egypt during a full eclipse of the moon. They did it themselves, and it was all a great big adventure. Not everything went as planned all the time, but that’s a price you pay for taking risks, for going your own way, for defying convention.
Oddly enough, defying convention has proven one of the more difficult lessons from Jerry’s life, and one many of his fans fail to understand or practice. Deadheads are followers, not just of a band but of one another. It’s a tribal culture, as are all sub-cultures, but there’s a BIG issue with tribalism as practiced by white neophytes with no grounding in the realities of living in a tribe. The problem is group think and group do. When everyone wears the same clothes, likes the same drugs, listens to the same music, lives in the same cities, drives the same cars and adopts the same look, I am sorry to say it’s a convention of non-conformists, which kind of defeats the point.
Jerry’s brother, Tiff, accidentally removed his little brother’s middle finger with an axe when Jerry was young. Thus, Jerry literally did not have the finger-picking ability of other able-handed guitarists. So, he made do with what he had to work with. He improvised.
In Jerry’s Palo Alto days he lived in his car for awhile, and later in a shed behind a big communal party house. Jerry was a dedicated musician and he put everything he had into being a musician. He sacrificed and “made do” for the music. He improvised.
Of course, improvisation also has another meaning. To invent, compose, or perform in the moment. In other words, to play like you’re in a jazz band. It’s well known that Grateful Dead modeled their approach to music on jazz and classical, and that they loved Miles Davis, John Coltrane and the rest. In fact, Miles opened for The Dead at Fillmore West and Phil Lesh, for one, was horrified to have to follow Miles’ performance, such was the band’s respect for Miles’ heaviness.
I am one fortunate freaker son, in that I was there to see Branford Marsalis join Grateful Dead on stage on Dec. 31, 1990. I was in a great position in the Duck Pond (the floor of Oakland Coliseum) and I could see the interplay between Jerry and Branford pretty well. It’s not something I’m likely to forget. Here, get some of this musical magic in your ears.
Jazz legend David Murray also liked to jam with Jerry. So did Carlos Santana, David Hidalgo and César Rosas, David Grisman and Tony Rice, John Kahn and Merl Saunders, David Nelson, David Crosby, John Cippolina, and so on. He was a beloved guy, eager collaborator and gifted musician able to hold deep conversations with everyone in the room thanks to his uncanny ability on guitar.
To improvise is to create and Jerry was always making things and making things happen. I think the practical hard-working side of Jerry’s personality gets lost in all the adulation and fandom. The man was a grunt! He practiced for hours every day and explored every new direction in music he could find by being a great listener (with open ears to go with his open heart and mind).
You improvise by cobbling disparate parts into a cohesive whole. To do it well you must have an environment of trust. You have to put yourself out there in a vulnerable position, not knowing what’s next only that you are capable and will hopefully be able to roll with the changes. Improv is scary. It’s risky and the chance of failure is high. But when you fail to fail, the rewards are so great that it makes facing the fear of the unknown worthwhile.
Grateful Dead’s live album from 1990 is titled Without A Net, and those three words capture the essence of the band’s approach to being a band. They took the stage without a net from the very beginning when they were Ken Kesey’s house band at the Acid Trips, all the way to 1995 and the dark chaos of the band’s last tour that summer. They went out there night after night ostensibly to see what would happen, and with the informed faith that they could coax something great from themselves and the music floating there in the air.
Jerry Garcia was born on this day in 1942. In the years since his death on August 9, 1995, Garcia fans have taken to celebrating “Nine Days of Jerry,’ which covers the span from August 1st (his birthday) to August 9th.
This year, with encouragement from Darby, I am going to share key insights, a.k.a. lessons learned from Jerry — one a day for nine days.
Jerry Garcia Life Lesson #1: Stretch
Stretching is both a physical act and a metaphorical framework.
Top performers stretch to achieve a desired state of limberness, which in turn allows them to reach much further and higher than they otherwise could. Before going on stage, Jerry used to run through scales to prepare himself physically for the challenges of playing a three-to-five hour show. But it was during his shows where his yogic mastery was truly revealed — few artists have stretched their form to its breaking point and survived the journey.
Long before Jerry became the iconic Captain Trips (and unwilling spokesperson for the Haight-Ashbury scene), he worked hard to learn the rigors of folk music. He played acoustic guitar and banjo and got his voice in strong singing shape. Add LSD and an explosion of consciousness (and societal turbulence) to the mix, plug it in and turn it up and you have the beginnings of Grateful Dead.
Let’s use “Viola Lee Blues” to illustrate the point. The song was written in 1928 by Noah Lewis, an American jug band and country blues musician. “Some got six months, some got one solid year.” Viola Lee Blues is a traditional ditty about a man lamenting his prison sentence. In the hands of Grateful Dead, the song gets opened up considerably, thanks to the weaving of jazz idioms into what is a very simple blues construction.
http://youtu.be/3HMgZu9GzG0
You might say Jerry and friends “stretched the shit” out of this tune. You’d be correct and it’s what made Jerry’s work and the band’s so compelling. When your mind is stretched far and wide it can hold a lot more information, and Jerry’s held a deep reservoir of American roots music, jazz, classical, and more, which he could tap in an instant for just the right effect.
In my own life, I make sure to stretch out daily as a writer. Like Jerry, I am attracted to and capable of working in a variety of forms (journalism, advertising and literature). And like Jerry I have my main gig as a ad writer and several nourishing side-projects. The rewards of cross-pollination are found here. For example, if I write a particularly poetic line for an print advertisement, it makes the ad better and it loads commercial communications with an artfulness it desperately needs.
There’s also a degree of patience woven into the act of stretching, which I like. Stretching is what we do to prepare and that’s the key. We’re too often in a mad rush to succeed or do this or that, but the reality is we must first stretch, breathe and gather ourselves before taking the stage.
YACHT lights me up. Their grooves are infectious and the meaning in their work is at times profound.
I know this is high praise for any artist, but it’s not everyday that a New New Wave band with deep philosophical underpinnings kicks ass like YACHT kicks ass.
“The Earth, the Earth, the Earth is on fire. We don’t have no daughter. Let the mother fucker burn.”
Pop lyrics with juxtaposing ideas. That’s fresh. “Jona Bechtolt and Claire L. Evans make anthemic power jams, play them backwards and soak them in nearly-psychedelic cherry cola inspired live shows,” writes IFC.
“Utopia/Dystopia” is my favorite song right now. Which is kind of amazing considering I generally do not enjoy techno. Of course, YACHT can’t be defined merely as techno. The band is clearly borne of DEVO’s rib, and I respect their weirdness and ability immensely. But there’s more here. YACHT makes you dance and feel good — all while thinking interesting thoughts.
According to YACHT’s Mission Statement:
YACHT is a Band, Belief System, and Business conducted by Jona Bechtolt and Claire L. Evans of Marfa, Texas and Los Angeles, CA, USA. All people are welcome to become members of YACHT. Accordingly, YACHT is and always will be what YACHT is when YACHT is standing before you.
In addition to five studio albums, YACHT is the author of The Secret Teachings of the Mystery Lights: A Handbook on Overcoming Humanity and Becoming Your Own God, which you can download for on iTunes.
Evans is also a well respected science writer, who “examines the intersections between art, science, technology, culture, and all the lunatic fringes in between.”
Alas, YACHT believes, as I do, in the power of place. In fact, they operate in a Western American Utopian Triangle of their own making — with Marfa, Los Angeles and Portland as the three points in their geographic/geometric formation. My own Western American Utopian Triangle is configured differently — with Omaha, San Francisco and Seattle as my three axis points. Either way, I am charmed by the idea of a vast spiritual territory and the exceptional work of this provocative band.
It took me eight years, but I finally did purchase and read every word of Phil Lesh’s autobiography, Searching for the Sound. I am glad I did, as Phil offers us his humanity and his immense mind with this telling. It’s also the only first person account of the formation of Grateful Dead by a band member.
As a fan of the band and its legendary bass player, I wanted to like this book. As a student of the 1960s, I wanted to like this book. And Lesh is an eloquent spokesman for his generation. The man is smart as a whip, which comes across in his music, naturally, but it also sails through in his prose.
I wanted to play in a way that heightened the beats by omission, as it were, by playing around them, in a way that added harmonic motion to the somewhat static chord progressions of the songs we were playing then. I wanted to play in a way that moved melodically but much more slowly than the lead melodies sung by the vocalists or played on guitar or keyboard. Contrast and complement: Each of us approached the music from a different direction, at angles to one another, like the spokes of a wheel.
I have long been astonished by Phil’s musical mind and his ability to play what’s in it. He invented a new way to play bass, and his new, inventive style fit perfectly with what Jerry Garcia was playing. Bring in the other spokes and you’ve got an extremely potent form of heavily amplified improvisational music.
Phil also writes candidly about his, and the band’s, use of LSD.
At one point, I looked over at Jerry and saw a bridge of light like a rainbow of a thousand colors streaming between us; and flowing back and forth across that bridge: three-dimensional musical notes—some swirling like the planet Jupiter rotating at 100 times normal speed, some like fuzzy little tennis balls with dozens of legs and feet (each foot wearing a different sock!), some striped like zebras, some like pool balls, some even rectangular or hexagonal, all brilliantly colored and evolving as they flowed, not only the notes that were being played, but all the possible notes that could have been played.
Throughout the text Phil’s ability to recall in detail the people, places, events and yes, even the psychedelic adventures of his youth, some 40 years after it all happened, is pretty amazing.
Later in the the book when my own direct experience of the band is a factor, I realize that while Phil’s finely honed details are plentiful, they are also highly selective, as well as totally personal. As it should be, the point is how plentiful and rich this narrative pool is. For instance, when Phil discusses the band’s Europe tour in October 1990, it’s a story about his family vacation. Nothing wrong with that, but my own (undocumented) stories from that particular trip are slightly more adventurous.
Today, we have books about Jerry from skilled biographers, we have Phil’s own take and there’s a smattering of efforts from fans, and from the academic community to describe and catalog the Grateful Dead experience. I feel like what’s missing is a platform for Deadheads to tell their own tales. I am envisioning a data-based structure where hundred of stories from each show can be curated, and possibly edited into a group writing experiment.
What really happened between the notes on a given night? Ask the hive mind. With so many real life stories, photos, video and drawings to pull from, the hive delivers fractal-like reflections of a place in time and space, 2000-plus times over. Also, these narrative accounts of Grateful Dead shows would be fun to match up against the audio recordings. We know what it sounded like on a particular night thanks to soundboard and audience tapes, but what did it feel like? The liner notes from fans can help answer that.
My cousin Joshua is Tour Manager for The Band of Heathens, a rock band from Austin, TX. I’m glad he is, because it’s a cool job with an impressive band. Plus, it meant we were on the guest list Saturday night at Mississippi Studios in North Portland!
Knowing that Joshua has been working with this band, I’ve been checking out their music on Spotify and via free downloads from their site for the past few months. There’s also a great collection of live shows on Archive.org, many of them recorded and uploaded by Joshua, a.k.a. Joshua Cain.
They’re “kinda like if Rimbaud, Keats, and Rilke strapped on guitars and hooked up with a bad ass rhythm section… literary and sinfully cool,” says, Texas music legend Ray Wylie Hubbard, who produced the band’s first studio album. The Heathens were also voted “Best New Band” at the 2007 Austin Music Awards. And the band’s second and third albums–One Foot In The Ether and Top Hat Crown & the Clapmaster’s Son, respectively–have done particularly well on the Americana charts. In 2009, they appeared on Austin City Limits with Elvis Costello.
In other words, this outfit is going places. Now that we’ve seen them perform live in the cozy confines of Mississippi Studios, it’s easy to see why. Frontmen, Ed Jurdi and Gordy Quist are great singer/songwriters and performers. Keyboardist Trevor Nealon also made quite an impression. It was also fun for me to see Jurdi wearing a Dancing Bear patch on his jacket. I love how many musicians are influenced by Jerry Garcia, particularly so when it’s not obvious in their music. The Band of Heathens isn’t a jam band. It’s a rock band than jams a Texas-brand of country.
Speaking of jams, I love how they worked “Rain” by The Beatles into their Portland set on Saturday. Perfect song in the right place. I also totally enjoyed the band’s cover of Gillian Welch’s “Look at Miss Ohio” which appears on One Foot In The Ether. Their originals “Jackson Station,” “Hurricane” and “Medicine Man” also stood out.
If you like a music informed by gospel, Mississippi Delta blues, Texas hill country balladeers and psychedelic rock, give the Heathens a listen and look for them on tour. I didn’t get the full impact of their music until Saturday night, much like I didn’t get the full impact of Grateful Dead’s music until that fateful night at the Spectrum in 1985.
Since moving to Portland, Oregon in 2008 I’ve been digging on emerging acts like Weinland, Blind Pilot and Blitzen Trapper. But some of top indie rocks acts in the world are also living and working in Puddletown, and their sizable ripples are being felt on coasts near and far.
Modest Mouse, The Shins, The Decemberists and Spoon are all tied to this two-rivers city in some way, and The Shins first new album in five years is on a lot of playlists right now, mine included.
The New York Times notes that with “Port of Morrow” James Mercer, 41, faces what could be his biggest challenge. “Since the Shins were last heard from he has dismissed the rest of the band and remade it as a semipermanent collective of well-traveled professionals, and also moved further away from the Shins’ scruffy origins with a tightly produced, eclectic record. Will his fans accept the changes?”
The touring version of the Shins includes the guitarist Jessica Dobson, who has played with Beck; the bassist Yuuki Matthews, of the band Crystal Skulls; Joe Plummer, the drummer in Modest Mouse; and Richard Swift, a songwriter and go-to indie producer.
The Times doesn’t mention anything about “Port of Morrow” reaching new fans. But I consider myself a new fan, even though I’ve been listening to “Chutes Too Marrow” for some time now.
Greg Kot of Chicago Tribune argues that the results are decidedly mixed:
Fans of the band’s relatively modest indie releases may find the production oddly sparkly, layered with keyboards, wordless harmonies, and exotic little noisemakers and ear-catching details. But Mercer’s gift for the insinuating melody remains acute, and his lyrics have never been more straight-forward.
I don’t feel that the results are mixed, but as I said, I am a relatively new fan, so I’m not carrying a cart full of indie rock baggage.
By the way, Port of Morrow, near Boardman, Oregon, contains all the industrial infrastructure you’ll need to grow your business.
