In a town as bird-crazy and politically correct as Portland, it came as no surprise that the addictive substance of choice was a holistic edible bird seed. The Portland scene was raw. In Bridgetown, locals don’t tan, they rust. And they don’t carry umbrellas. Here, pot is king, beer is micro-brewed, and gutter punks are treated like sacred cows. High on millet, The Monks enter The Mandala of the Migrating Hagfish, the Mystery Hole, and the biblical perversion of the Religious Right. We are granted audiences with “The Emperor,” Gus Van Sant, and his lieutenant, “The Man,” while the Road Babes, smelling of Medford innocence and Harvard legacy, chase us down the highway to the Da Kind Good Bob, a folkloric father figure to a generation of Protean youth in need of a home. We roam the Far Side of Highway 97, entering deep into the frump, funk, and edgy fun capital of America. Kurt Cobain was wrong: Portland isn’t just grunge. It’s mold.
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- Status: extremely rare, vintage, collectible.
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