Several weeks ago, I was having a conversation and the Pacific Northwest came up. More specifically, the music scene. I argued that between Portland and Seattle, Portland had the better scene even though Seattle got all the attention (and most of the record deals). The thing about Portland music is that there was no such thing as a Portland Sound. If you MADE a sound and you were authentic, there was a good chance you would gather a following.
They didn’t come any more authentic than Dharma Bums. Even though it feels like they came and went in a heartbeat, they left an indelible mark on Portland (and Northwest) music and in my memory.
You can hear a range of influences in their music, including 60s jangly pop, and all kinds of variations of rock. They blended those influences to make a sound of their own in songs that stuck with you long after their shows ended. And those live shows? Legendary.
The first time I saw them live was more or less on a whim. My roommate and I had heard about them and decided to check them out. It probably took 20 seconds for them to become my favorite band. They rocked hard and joked around a lot—often at the same time.** I left every show with a smile on my face and ringing ears (and a few bruises from the mosh pit).
They attracted a large and very loyal following that extended well beyond the Pacific Northwest. Even though it’s been decades since their breakup, the fan love remains so powerful that it inspired a tribute album.
At a point when so much of my life was crashing around me, seeing a poster announcing an upcoming show provided a lifeline. Satyricon, Pine Street Theater, Blue Gallery: those were my safe spaces. My sanctuaries where I could forget about everything else going on and just get lost in the music.
While describing what their shows (and the venues) were like, I sent my friend links to albums and some articles. And since the Interwebs are always watching, I started getting served random show poster images, including this one of a show I remembered going to. The Nostalgia Bus, came for me, so I whipped out the credit card and gladly paid the fare.
That conversation also sent me back down the rabbit hole as I started re-listening to their albums. Fifty-plus songs and not a single skip.
History repeated itself as the Bums came back into my consciousness just when I needed a soft space for my mind to rest while I navigated another set of (much-needed) life changes. Their music has been my companion on my daily walks.*** I’ve even upped my trips around the pond from three to four after I was vibing so deeply with the music one day that I accidentally walked an extra lap.
Even though there are a lot of years behind us, and now I hear and process these songs with older, somewhat world-weary ears (and my drink of choice while listening has switched from pitchers of beer to Liquid IV), it’s still an absolute banger of a playlist.
If you never heard their music in the 80s and 90s, I’m sorry that you missed out because there are some moments of pure magic on those albums.
One of those moments for me is A Place to Be. Every time it comes on, I feel like Jim Talstra’s bass**** is the hammock that gently sways in perfect time, and Eric Lovre’s guitar offers a soft breeze as Jeremy Wilson weaves his words into stories. Also, this song ⬇️. Shimmery guitar, gorgeous poetry, and an absolutely intoxicating bass line. Just. Magical.
If you asked me to make a playlist, I probably would just send you the whole catalog because there is just so much great music in it that I wouldn’t be able to leave any song out (goodness knows, I’ve tried to link up as much of their catalog in this post as I can get away with LOL).
Those of us who never (or very rarely) missed a show were certain they were on the edge of their big label breakthrough. But the record industry rarely rewards authenticity, and that was especially true in the days before YouTube and TikTok.
So, instead of breaking through, the Dharma Bums broke up around 1992.*****
They’ve all kept playing in one form or another over the last few decades (I was fortunate enough to make it to The Decemberists‘ show in the Bay Area after John Moen joined the group), and the Bums have played a reunion show or two along the way. Following a health scare, Jeremy Wilson created a non-profit foundation that helps musicians cover unplanned medical costs. If you’ve got a few bucks burning a hole in your pocket, it’s a good cause to support.
They were four guys from down around Silverton, OR, whose love of music ran so deep that they transformed those musical influences into an incredible body of work that rocked fans to our core and kept us coming back night after night.
They deserved so much more, but I’m so grateful that my timeline met up with theirs. Their music held me together when everything else was falling apart and those albums (and memories of their shows) forever hold a place of honor in my heart.
If you never got to see them live (or want to relive the experience), I stumbled on a video showing a live performance in Texas plus interviews with the guys.
*Part of the title of this post references this song (CW: SA).
**My sincere apologies to the Canada goose that I startled when Cockroach Au-Go-Go came up on the playlist, and I laughed myself into a wheezing fit. (IYKYK)
***And they sound so much better when I remember to mute Slack and text notifications 🤦🏼♀️.
****For real, I’d be willing to pay extra for bonus isolated bass tracks for pretty much any band/album. But Talstra’s instincts and talent are so on the money that I’ll get these random earworms that I can’t quite place, only to realize later it’s one of his bass lines that has burrowed into my subconscious.
****I’m not saying that this was the reason why I peaced-out and left Portland in ‘93…but I’m not NOT saying it.