Portland City Bouncers
(to the tune of New York City Cops)

Playin' with my camera so mechanized
You're at the bottom, filled with spite
Studied all the rules didn't want no part
You caught me filming right at the start
Even though it was for only 30 seconds
It was...kinda strange

You sent your goons
To say it was time to go now
But nabbin' me ain't easy
When you've got to get through
When you've got to get though
Throngs of hipsters movin' so slow
And I can't stop thinkin'
Portland City bouncers
Portland City bouncers
Portland City bouncers
They ain't too niiiiiiiice

Fine, these bouncers had a job to do and I was blatantly breaking the rules. Nevertheless, I wasn't filming the Strokes performance for distribution on the iny-net. I was mindlessly playing with my camera to see what a live performance would sound like later. Despite sitting in the balcony, an eagle-eyed bouncer spotted me, made a "that jackass is filming this" gesture to one of his coworkers and sent him upstairs. I put the camera away and, after being daunted by a clogged standing room only corridor, his muscle-bound crony went back downstairs.

During the course of the show, Eagle-Eye spent the rest of show shooting nasty looks my way while singing along with the band. I wasn't the only one subjected to his wrath. "Queen Autumn," seated nearby, was given a stern lecture for something equally small-time.

In his efforts to make everyone upstairs behave themselves, Eage-Eye overlooked the countless pushing-and-shoving kids downstairs with their digital cameras held high and the waves of misdemeanor smoke drifting out of their throng. Watching him howl out the lyrics to "New York City Cops," without the slightest hint of irony, was the highlight of the show.

As for the Strokes, they came close to rawking but...only managed to rock. Despite the quality of their music, I, like so many others, can't get over the fact that the band's background. If the Velvet Underground, one of the band's obvious influences, was a house band for Andy Warhol, the Strokes would be a perfect fit for Calvin Kline's crashpad of decadence.

Barely pausing between songs, Cassanova and the rest blasted through their catalog in a fantastic but all too short/too expensive set. Afterwards, one member kicked over the drums as a signal to the crowd that there wasn't the slightest chance they'd be back for encore. Maybe they were eager to get back to all that Guinness at the Oditorium. Or maybe the Strokes are the star-fucking posuers everyone claims they are.

So to spite the band and Eagle Eye, I've decided to post what I filmed below. Click here to get a look at my ill-gotten, low-quality bounty. Take that, you bullies! HA! Vengence is mine!