Wild times with Panther
Chaos on stage is West Coast band's claim to fame
Call the voicemail of musician Charlie Salas-Humara, and you get a series of shrieks, high-pitched and striated, that fade first into a kind of low animalistic baying and then into a deep groan-gurgle. It's the noise of a man stuck in the throes of a panic attack, or a half-starved bear stuck in a steel trap.
"Um, actually, yeah, that's my wife's dog," Salas-Humara explains, calling back a few moments later. "He grew on me, so I taught him the most random word I could think of, which is mutton, and now whenever you say 'mutton,' he makes those sounds."
One could be forgiven for thinking it was Salas-Humara himself. For about half a decade, the 34-year-old has helmed Panther, the fiercely manic Portland, Ore.-based musical circus that plays the Milky Way Lounge & Lanes in Jamaica Plain tonight. When asked if there's anyone out there doing what he's doing, Salas-Humara says, "Wait, let me think about that." Three long seconds pass. Then: "No. No, I guess I can't really think of anyone."
Hutch Harris, half of the Portland political punk legends the Thermals, says, "What [is Panther] doing that no one else in Portland is? Sniffing glue. The live show is awesome. Although if you just wandered in and didn't know whose show it was, you might think some homeless kids had just jumped onstage and started going crazy on the instruments."
Adds his bandmate, Kathy Foster: Panther likes "to get drunk, get sweaty, take their shirts off, and make noise, and loop it all through effects pedals. When you see them, don't expect to hear that one hit song you like, because they're already on to the next thing. But do expect your ears and eyes to be assaulted, in the best way possible, of course."
Even by the standards of Portland's traffic-jam of a music scene - ground zero for half the nation's metalheads and a sizable contingent of so-called backpack rappers - Panther has clawed out its own status as a master of the topsy-turvy, flash-bang, what-just-happened-to-me live show. The band traffics in what Salas-Humara has called "damaged pop. It's hectic, confusing, and on a stage it can be more like performance art. Really degenerative performance art."
Panther started life as a solo side project for Salas-Humara, who has played in dozens of bands since moving from Chicago in 1995. (The best-known of the bunch: an eminently noisy exercise called the Planet The.) Last year, the Portland boutique label Fryk Beat released "Secret Lawns," which was painted in big, brash electroclash strokes; this spring, Panther signed with Kill Rock Stars and recruited a drummer, Joe Kelly.
Together, the two wrote "14 Kt. God," an album, Salas-Humara says, that "owes more to Black Flag than Fela Kuti." Both reference points are telling. "14 Kt. God" relies on a host of international influences, from the sinewy thump of "Beautiful Condo" to "
"It was definitely one of the fastest recording processes I've ever been involved with," says Kelly, who previously played in 31 Knots, a fixture on Portland's rock scene. "Some of the songs I had only played two or three times by the time we got into the studio. That can bring impulsive results."
Exhibit A: "Puerto Rican Jukebox," a barnstormer of a dance track that shuttles between a low shout and a soprano squeak. Kelly's drums drive the low end, Salas-Humara trills in a slinky vamp, and the whole big thing shakes, shudders, and bends.
"Joe brought a real natural swing to ['Puerto Rican Jukebox']," says Salas-Humara. "It's a song where you can hear the Cuban, Puerto Rican, Ethiopian influences. It's real rhythmic."
Live, the song's become a rallying call for Panther fans.
"It can sink into total madness," Salas-Humara says. "I end up looping my vocals and jump into the crowd. And then we get too drunk and get wild and overdo it." He stops. "Well, I guess it's a good chance to experiment. We still love to experiment - it seems like more fun to push ourselves. And to push the audience." 