In Slate today, Taylor Clark declared our -Ist-less neighbor to the south "America's indie rock Mecca," then spent several paragraphs dropping names and figuring out why. His conclusion?

It's easy to live here. In the words of a friend of mine who used to be the music editor at the local alt-weekly, Portland is like a resort community for indie rockers who spend half the year working themselves ragged on tour. You can venture into public dressed like a convicted sex offender or a homeless person, and no one looks at you askew. It's lush and green. Housing is affordable, especially compared with Seattle or San Francisco. The people are nice. The food is good. Creativity is the highest law. For young, hip Portlanders, financial success is a barista job that subsidizes your Romanian-space-folk band or your collages of cartoon unicorns.

For some unknown reason Moby's show at the Paramount is sold out. His most recent album, 'Hotel,' is amazingly bland and forgetable. Actually, now that we think about it the album before that was also amazingly bland and forgetable. According to Moby's website, 'Hotel' has gone gold or platinum in France, Germany, Uk, Switzerland, Poland, Belgium, Austria, Portugal, and Italy. Sure, the U.S. may have Focus on the Family's James Dobson, Bill Frist and Fox's 'Life on a Stick' but at least Moby's album hasn't gone gold. Frankly, that is enough to make us want to stand up and recite the Pledge of Allegiance. On second thought since Moby always sports cool glasses, maybe the crowd is just looking for some fashion tips. more ›