Portland-based songwriter-self producer Kelly Bauman pens honest, psych-tinged Alt Country songs. Perhaps someday for a movie. Or even a clothing store.

Kelly Bauman

Stuck somewhere between Springsteen's Nebraska and Talk Talk's Laughing Stock, Bauman's quiet-ish songs sound lost, but somehow graceful and bittersweet. Cold lyrics of dying love on the Oregon Coast and moral corruption at a father's funeral perform last rights on twangy, campfire guitar and simple, often slow rhythms. Ultimately, these songs are as honest as the voices that haunt them…ghosts still reside in these melodies.

Even though you’ll find the occasional Byrds-y, psychedelic pop song in Bauman’s past and work, you've probably already gathered that these songs are not tomorrow's most frequently downloaded ring tones, or the next myspace phenomena. And they don't need to be - Bauman is settling in for the long haul, seeking catalog and honest craft business; career songs that will still matter when the robots reign.

Break it down:

You could say that these songs owe something to their suburban, California roots, but it's hard to say exactly what – making out the blurry details of the sixteen years since he first laid ears on Sonic Youth and the Replacements isn't easy. In fact, for this Portland based songwriter, all that's left of those years are piles of recordings and faint memories of pawn shop guitars, Albuquerque, failing transmissions, and one ill-fated attempt at DIY root canal in Seattle.

Bauman's first band, Case for Radio, were kids playing loose and jangling pop songs, nodding reverently to bombast of Sonic Youth, but with the hooks of the 'Mats Ride. They stayed close to home, playing small towns and eventually made it as far north as Bellingham, WA where they achieved what every kid dreams of: college girls and underage beer. The band's most memorable show, however, ended in a daring escape out the window of a fairgrounds bathroom. Hired to play the Red Bluff "Round Up", the band had to abort mission when the wide-brimmed crowd slowly came to the conclusion that there would be no country music that night – only a barrage of weirdo Violent Femmes and REM covers.

Such adventures didn't thwart the band; they put out two records on California label Devil in the Woods before calling it quits. The second disc even featured label owner/ex-28th Day (Rough Trade) Mike Cloward on drums. The high school band earned earned a glowing review from Fred Mills who, at the time, wrote for the BOB and currently edits at Magnet.

From there, the details are hazy but well documented. Bauman's most notable Noise Pop group, Deathstar, was poorly named but showed great promise. After releases on St. Francis and San Diego's Silvergirl Records, and numerous high volume gigs at Spaceland, No Life Records, live on KCMU, the band eventually succumbed to relocating members, and immature squabbling. All the while, Bauman paid the bills drumming for what was at the time, DGCs newest tax write-off: Harvester.

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