ights are getting long, which might be good if you like long nights filled with music. But damn, it's getting cold! Having no expectations nor obligations on a long, cold Wednesday night, I find myself in a mixed-up state, pushed and pulled by mandate of a band named Easy, Tiger at Tiger Bar.

Tiger Bar is the elbow-bender's version of a mash-up song: part Tube, part Ohm, part Cascade Bar and Grill (the type of place with a two-acre gravel parking lot).

Krys No: angry-soul singing at Tiger Bar (317 NW Broadway). [photos by Steven Poole; © 2002]

It's a good thing, though, because Tiger Bar seems much truer to Portland's character than trendier, more pretentious joints. It's a smallish, dark room with about eight tables and a short bar; the perfect size for intimate music or an after-work tipple.

Low light casts the brick-and-green walls in soothing relief. The bartenders are fast, effective and friendly. They even hang adventurous, outside-the-mainstream art every First Thursday.

Even with all the positives, Tiger Bar comes off as unpretentious and low budget, something my friend and I – and the young, comfortably dressed crowd – all seem to enjoy.

Easy, Tiger (Krys No, Niall Davids and Brent Williams from HEADSCOpE) is petitioning tonight for an alternating Wednesday-night house gig for its stripped-down, ambient take on HEADSCOpE's dark, gothic electronic rock. I'm not sure if coincidence or graft brought Easy, Tiger and Tiger Bar together, but the shoe fits.

Niall Davids: sinuous melodies.

Impressionistic video projections from and of the group (taped and broadcast live while they play) splash across the wall, reverse water-droplet images (a personal favorite) and other sundry scenes of ocular wonder mesh with live-action footage of the set. The effect is subtle, especially with the band's low-key presence.

But sparse beats, samples and a little live instrumentation form a somewhat unimpressive backdrop for vocalist No's contemporary angry-soul singing on the first couple of songs.

Without a strong harmonic background, these passive melodies just move back and forth with the other sounds, creating little fire.

Soon enough, as if abducted by aliens, I suffer a bit of lost-time syndrome – when suddenly they announce their last song. What happened in that hour between my carping and now?

Brent Williams: stringy guitar solos.

As best as I can reconstruct, reverb appeared, and delay, then dub was summoned. Minds were lost. Stringy guitar solos folded over themselves, No began chanting and humming, bobbing on her mic-stand like a tribal shaman with a cane. Then came more singing and more sinuous melodies as tempos slowed, grooves meditated and the room thickened with vibration.

Easy, Tiger comes alive when channeling both aspects of its name: easy atmospheric funk like the late, lamented Sky Cries Mary, and the teeth and claws of a strong presentation and graceful knob twiddling.

Neither Easy, Tiger nor Tiger Bar seem to strive to be the newest, flashiest or most cutting-edge, but both seem comfortable within the confines of their chosen worlds, doing the best at what they do.