Album Review: Chris Portka – The Album Everyone Wants
Chris Portka is a courageous man. He used to do the "daily pages" thing for 10 years. As he confessed in an interview to the outlet you're reading, he learned two things. Not too little, not too much.
One of them is that he likes music. This explains a lot. Including the title of his new album "The Album Everyone Wants". If anyone wants anything, it's not albums. They say people don't even listen to full songs. If they listen to anything, it's 5-second snippets of music written and performed by no one cares who, accompanying silly videos of twerking dogs.
But who cares about the people who don't care who wrote and performed the songs? Some people do. I don't. My grandmother doesn't. And, most importantly for today's article, Chris Portka doesn't. Dogs may twerk all they want, people may ignore music longer than 5 seconds. And Chris may ignore the ignoring. And he does. He records albums. And these albums turn out pretty awesome.
Who is Chris Portka, though? The enlightened people will tell you Chris is a Bay Area artist (I wish I knew him when I lived in Petaluma) who is fond of improvisation, experimentation and other stuff like this. What else? Some people like to write, record and produce everything alone. He's one of those folks. Or, rather, used to be. Because "The Album Everyone Wants" has a million collaborators. And a ton of cover versions. Chris Portka world is now an open world. So let's jump in!
"She Looks So Good Tonight" paints with broad strokes: gentle acoustic guitar kisses, scratches of distorted guitars, bites of quirky sound fx, smacks and slaps of loose-jointed drums. Results? "Dreamy, windswept love song of heartache via ocean horizons and late-night revelations through the years; like Nick Drake with everything turned up to 11", if you are to believe the artist's own description.
"Fun in the Summer" is relaxed power pop that echoes Big Star as much as late era R.E.M. This music is like a surfer: it has impressive muscles, but radiates only chill vibes.
It is obvious (at least for some of us) that "It Is Obvious" is a Syd Barrett cover. What does it offer that the original did not? More jangly acoustic guitars! Robust groove!!! Walls of noisy guitars!!!!! It is obvious you can count us in.
Then comes a more meditative reinterpretation of cult classic "Dear Betty Baby", beautifully more accessible than the original, equipped with warm organ chords, satisfyingly chaotic sound FX and simple, almost tribal stomping drums. The track almost sounds like it was recorded the same year as Mayo Thompson's.
"Song to Carol" is beautiful both musically and lyrically. At its heart, it’s a quiet plea for connection and the return of someone deeply missed that sounds like The Velvet Underground trying on the doo-wop hat.
This mood is continued by "Poor Moon", made in the same factory, where the equipment may contain traces of doo-wop. Chris's version sounds even quirkier than the Canned Heat's original, and it adds an extra ultra-epic, cosmic perspective.
"Trucker Speed" is a version of a song by Fred Eaglesmith. The original is more a skeleton of a song, a contour of one. Chris's version adds muscles and skin to the skeleton. But the song is still pretty stripped down. No clothes yet. They might be added by another pop outsider in the next iteration.
Chris's version of "Broken Heart" is loose, spaced out and transcedental, while Skip Spence's original is earthly and achingly bittersweet. I'd argue that Chris adds a glimmer of hope to this dark classic.
Country standard "Tennessee Whiskey" fit surprisingly well into this collection of songs, probably due to the simplicity and straightforwardness of the song's lyrics that open an ocean of possibilities for interpretation.
Chris's rendition is interesting sonically – most of the production wouldn't sound out of place on a conventional country record, but the way it is mixed almost reduces it to a textural element. And the drums here just hammer above everything, like they've been sampled straight from an obscure Eastern European post punk jam.
"The Observer" rises above the whole picture, taking a loving look from bird's eye view, finding place for both the cosmic and the mundane:
my love turn off the screen and hold me
let's leave the city and grow real old in the country
in the milky way i’ll make you breakfast
come morning tell me once again why you love me
over fried eggs & grilled tortillas
Then we get down from the Milky Way and sit next to a campfire in the forest "under dark cover of the night". The warm and hopeful acoustic piece "Molly" soothes our souls, fades out and is then swallowed by a swarm of electronic insects making cold-hearted noises. And then the album ends.
Chris Portka’s The Album Everyone Wants doesn’t try to impress you — it simply unfolds, track by track, like a conversation among friends who know each other (and ’60s cult classics) well enough to skip the small talk. There’s a looseness to it, but also a deep attentiveness: to the songs, to their histories, to the way they can be reshaped without being stripped of their spirit. Chris treats these pieces less like sacred artifacts and more like living things that can still surprise him.
What’s striking is how naturally his own songs sit beside the covers — they don’t try to compete or imitate, yet they find a similar balance between raw power and vulnerability and feel just as weirdly eternal and essential to the album’s shape and mood. The record’s strength lies in its openness — to other voices, to imperfection, to the joy of making something together without worrying too much about where it will land. It’s a rare kind of honesty, and it lingers after the dark night swallows the last spark of the forest campfire and the last electronic buzz fades.
One of them is that he likes music. This explains a lot. Including the title of his new album "The Album Everyone Wants". If anyone wants anything, it's not albums. They say people don't even listen to full songs. If they listen to anything, it's 5-second snippets of music written and performed by no one cares who, accompanying silly videos of twerking dogs.
But who cares about the people who don't care who wrote and performed the songs? Some people do. I don't. My grandmother doesn't. And, most importantly for today's article, Chris Portka doesn't. Dogs may twerk all they want, people may ignore music longer than 5 seconds. And Chris may ignore the ignoring. And he does. He records albums. And these albums turn out pretty awesome.
Who is Chris Portka, though? The enlightened people will tell you Chris is a Bay Area artist (I wish I knew him when I lived in Petaluma) who is fond of improvisation, experimentation and other stuff like this. What else? Some people like to write, record and produce everything alone. He's one of those folks. Or, rather, used to be. Because "The Album Everyone Wants" has a million collaborators. And a ton of cover versions. Chris Portka world is now an open world. So let's jump in!
"She Looks So Good Tonight" paints with broad strokes: gentle acoustic guitar kisses, scratches of distorted guitars, bites of quirky sound fx, smacks and slaps of loose-jointed drums. Results? "Dreamy, windswept love song of heartache via ocean horizons and late-night revelations through the years; like Nick Drake with everything turned up to 11", if you are to believe the artist's own description.
"Fun in the Summer" is relaxed power pop that echoes Big Star as much as late era R.E.M. This music is like a surfer: it has impressive muscles, but radiates only chill vibes.
It is obvious (at least for some of us) that "It Is Obvious" is a Syd Barrett cover. What does it offer that the original did not? More jangly acoustic guitars! Robust groove!!! Walls of noisy guitars!!!!! It is obvious you can count us in.
Then comes a more meditative reinterpretation of cult classic "Dear Betty Baby", beautifully more accessible than the original, equipped with warm organ chords, satisfyingly chaotic sound FX and simple, almost tribal stomping drums. The track almost sounds like it was recorded the same year as Mayo Thompson's.
"Song to Carol" is beautiful both musically and lyrically. At its heart, it’s a quiet plea for connection and the return of someone deeply missed that sounds like The Velvet Underground trying on the doo-wop hat.
This mood is continued by "Poor Moon", made in the same factory, where the equipment may contain traces of doo-wop. Chris's version sounds even quirkier than the Canned Heat's original, and it adds an extra ultra-epic, cosmic perspective.
"Trucker Speed" is a version of a song by Fred Eaglesmith. The original is more a skeleton of a song, a contour of one. Chris's version adds muscles and skin to the skeleton. But the song is still pretty stripped down. No clothes yet. They might be added by another pop outsider in the next iteration.
Chris's version of "Broken Heart" is loose, spaced out and transcedental, while Skip Spence's original is earthly and achingly bittersweet. I'd argue that Chris adds a glimmer of hope to this dark classic.
Country standard "Tennessee Whiskey" fit surprisingly well into this collection of songs, probably due to the simplicity and straightforwardness of the song's lyrics that open an ocean of possibilities for interpretation.
Chris's rendition is interesting sonically – most of the production wouldn't sound out of place on a conventional country record, but the way it is mixed almost reduces it to a textural element. And the drums here just hammer above everything, like they've been sampled straight from an obscure Eastern European post punk jam.
"The Observer" rises above the whole picture, taking a loving look from bird's eye view, finding place for both the cosmic and the mundane:
my love turn off the screen and hold me
let's leave the city and grow real old in the country
in the milky way i’ll make you breakfast
come morning tell me once again why you love me
over fried eggs & grilled tortillas
Then we get down from the Milky Way and sit next to a campfire in the forest "under dark cover of the night". The warm and hopeful acoustic piece "Molly" soothes our souls, fades out and is then swallowed by a swarm of electronic insects making cold-hearted noises. And then the album ends.
Chris Portka’s The Album Everyone Wants doesn’t try to impress you — it simply unfolds, track by track, like a conversation among friends who know each other (and ’60s cult classics) well enough to skip the small talk. There’s a looseness to it, but also a deep attentiveness: to the songs, to their histories, to the way they can be reshaped without being stripped of their spirit. Chris treats these pieces less like sacred artifacts and more like living things that can still surprise him.
What’s striking is how naturally his own songs sit beside the covers — they don’t try to compete or imitate, yet they find a similar balance between raw power and vulnerability and feel just as weirdly eternal and essential to the album’s shape and mood. The record’s strength lies in its openness — to other voices, to imperfection, to the joy of making something together without worrying too much about where it will land. It’s a rare kind of honesty, and it lingers after the dark night swallows the last spark of the forest campfire and the last electronic buzz fades.