Isabel Zacharias

The first thing you learn is not to sit down. “You don’t seem timid,” says the taller guy in thin wireframe glasses, one of the men—almost all men—milling around this place like it’s their living room. “But I thought I’d warn you, if you sit down, guys will start flocking around you.” No, I’m not timid; my feeling on entering the Oregon Theater on Southeast Division Street isn’t embarrassment but incredulity.

The week leading up to trumpeter Theo Croker’s Oct. 8 show in Portland was one of beginnings — the first week of the month, the second week of autumn, and only the second stop on his first extensive American & European tour since COVID-19 brought live music to a halt. It’s tempting to be dismissive of “quarantine albums” — those much-memed-about projects that musicians of all levels had time to tinker with in 2020 as an alternative to twiddling their thumbs.

“I’m waiting for it to catch up,” says a voice from a frozen face, a frozen screen — “It’s like an echo chamber right now.” The invisible tether connecting our three apartments appears to be thinning; out beyond us, we are orbited by space junk moving faster than the morning sun, in the weight of 5500 tons. We are so far into a pandemic that we’re used to it; we’ll just wait a few moments and hope the connection wakes up. “Can you ask it one more time?” says Leah.