Mostly Bears — all awesome.

A couple of Saturdays ago, while packing for a weeklong visit to my old stomping ground of Portland, Ore., a rather spirited e-mail made me smile. It came from Brian Lopez, lead singer and guitarist for the Tucson alt-rock trio, Mostly Bears -- one of my favorite, left-field discoveries of the year (check out my CD Spin of their first full-length release, The Ed Mitchell Clinic, in the CL archives) who, to my delight, were scheduled to play P-town while I was there.

"hey amanda! sorry for the late response -- we are out on the wild road. ... we are headlining [the] Towne Lounge show. ... so [we go on at] 11:30 pm-ish. ... We will put you on the guest list plus one and we most definitely look forward to meeting you. Thank you so much for the great review you gave us in the Sarasota publication. ... I assure you that we are even better live;) so give me call if need be, otherwise we will see you real soon! Brian"

A week and a half later, I -- accompanied by an old friend and fellow rabid Bears fan -- walked into the venue on a quiet Tuesday night. It's a wonky little place, cavernous and not the most ideal spot for the wall of sound unleashed by the barely year-old Bears. The cover was a whopping six bucks (though by the end of the show, I felt obliged to give 'em 10). As the second act wrapped up, I instantly recognized Lopez across the room from his pic -- and that dark, voluminous head of hair.

An early-20something Lopez and I introduced ourselves while my PDX pal, Aric Miller -- whom many Sarasotans knew during his tenure here -- chatted up Bears drummer Nick Wantland in the men's room. "I told him they were soon to be a well-known secret," Miller said, laughing at the fledgling band's affable, even giddy dispositions. Wantland and co. were really looking forward to the gig, all the while applying Day-Glo body paint like some warriors about to come out and play.

The shirtless Lopez, Wantland and bassist Geoffrey Hidalgo took the stage for a 20-30 minute performance -- highlighted by album opener "The Digital Divide," the most epic and assured debut since The Arcade Fire's "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)" (to whom they've often been compared, along with a formative Radiohead and the Mars Volta). All black-light and bravado, Lopez, a charismatic frontman with a yowl that's going places, and tight rhythm section Hidalgo and Wantland kicked ass, however briefly.

The room maxed-out at about 20 people -- a pittance, especially given these kids' considerable talents. But it was a Tuesday night (even in Portland), and to hear the band talk about it, they couldn't have been happier. Well aware of their following -- or present lack thereof away from their home turf -- they had no expectations, and were simply jazzed to be there. In fact, the Bears seemed jazzed about mostly everything, including their makeshift matron saint and proponent, yours truly.

"You have to have a T-shirt, we would love it," Hidalgo insisted to me after the abbreviated set, which they explained they cut short as a courtesy to the venue staffers and bartenders if the crowd is on the weak side. Within a few minutes, Hidalgo proudly, and yes, enthusiastically, returned from the merch table, band tee in tow. I gotta admit, the wide-eyed positivity was infectious: I was pretty damned pumped to don it in turn.

As they broke down their gear, we scrambled to find a nearby watering hole to meet up with the guys, who were staying with a friend in town before their next stop, Oakland. The kitschy, strict Matador was out -- Wantland, a fierce percussionist able to leap changing time signatures in a seemingly single bound, isn't yet legal drinking age. But a few blocks away, over a pitcher of PBR, we broke beer with the Bears, manically attempting to get the face and body paint off of each other like some pleasant, harmless tweakers.

Last call signaled the end of the evening, and I played tour guide in my home away from home, guiding the band back to main Portland drag, West Burnside. They were hungry -- as ravenous, growing Bears can be, and it was past 2 a.m. But a glance up the block brought another smile to my face, and to my excitable new friends. There it was, the landmark 24-hour Mickey D's, complete with patented "walk-up window."

I don't recall who exclaimed, "Awesome!" first, but I had almost as much fun meeting these kids as they have doing, um, everything.

For more information on Mostly Bears, visit blogs.creativeloafing.com/the941.