The first time music and people from the party at 4845 N.E. 10th Ave. spilled out into yard and beyond, surrounding residents brushed it off as the kind of minor annoyance good neighbors put up with every now and then.



Then the crowd came back. Again and again. Neighbors complained. Again and again.



Finally, one nearby homeowner did some Googling and discovered that tenants at this rental property -- a squat, 1,300-square-foot gray cottage -- were advertising their house on Portland-area music websites as "the Substation," a home-based club and concert venue.



"I definitely did this sort of thing when I was younger," said Mark Berrettini, an associate professor of theater arts at Portland State and a Substation neighbor. "But we didn't have the police called on us, and we didn't live in a neighborhood like this -- a residential neighborhood where people with full-time jobs live with their small children."



This kind of complaint is becoming all-too-common to Portland regulators. They say a rising music scene and a sinking economy have combined to trigger a leap in home-based clubs serving young music lovers and infuriating nearby homeowners. Along with the Substation, Northeast Portland boasts "The Chicken Ranch," "The Bath House," "The Farm House" and "Fleetwood Shac," all houses in quiet residential neighborhoods billed as potential concert venues on local music websites.



"Portland is getting expensive," said Paul Van Orden, the city's noise control officer. "If you can pay your rent by having one or two of these shows a month, that's tempting."



Like Berrettini, I feel very middle-aged complaining about home concerts. After all, a vibrant underground music scene is part of that funky, weird, DIY ethos we Portlanders hold so dear. Yet house parties and home concerts violate city and state policies -- not to mention a certain common courtesy. You can't run a business out of your house without the appropriate permits, can't sell liquor without proper licenses and aren't supposed to make any noise in your house after 10 p.m. that can be heard in a neighbor's home. Also, you shouldn't be a thoughtless jerk.



It's not just the noise. Concertgoers gobble up parking and lock their bikes to strangers' fences and trees. They leave behind empty beer cans, cigarette butts and, depending on the amount of alcohol consumed and the number of available bathrooms, much worse. They take business away from properly licensed clubs.



But these illicit shows are also tough to stop. Police have more important crimes to solve. The recession, and the ensuing drop in new construction, have forced layoffs at Portland's Bureau of Development Services, which enforces zoning and noise laws. City regulators say the onus is on neighbors to document every instance of inappropriate behavior and complain as often and to as many city employees as possible.



"This is a classic livability issue, but most of what we do right now is put out fires," Van Orden said. "When the pressure really starts being applied, the organizers of these things usually move them somewhere else."



That seems to be what's happening on 10th Avenue. The city opened a file on the Substation in January. When I called homeowner Ross Yocum at his Vancouver mortgage brokerage this week, he said he put a stop to the events as soon as he received a complaint from the city.



"The tenants have ceased all that activity," he said. "It's taken care of."



I wanted to ask when he first heard complaints from neighbors but did not get a chance. Yocum had already hung up.



-- Anna Griffin

twitter.com/annargriff

