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Bumbershoot 2007
Aug. 30th, 2007 07:35 pmbumbershoot starts saturday morning.
I may or may not be going this year.
I may or may not be going all three days.
it's an interesting year. I've gone, I believe, at least one day every year since arriving in Seattle in 1996. I missed that year, 'cuz![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
twocrows and I moved here like...um...20 seconds before it started and didn't really know about it yet.
so...if I go this year, it'll be the 11th time.
but it's different this year. in previous years, there's always been something (usually several things) on the docket that made me go "wow! is this guy on the level?" - stuff that I really actively and specifically wanted to see.
there was the Lou Reed show in...fuck, I don't know...2000?
there was the Motorhead show at noon, outdoors, on a sunny Sunday morning.
there was Quasi, who put on probably the worst show of the half dozen or so I've seen them do.
there was the Magnetic Fields, playing during the year that everyone was constantly listening to 69 Love Songs.
there was Billy Bragg, who had the whole audience being Diggers and standing up for glory (standing up now).
there was the Old 97s. and the Old 97s. and, when we got tired of that, Rhett fucking Miller.
there was Jai Uttal, whom I saw there about 3 weeks after hearing of them (him) for the first time.
there was Jessica Lurie's awesome band, the Living Daylights.
there was Mojo Nixon, who to this day is the only performer I've ever seen actually make a Seattle audience rock (the fuck) out.
there was always, seemingly, some former member of Parliament present.
there was the drum circle, the flaming armadillo of doom, the buskers. I can only assume there was, at some point, Mary Lou Lord.
and Wilco was there. and Kristin Hersh. and Patton Oswalt. and Sarah Silverman. and McGoddamnSweeneys. and Robyn Hitchcock. Plato, Pluto, Monroe, Garbo - all between the sheets. Greg Hischak took off his pants. or maybe that was me. but he was there too, doing some fucking thing.
my god, where have the years gone?
and through it all was the beer garden. the one with the tree in the middle. the one where I often find Crazy Ellen. the one where Ashley told me the funny tale of his cell phone antenna until I blew snot all over a table full of strangers, thereby securing us seats. the one where Doug's friend called us on the cell phone (we'd all just gotten cell phones) and asked us where we were *EVERY* 75 goddamn seconds for 30 solid minutes in a row only to be told "WE'RE IN THE BEER GARDEN!!!" every single time. "I can't find you!" he'd reply. I finally seized the phone from Doug and screamed into it "WE'RE IN THE BEER GARDEN AND IF YOU CALL BACK AGAIN, WE'RE GOING TO GANG RAPE YOU!" he found us a few minutes later and sat as far away from me as possible for the rest of the day. the one where we missed this show, and that show, and the other show 'cuz we were having too much fun gassing about the mouth. the one where we watched the sun go down - on the day, on the festival, on the Seattle we used to know and love, on the OK Hotel, on the Sit-and-Spin, on Ileens, on the Green Cat, on the Vogue, on Moe's (old Moe's), on the pre-bullshit Frontier Room, on Habitat Espresso, on that place that Boutell liked, on Charlie Chong, on Ellen Craswell, on WTO, on whose-streets-our-streets, on acid or mushrooms but mostly on acid, on tear gas, on tears, on nitrous, on the Needle, on the 90s (dear god, how can we miss the 90s?), on Dasher, on Dancer, and on the illusion that anyone on the planet today is going to live long enough to die of old age.
yeah. like I was saying, the beer garden.
and like I was saying, this year feels different. but to tell the truth, I don't really feel like talking about why or how anymore. it just doesn't seem very interesting right now.
suffice to say:
I'll be there. or I won't. I'll see some things. or I won't. if I see them, I'll blog them. if I don't, I'll blog about fuchsia.
maybe I'll see you there.
I may or may not be going this year.
I may or may not be going all three days.
it's an interesting year. I've gone, I believe, at least one day every year since arriving in Seattle in 1996. I missed that year, 'cuz
twocrows and I moved here like...um...20 seconds before it started and didn't really know about it yet.so...if I go this year, it'll be the 11th time.
but it's different this year. in previous years, there's always been something (usually several things) on the docket that made me go "wow! is this guy on the level?" - stuff that I really actively and specifically wanted to see.
there was the Lou Reed show in...fuck, I don't know...2000?
there was the Motorhead show at noon, outdoors, on a sunny Sunday morning.
there was Quasi, who put on probably the worst show of the half dozen or so I've seen them do.
there was the Magnetic Fields, playing during the year that everyone was constantly listening to 69 Love Songs.
there was Billy Bragg, who had the whole audience being Diggers and standing up for glory (standing up now).
there was the Old 97s. and the Old 97s. and, when we got tired of that, Rhett fucking Miller.
there was Jai Uttal, whom I saw there about 3 weeks after hearing of them (him) for the first time.
there was Jessica Lurie's awesome band, the Living Daylights.
there was Mojo Nixon, who to this day is the only performer I've ever seen actually make a Seattle audience rock (the fuck) out.
there was always, seemingly, some former member of Parliament present.
there was the drum circle, the flaming armadillo of doom, the buskers. I can only assume there was, at some point, Mary Lou Lord.
and Wilco was there. and Kristin Hersh. and Patton Oswalt. and Sarah Silverman. and McGoddamnSweeneys. and Robyn Hitchcock. Plato, Pluto, Monroe, Garbo - all between the sheets. Greg Hischak took off his pants. or maybe that was me. but he was there too, doing some fucking thing.
my god, where have the years gone?
and through it all was the beer garden. the one with the tree in the middle. the one where I often find Crazy Ellen. the one where Ashley told me the funny tale of his cell phone antenna until I blew snot all over a table full of strangers, thereby securing us seats. the one where Doug's friend called us on the cell phone (we'd all just gotten cell phones) and asked us where we were *EVERY* 75 goddamn seconds for 30 solid minutes in a row only to be told "WE'RE IN THE BEER GARDEN!!!" every single time. "I can't find you!" he'd reply. I finally seized the phone from Doug and screamed into it "WE'RE IN THE BEER GARDEN AND IF YOU CALL BACK AGAIN, WE'RE GOING TO GANG RAPE YOU!" he found us a few minutes later and sat as far away from me as possible for the rest of the day. the one where we missed this show, and that show, and the other show 'cuz we were having too much fun gassing about the mouth. the one where we watched the sun go down - on the day, on the festival, on the Seattle we used to know and love, on the OK Hotel, on the Sit-and-Spin, on Ileens, on the Green Cat, on the Vogue, on Moe's (old Moe's), on the pre-bullshit Frontier Room, on Habitat Espresso, on that place that Boutell liked, on Charlie Chong, on Ellen Craswell, on WTO, on whose-streets-our-streets, on acid or mushrooms but mostly on acid, on tear gas, on tears, on nitrous, on the Needle, on the 90s (dear god, how can we miss the 90s?), on Dasher, on Dancer, and on the illusion that anyone on the planet today is going to live long enough to die of old age.
yeah. like I was saying, the beer garden.
and like I was saying, this year feels different. but to tell the truth, I don't really feel like talking about why or how anymore. it just doesn't seem very interesting right now.
suffice to say:
I'll be there. or I won't. I'll see some things. or I won't. if I see them, I'll blog them. if I don't, I'll blog about fuchsia.
maybe I'll see you there.
