Seattle, Part Two

Our first order of business after driving off the ferry (and thanks to an endless series of no-left-turn signs having to make our way back downtown all the way from Safeco field) is checking back into the Renaissance. Seattle can be a tight hotel town, but Melanie managed to get us another room from her cellphone as we were waiting to catch the ferry to Olympic a few days back. We're even able to get on Puget Sound side again, just not so high up this time.

Tonight's first order of business is a visit to the Experience Music Project, Microsoft founder Paul Allen's tribute to rock & roll at the foot of the Space Needle. I've read somewhere (apparently not here as I originally thought) that the best time to visit the EMP is on a Thursday night - I figure the place will be jam-packed any time (it opened just recently) so we may as well give it a shot now; if it's too crazy we can always try again tomorrow, our last day here. It's not crazy. Okay, the building itself looks ridiculous, a molten heap of multicolored reflective metal, but we pass through the towering glass doors unhindered and pay our $20 admission in no time. The ticket gets us use of the Museum Exhibit Guide (MEG), a hybrid PC/DVD/cellphone info unit worn over the shoulder like a silicon canteen and sprouting headphones and a glowing tricorder handset. The handset acts like a touch-sensitive portable digital assistant, providing text browsing (running Windows CE, natch); by pointing the handset at strategically-placed oversized guitar picks scattered about the exhibit the shoulder unit can determine where it is and present the right set of details to the handset, and music to the headphones. This all takes a little explaining by the staff; mercifully there are no lines at MEG pickup in Sky Church, the cavernous entrance to the exhibit featuring a blazing wall of shifting images (the largest indoor video screen in the world) and psychedelic spotlight patterns. The motion of the piercing blue and purple light and the sheer volume of the room impart the feeling I get at an arena rock show, right down to the taste of dry ice fog... where did that come from? It's a bit much, and things improve as we enter the (slightly) closer quarters of the main exhibition corridor. The guitar exhibit is our first stop. There, behind the curving glass wall, is almost every major guitar I've come to know from my subscription to Guitar Player magazine back in the 80's. Starting with nineteenth-century concert acoustics the display moves through the resonator hawaiian steel family to the Rickenbacker "frying pan" - the first electric. There are numerous electric guitar prototypes from the 40's, and then the Fender Broadcaster, Gibson Les Paul, Strat, Gretsch, and some of the early tweed tube amps from the 50's. Here's where the MEG comes in - most of the guitars have audio clips of great players playing them. I can access a guitar pretty much at random, and listen to it in action without bothering anyone else. Good design. In the middle of the exhibit is a video that loops through clips of some of the greats - Les Paul, Jeff Beck, Eric Clapton, Bill Frisell, many more. I spend a lot of time here, but I'm not sure I catch all the players in the video. Next stop is the Hendrix exhibit. The EMP started out as a tribute to Jimi, a way to show off Paul Allen's amazing collection of Hendrix memorabilia. In one twisting room is a number of famous Strats (some intact, some smashed), the board from Electric Ladyland studio, lyric notebooks in Jimi's tight loopy script, some of the freaky outfits he wore, and a lot more. Access is controlled, and there's a ten-minute wait (not too bad, apparently) - here's where it would be nice if the MEG wasn't so context-specific. While I wait in line all I can access is a page of notes on experimental guitars from the 80's and 90's, the last thing I pointed at before leaving the guitar exhibit. The Hendrix exhibit is great if you're a Hendrix enthusiast; a must-see for rabid fans but it can be left off of the itinerary if time is tight and the line is long - there's plenty of other information to soak up. By this point we're ready to soak up some food. Time is tight - Paul Swegle's hosting an open mike night in Ballard and we don't want to miss that - but we're gonna snap if we don't get something to eat. We grit our teeth and head to Turntable, the EMP restaurant, expecting to be disappointed. It's actually good. We're hidden back by the kitchen area and that slows the service down a bit, but the mac & cheese is a solid offering and Melanie's happy with her fancy salad. We're back into the main gallery with about an hour to spare. Melanie heads for Northwest Passage, a timeline of the history of rock & roll in the Pacific Northwest, and I take the stairs up to Milestones, the history of rock & roll everywhere. Everybody will find something missing, but these are some comprehensive exhibits. I make a point of spending time in the hip-hop section, picking up some much-needed background info, and then I spot the Minneapolis corner. Albums, tour itineraries, ticket stubs, and radio add lists from Husker Du and the Replacements, my two favorite bands from college. I'm amazed and happy, and Melanie finds me here around nine o'clock. I don't want to leave yet, but we have to get to Ballard. I reluctantly turn in my MEG and head out into the chilly Seattle night.

Paul's manning the PA for the Thursday night open mike at the Old Town Tavern, a neat old pub with exposed brick and tall ceilings. He's holding court with about a dozen dot-commers and EMP employees (go figure). Dave Kite is there. He's a pleasant fellow, a British emigre writing software for a living, and he's mortified to hear that we've listened to his cd about a dozen times in the last two days. The truth hurts, but we like the tunes. It's a stripped-down open mike - no drums, just a piano and a couple of vocal mikes. A harp-and-piano duo bang out some fun Tom Waits-style boogie. The EMP guys crash through an Old Town rap. A kangaroo tip jar sits to the right of the stage, arms outstretched, saying nothing. We close down the Old Town and check out some of the other hip spots nearby. This stretch of town has kept its turn-of-the-century feel but it hasn't gotten too cheesy, and some of the fat cats in the Seattle rock scene still make the rounds. Just not tonight. We bid Paul and Serena adieu for real this time and head back downtown to recharge for our last day in Seattle.

Melanie and I split up in the morning; she heads down to Pike Place to take photos of the neon signs in the market and I... strike off to the Seattle Center to see the rest of the EMP. I'm still not sure where I read that Thursday night is the best time to visit, but that's probably correct - this Friday morning there's a line outside just to get into the building, a Disneyland tourist feel that wasn't there last night. The Sky Church is filled with confused families, and it takes a while to get my MEG this time. The guitar exhibit is three-deep with onlookers, but I'm only there to see the whole guitar hero video loop. I stop in at the interactive Sound Lab upstairs - all the drum machines and sample stations are filled, so I squeeze into the first guitar isolation booth that I see. There's a gold Epiphone electric bolted to a stand, held horizontal at gut level, and a Soldano amplifier in the corner. A little video screen offers tips on fretting strings and bending notes, with a clip from Van Halen's Hot For Teacher video playing for inspiration. Right. I play terribly and leave before my seven minutes are up. I check out the Northwest Passage exhibit, engaged by the crosstown Louie Louie battle-of-the-bands war story. To round out the experience I get in line at Artist's Journey, the immersion exhibit-slash-amusement park ride. The current feature is Funk Blast, a silly little story about two kids learning a lesson about the groove from James Brown and George Clinton. The theatre sports moving seats (sort of a Days of Thunder setup for those familiar with that ride), and the effect is pretty remarkable coupled with the extra-wide, curving screen. The action swoops and spins through a galactic wormhole and onto a city street dance scene; the seats bump and grind along with James Brown and the funky beats. Cut to the Big Show featuring P-Funk, and the two kids finally learn how to stay on the one. It's part ridiculous, part awesome, and as I exit the theatre smiling I overhear an older gentleman exclaim, "I think I got the funk! ...now, which one was James Brown?"

It's a little after noon and I step out into the sunshine to look for Melanie. We're meeting outside the EMP to get tickets for the Bumbershoot festival, which conveniently takes place right here at Seattle Center. By the gate I hear All Along the Watchtower and spot a puppeteer with a little Jimi Hendrix marionette - this guy is really good, and wrings an emotional performance from the puppet. I snap a few photos and throw some coins in the can.

The Bumbershoot Festival has been a Labor Day tradition for thirty years now, and it's a monster of a music-and-arts festival. It boasts 30 stages and exhibits - apart from bands, artwork, cinema and circus acts there's interactive poetry, outdoor massage therapy, drum circles ...and a kind of creepy twice-a-day wedding ceremony (Fr. Guido Sarducci presiding) featuring skeletons and a 30-foot cake. We put in a cellphone call to DC-expatriate Mark Britton to see if he wants to cut out of work early (along with the rest of Seattle) and check it out. No answer. Melanie leaves a message.

Win! Consulting our crumpled newspaper events schedule we head over to the Kendall-Jackson Music Hall to check out the Seattle Guitar Circle. Six skilled guitarists playing identical guitars, each player working a single line of each intricate piece. Several are graduates of Robert Fripp's Crafty Guitarists' seminars, and I hear the King Crimson influence in the playing and song selection. The mixing of the staccato guitars has a neat harpsichord effect, and we sneak down the aisle to get a closer look. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Somebody's cellphone goes off in the hushed auditorium. Okay, our cellphone goes off in the hushed auditorium. Mark's getting back to us. Melanie fishes the phone out of her bag to turn it off. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. Great. Now we're those people. Sorry, sorry, ugggh really sorry. The folks around us seem understanding. Look, we really thought we turned the thing off, honest. We leave quickly as the set ends, headed for the interview stage where John Wesley Harding, Mark Eitzel and Christy McWilson are speaking on songwriting. Well, mainly John Wesley Harding is speaking. Eitzel's plane is late due to fog in San Francisco, Christy is fairly circumspect about her songwriting experience and Harding just talks a lot anyway. He's very entertaining though, which is good because the moderator (a local DJ, I think) doesn't really have much of an idea where he wants this discussion to go. I don't get too many tips; I walk out of the basement auditorium having learned that John Wesley Harding writes songs really quickly and Christy McWilson writes songs very slowly, but that's about it. Meanwhile, Melanie's gotten caught up in a drum circle. I always thought that was a "guy thing". I meet her by the decorated car.

Something's afoot over by the International Fountain. We close in to investigate.

It's Trimpin's Klangflotte vs. the 30-foot parade sculpture I Am Salmon : Salmon I Am! The "Sound Fleet" of wheezing musical contraptions slowly circles the fountain as the giant fish swims clockwise against the current. I think I hear Louie Louie in there somewhere.

Mark Eitzel's plane lands at some point, and as the sun begins to set he appears at the Northwest Court. A decent set of tunes before a reverent and knowledgeable crowd, but he's not nearly as animated and wrenching as I've seen him in the past. But it's always good to hear that deep soaring voice and those brooding songs. We have to leave before the set is over - Mr. Britton couldn't make it down this afternoon, but we're getting together with him and his wife for dinner. We buy a very cool Bumbershoot poster and hop the monorail back downtown.

Brigid and Mark It's always good to see Mark and Brigid - they're happy out here, and Brigid's expecting [it'll be a boy on October 17] - and we head back up to Broadway one more time for Thai food and ice cream (some kind of pregnancy Happy Meal). Everybody's a little worn out, and we call it an early night. Got that flight in the AM. Back at the Madison we say hi to Ronnie at reception, the first character we met in Seattle a week ago.

It's been a great trip, but a lot of it was spent in transit (plenty of time in cars) - we're ready to get back home and kick back for the remainder of the holiday weekend. Besides, I've got a job to quit.

SEATTLE GOOD