Ringway to Seatac

Had a blast this weekend at Rockcritpalooza -- the panels were almost uniformly terrific and entertaining, I got to see a couple great shows, and was finally able to put a lot of faces to names. Here's a little photo blog (a Cryptic Semaphore first)


Interior view of the new Rem Koolhaas-designed Seattle Public Library



Some punk rock kids consider making a break for it



Kool Keith Harris, Jess Harvell, Michaelmalangelo Matos: three men whose priority is job #1. Here we're trying to think of an answer to Robert Christgau asking us, brightly, "So - has anyone heard the new Will Smith album?" Later I slayed Bob with my Saul Bellow anecdote. Zing!



DJ Lance Lockarm, masher of things; Michael Daddino, ILMatic poster; Dave Queen, the Jim Dandy/Ad Reinhardt of rock writing



David Thomas at Sunset Tavern, singing into telephone receiver while lighting his 27th cigarette of the set. Words exist to describe his performance, but only in the language of a non-carbon-based life form that has yet to be discovered.



Drew Daniel (of Matmos) DJ'd and David Grubbs played as well



The lovely 1907 Moore Hotel and Theatre, where I stayed for $39/night. An ancient painted advertisement on the back of the building reads "Available for legitimate shows."



Greil Marcus's ear-opening talk on alt-roots bands who manage to sidestep the old race/class authenticity bugaboo, and how they do it. It made me want to go back and listen to a bunch of artists I had all but written off.



The admirable Carl Wilson (of Toronto's Globe and Mail) and Drew Daniel, in semiotic lumberjack and teen beefcake modes, respectively. I blew my chance to get a Germs burn from Drew that night; he got his directly from Don Bolles. Some good conversation was had over dinner about armadillo sex, REO Speedwagon, the evolutionary function of spicyness, and Bjork's e-mail etiquette.



City Pages writer Dylan "Moneyclip" Hicks gets paid



The other end of the table: Harris/Hicks/Bruno/Dayal/Frere-Jones



Some civic expressionism, in a Frere-Jones mood



Hip-hop tastemaker Jay Smooth contemplates his bamboo-wrapped dumplings



For several months now I've been wondering, "Who's gonna party?" At the all-ages U.S.E. show, I learned the answer: You's gonna party.



A view inside the lobby of EMP. For a while there was a giant video of Ginger Baker going apeshit on his drumkit. I stood in front of it looking distant and morose as a joke.



The last panel, entitled "Black Mass" and moderated by the Sun City Girls' Alan Bishop, was a doozy. Peter Mercer-Taylor, a Fuller Brush salesman-looking Mendelssohn scholar from MN, gave a brilliant paper on Cradle of Filth. Eric Weisbard rattled everyone's cage with the tragic and disturbing story of Buddy Holocaust, an obscure Ivy League troubadour from the early '80s who was the unholy union of Phil Ochs and Johnny Rotten. Erik Davis blew everyone's minds with his witty and incisive unpacking of Led Zep IV's artifice, technology, and magic.



Erik Davis recites, fortissimo voce, a demonic incantation from an ancient text republished by Jimmy Page's short-lived early 70s occult imprint(!) More than a few people in the room were a bit nervous.



ILMers try to invent a new drinking game involving large quantities of Robbie Dupree and Anne Murray 7"s



The hosts of the party had a soft-rock-themed wedding and printed a zine to go with it



The author has an Aqua Velva moment in the hotel room

posted at 12:51 AM