The Stranger's 2025 Spring Art + Performance Magazine

I Saw U

Getting Stuck in an Elevator, Enjoying Your First Show at Madame Lou’s, Arguing About Drake at Art Marble 21

The Anatomy of a Putt Hole

How to Get Through Smash Putt’s Space-Time Continuum Overlooked by the Overlook

Seattle’s New Waterfront Will Not Be Enjoyed by All

Can You Call It a Comeback?

Four years ago, the Posies’ Ken Stringfellow disappeared from the public eye after three women accused him of sexual assault. Last year, he went on tour.

Seattle Remembers an Icon

Shelley Brothers, Co-Owner of the West Coast’s Oldest Lesbian Bar, Passed Away Last Month. The Whole City Showed Up to Say Goodbye.

A Film About Beating the Shit Out of a Billionaire

Now Is a Good Time to Talk About Swept Away

Does the Billionaire Die?

Sometimes you just want to watch someone get eaten by a shark.

Put the Pieces Where You May

Lidia Yuknavitch Fills the Craters of Our Heart

Watch Where You Step

UW’s Jacob Lawrence Gallery Is Full of Portals Hell Is on the Way

Jaysea Lynn Turns the Afterlife into Therapy Who Raised Tariqa Waters?

The Seattle Artist’s SAM Debut Is a Wave of ’80s Latchkey Nostalgia

Unstable Foundation

Ai Weiwei Remixes Our Globalized Culture in His Largest Retrospective in the US

Grief and Ass

Queer Dance Duo Drama Tops Want to Be Your DADS

The Rock Lottery Hat Is Never Wrong

The Magic of Community, Music, and Creating Something Out of Nothing Album Preview

Editorial

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Advertising

Administrative

Business

A+P Spring 2025

Hello. It’s me, I’m back. My name is Emily Nokes. I’m a musician, artist, writer, and now, The Stranger’s new Arts Editor. Yay!

Welcome to our Spring Arts issue!

Once upon a time, I was the Music Editor here. I left in 2015, then nothing much happened in the world in the decade since. Unless you count this country’s bonkers descent into actual fascism, a steady diet of the cruel and incomprehensible, and the pandemic we never really processed—all against a backdrop of pervasive cultural context collapse aided by devices that make us deeply unhappy, but that we still have to use for almost everything. And now it’s 2025, a year that feels exactly like you’d expect a year to feel that was kicked off by an exploding Cybertruck!

Whoa boy. I may have abandoned some of my old methods of understanding the world we live in, but I have not abandoned all hope. In fact, part of my reason for returning to a local print publication was not based in nostalgia (okay, not entirely, my first Stranger era did rip), but in a deranged optimism for this thing we call the future.

I don’t know about you, but I feel a hint of something new in the air. We’re due for a proper revolt, but we’re also due for some joy, some humor, and some fucking human-being-ness. Humans are FREAKS, and one of the freakiest things about us is that we make art. Curiosity and creativity are our superpowers. My views on arts coverage in a city like ours are so strong they verge on civic duty. If people are making things, we should talk about them, experience them, help contextualize them, and be interested in them outside the churn of revenue and promotion. Community for community. I believe in Seattle, even when Seattle sucks!

I also believe in print—in making something that lasts for a while, that you can sit with, and that won’t slide into the ether when you put it down. I believe in real reporting, and taking a beat before reacting (also known as “responding”). I believe in nuance, and in differences in opinion, long conversations, and the art of existing in the discomfort of coming to the conclusion that there is no conclusion. I also believe in hav-

ing some fucking fun in this life. I want to see more of everything in print. Hell, if it were up to me, I’d bring back personal ads. I want those I Saw U’s blazing like it’s a god damn dating app! I want to hear about your cool band or pop-up or performance piece or art project or mime night or whatever the fuck, let’s gooo!

Anyway, back to the task at hand, which is now to tell you about this issue. On page 49, Megan Seling describes watching songs get made out of thin air, which is not dissimilar from watching this very newspaper come together. I almost forgot how much of it relies on teamwork, rapid decision making, and a secret third thing on par with conjuring. It is such a profoundly human effort, from brainstorming, to writing, to the editing process… And that’s before it even gets set on a beautiful page.

Now that The Stranger is back in print every month, I was hellbent on bringing back a “Things To Do” arts calendar (pg. 61) because I am beyond sick of looking at the work of janky bots and regurgitated press releases. We humans labored over the hot stove of choice here—combing though poorly built venue websites and events pages to choose things we think are interesting and noteworthy, from a twisted reenactment of The Titanic to Annual Daffodil Day. Algorythms could never. Our collective taste is INSANE and cannot be PREDICTED!

Also on these pages are wormholes, portals, bagel holes, and… hot butts (I can’t take that joke to its natural conclusion). We’ve got seafood boils (pg. 57), music to look forward to (pg. 53), DADS dadding (pg. 43) and moms giving heartfelt advice (pg. 59). And babe, we answer the question on everyone’s lips: Does the billionaire die? (pg. 21)

I would tell you about each piece but I am running out of time (shout out to the angels waiting for me to type this before the paper can go to press! It’s 12:47 a.m.!), but I trust you’re going to read every word anyway because we worked really hard and made you something. See you next month!

Love Actually, Emily

I Saw U…

Getting Stuck in an Elevator, Enjoying Your First Show at Madame Lou’s, Arguing About Drake at Art Marble 21

ILLUSTRATIONS BY STEVEN WEISSMAN

Did you recently share a ~*moment*~ with someone while riding the bus, dancing at the club, or standing in line at the supermarket? Do you want to try to reconnect? Submit your own I Saw U at thestranger.com/isawu, and maybe we’ll include it in the next roundup! Look for a new batch of I Saw U messages every Thursday on thestranger.com.

Enjoying ur first ever show! U were arguing w/ security at Madame Lou’s about taking ur drink out of the 21+ area, ur friend pleading “Molly stop!” hope it was an ok 1st time out!

Soccer cutie with flower earrings 2/13 @ Jefferson. I played defense, but I’d let down my guard for you.

Stuck in an elevator together

Were you one of the eleven other people I was stuck in an elevator with on Saturday the 15th? If so, I want the selfie you took of all of us, please!

Curly Hair Queen at Apashe

I was the bald fruit in a crop tee with my friends. I loved your eyeliner and gave you a bracelet with my cat’s name. Wanna dance with us again?

Strangers singing Karaoke in Renton 1/31 I was at Uncle Mo’s in Renton. You, an seasoned karaoke singer, did 2 songs with your 2 older sisters. You had great energy! And are super cute.

Everyone is hot

I’m a canvasser on the streets and so many of you are cute and nice and care. I can’t give my number out but you can

Petty king

Saw u @ art marble on vday. I lol’d that you picked a side in drake v Kendrick just to annoy your friend, l feel like wed get along. Wish I got your#

Putting too much negativity into the world

You left a note on my car that read “Thank

you for parking so close behind me. You must want your vehicle backed into.” That wasn’t very nice :(

2/9 @ Indi Chocolate

You had on the cutest striped shirt. I was dressed in all black. I gave you some of my lemon bar. Let me treat you to dinner sometime. >.<

That incredible couple at the Nathaniel Rateliff show

If you gave an almost-single mom almost $300, you know who you are! Can I take your fam out to dinner with it? (Platonic duh but I want to find you!)

Star-Fated at the Rave

Said you were a Libra and we agreed it was fate. Kept finding you on the dancefloor, but I was coming & you were going. Can the starfated cross again?

Dropping and Stocking at FM

You were stocking cans and intentionally dropping them and loudly exclaiming that they are now damaged and now much cheaper. You’re the hero we need.

Blue Jacket at Bright Eyes

I saw you (woodstock hat) seeing me (red dress) as we both saw Bright Eyes. Hoped you’d say hello. Say it now?

costco mullet cutie

i asked about your (beautiful) hair as an excuse to talk but couldn’t seal the deal. let me braid you some lil rat tails <3 meet me in the comments?

Seeking The Serviceberry at the library (twice!)

I saw you looking for The Serviceberry at two different library branches in one week. I wore a mask. You had a belt bag and a lovely smile.

Biker with fuzzy sweater at UW Sat by blond manbun’d cutie biker on bench facing angle lake at uw station 1/23. I (curls) complimented your chunky sweater + Chucks. Ride sometime? ■

Is it a match? Follow The Stranger on Instagram and leave a comment on our weekly I Saw U posts to connect!

The Anatomy of a Putt Hole

How to Get Through Smash Putt’s Space-Time Continuum

BY MEGAN SELING

Seattle Makers, a crew of creatives with a workspace in Interbay, were given almost no parameters when asked to build the mini golf hole of their dreams for Smash Putt.

“It was intimidating at first, but then really exciting,” says Lilia Deering, the co-creator of the hole called Quantum Putt. “We all

wanted to make something that felt really interactive, rather than something where you putt the ball and let it do its thing. We wanted the person to get really involved.”

The goal of the vaporwave-themed game is to reach the black hole at the end, but once your ball hits the space-time fabric, it will be pushed and pulled in every direction as the

fabric shifts into peaks and valleys. Along the way, your ball might get lured into a planet’s orbit, sucked into a wormhole, or trapped by a binary star.

“My advice would be to test out the buttons and the levers and the wheels to see how they affect the fabric of space-time,” says Deering. But be aware of your own strength!

3 Butthole? No! This is the Dark Energy Nexus, the mysterious gravitational anomaly Smash Putt players use to push and pull their ball across the fabric of space-time.

Yes, it’s called Smash Putt. But please don’t smash the art. “Drunk people are really hard on the mechanisms. We’ve already had to make some replacements and reinforce and over-engineer some of the aspects.”

Below, Deering offers a few more hints to help make the most of the vaporwave fantasy come true.

1 Don’t be fooled: While the wormhole launcher will definitely release your ball from the grips of the dreaded wormhole, your ball still isn’t guaranteed safety. “You can sort of aim,” says Deering. “But a lot is left up to chance.” So watch out for planets and binary stars!

2

“The binary star system is really fun,” says Deering. Two balls rotate around each other, and your ball might get caught in their orbit. In order to get your ball out, you have to use a knob on the control panel to adjust the speed of the rotation to fling your ball to freedom. “We’re playing with real concepts in physics.”

The surface of the Quantum Putt is made of a flexible Lycra fabric that players can manipulate with the game’s control panel. No surface is flat—the ball is always moving, whether it’s getting pulled into gravity holes or safely soaring past, riding on the suddenly appearing peaks and valleys you create.

5 Here’s a really big hint: Your ball will always, eventually, make it to the black hole at the end. How it gets there, though, is different every time. Good luck, Space Cadet! 4

Overlooked by the Overlook Seattle’s New Waterfront Will Not Be Enjoyed by All

BY MINDIE LIND

Back in December, after returning from my honeymoon in Paris, my husband and I settled back into our downtown Seattle apartment overlooking the waterfront— proud of our little city. There’s something about living a few blocks from Pike Place Market that makes it easy to see that, like Paris, Seattle has its cute shops, sights, and (dare I say) culture. I am aware this is not a popular opinion, but living downtown RULES. I love being within strolling distance to everywhere; especially as a person with a disability, I am obsessed with how easy it is to get around. Me, my husband, our cat, and my big-girl city vibes.

friendly version of itself. The fancy overlook walk has worked to “restore connectivity downtown … connectivity between people and place, past and present, sea and shore.”

So when we returned to the States to find that Overlook Walk—an elevated pathway connecting Pike Place Market to the waterfront—was finally finished and open to the public, I was so pumped to see what they’ve done with the beautiful new city feature, built where the viaduct (RIP) once was. My husband and I have been nosy neighbors about its progress over the past year—we’d walk over to it a few times a week, seeing what looked like paths swirling down the new structure, exclaiming, “Oh my god, those look like ramps, those are gonna be ramps!” Good on Seattle, I thought.

The New Waterfront has promised to make downtown the most pedestrian-

So what did they finally make? As we walked closer and closer, I thought: “No. They didn’t! Those look like… it’s… stairs.” I quickly realized that the new feature centered massive staircases in every place a ramp could have very easily gone. And worse, the only adapted solution was behind the action. Elevators. Banished to the back of the park. We headed toward them, my back to the vista, steam coming out of my ears. We waited to cram ouselves into a tin can. The whole vibe is to enjoy the park—at least give us an elevator made of windows.

As a person who takes daily walks downtown, I want to help you imagine something: My husband and I are shopping at the Market for dinner, we head toward the pretty way home, where we can look at the sun setting and the stunning views. Suddenly, the walk is interrupted. The ramp we are on ends in stairs. Stair after stair. “Oh, look,” my husband exclaims. “There’s a ramp!” “A ramp that leads you to more stairs,” I reply. Fake ramps. Fake access. Entire sections completely closed off as I am exiled to the other way— separated by back-entrance elevators and interrupted by ableism. It shouldn’t surprise me—I’ve been doing life without legs for 40-plus years. But

The new Overlook Walk features massive staircases in every place a ramp could have gone.

The Colosseum is more accessible than the new Overlook Walk, and that was built in the first century.

We know that sticking a crappy elevator in the back is lazy, dated, and ableist. So how did we let this happen?

I was stunned and enraged. I watched this thing being built from the beginning, I was its biggest fan. Before the stairs went in, I was so hopeful, I yearned for its potential. Of course we’d put a beautiful new inclusive structure along our waterfront! We’re Seattle , after all! We are a big, modern, tech-forward city with lots of money, seeping with progressive ideals, right? Nope! For some reason, the City of Seattle chose, on purpose, to build an entire area meant for enjoying a walk along the water that marginalizes 25 percent of its population.

The freaking Colosseum is accessible, and that was built in the first century.

It’s lazy work, and any architects who are operating in this way are simply shit architects. We know better—we know that sticking a crappy elevator in the back is dated and ableist, right? So how did we let this happen?

When I was much younger, my older brother, an architect at the time, took me aside to tell me how cumbersome the ADA makes his job. How “keeping up with code” was a burden that I, and others like me, put on him with our existence, and how finding a place to throw an elevator in after you’ve completed all your designs was an annoying afterthought.

I didn’t fully digest the insulting ableism of his complaint until later in life—after learning about universal design.

“Truly

inspiring! We left with a deeper connection to nature and a newfound appreciation for bonsai.”

Universal designers include access within their design, so spaces are equitable, simple, intuitive, and can be used by all people, without any additional adaptations. UD architecture generally looks better because they aren’t just pinning a very important element on at the end, as an afterthought. It’s fluid, inclusive, and stunning. And you already see it all the time: stairless entries, curb cuts, or no curbs at all! What can be harder to imagine, maybe, is sets of ramps and stairs so imaginatively designed that they are used in lock-step with one another as part of one design goal, to be used by all people. So that no one is going the other way, and no matter who you are, you experience the space in the same way.

The Overlook Walk is massive, as surely was the budget. Certainly, finding an inclusion solution was possible. I saw it with my very eyes, as it was being built.

There are no ADA police for this kind of oversight, so of course, it’s up to us crips, the marginalized, to say something to, do something. So that’s what I’m doing here, stirring the pot the only way I know how. I am always gonna write about it ’cause that’s what I can do. And you know the worst part? My favorite thing to do when I write is to take a stroll. Motherfuckers. ■

Can You Call It a Comeback?

Four years ago, the Posies’ Ken Stringfellow disappeared from the public eye after three women accused him of sexual assault. Last year, he went on tour.

BY MEGAN BURBANK

Last October, I bought a ticket to a performance by Posies cofounder Ken Stringfellow, set to take place at an undisclosed location in Pioneer Square. The tickets were sold on Eventbrite, promoting his new solo album, Circuit Breaker, which the site describes as “a journey from deconstruction to reconstruction, from death to life.” The promo said: “Ultimately it is an album about how we heal.”

What was he healing from? Three years ago, three women came forward to KUOW with allegations of sexual misconduct against Stringfellow. The Posies broke up, and Stringfellow has largely stayed out of the public eye ever since.

Until this tour, which, on the afternoon of October 18, I had just bought a ticket to attend. Within a few minutes of receiving my confirmation email, I got an email from Stringfellow himself. “I just saw your ticket purchase,” it started. “Having a quick look at your credentials, I see you are with the press. We really don’t wish any press coverage of this event. Would you be willing to have a quick call with me this afternoon? It’s required for entry into the show. Let me

know your number. Note I will not be answering any questions that you may have as a journalist.”

Twenty minutes later, before I’d had a chance to respond, he emailed again: “After a stronger background check, we decided to refund your ticket.” When my editor tried to get tickets, the same thing happened. Then, ticketing was abruptly shut down altogether. (Stringfellow says the show simply sold out.)

This was a first. In all my years covering the arts, I’ve never been barred from a performance I actively tried to attend. Generally speaking, artists want press coverage. Their livelihoods depend on it. I’ve been invited to concerts in shared houses, plays in tiny arts spaces rattled by passing trains, one-woman shows held in otherwise empty storefronts in uncool neighborhoods. No matter how niche the scene or how weird it is to explain why there’s a reporter at your house show.

But for his Seattle show, the Eventbrite page included a series of warnings: “The address of the show is for ticketholders only. Any sharing or posting of the address publicly or privately with non attendees will result in immediate expulsion without refund.

Any attempt to disrupt or otherwise interfere with the show will result in immediate expulsion without refund. Any attempt to attend the show without a ticket will result in criminal trespass charges.”

This tour raised complex questions about what it means for an artist to try to come back from what could be careerending allegations, and whether such a reversal is even possible.

The same warnings have been pasted across the approximately 30 shows and listening parties on his tour, which continues into March. The promotional copy for these shows emphasizes connections with bands

like R.E.M., Big Star, and Neil Young and promises to expose audiences to Stringfellow’s “most intense and personal work.”

Since Stringfellow began touring again, more women have spoken out, some for the first time publicly, against what they allege is an ongoing pattern of abuse and assault involving Stringfellow that goes back decades.

The women’s stories all have common threads—unwanted biting, forced kissing, groping, and initiating sex without consent. In that first story, KUOW interviewed three women about their alleged experiences with Stringfellow: They reported abusive behavior within the context of an ongoing relationship, forced sexual encounters, and interactions that left bite marks and bruising. The allegations led Posies cofounder Jon Auer and drummer Frankie Siragusa to leave the band. Auer described Stringfellow’s behavior as “disturbing” to KUOW, and Siragusa told KUOW he didn’t want to be linked with Stringfellow moving forward.

Stringfellow always denied the allegations, but he expressed some nuanced understanding of the women who spoke out in 2021. “I was extremely lucky to marry Dominique, who is on the same rhythm

SCOTT DUDELSON WIRE IMAGE/GETTY IMAGES

and living the same kind of life, an experienced rock veteran and fearless proponent of freedom, and in our open marriage, I never asked myself if this kind of life could impact other people negatively,” he said at the time. “Clearly, it did and now that I am aware of it, I really truly deeply apologize to the people who have been affected by my behavior. The only person responsible for my choices is me.”

But while promoting his recent tour, Stringfellow has been saying something very different. He’s called the women’s claims “fabrications,” telling Eugene Weekly that the women who’ve come forward were simply responding inappropriately to being rejected: They “developed extremely unrealistic expectations of where the relationships would go,” Stringfellow told the paper. “They took that rejection to a very dark and immature place and used that as a justification to hurt me in return by any means necessary.”

When The Stranger reached out to him for this story, he denied the allegations again. “All of my relationships have been consensual,” he said. “No exceptions. I was in an open marriage, which gave me the freedom to have these relationships. I was up-front with each woman about what could be expected from each relationship.” Stringfellow said that he had “hundreds—thousands—of messages from these women that contradict directly their claims.” We invited him to share those messages but received no response before press time.

And Stringfellow rearticulated the same position he took in Eugene Weekly last October: that since 2021, “these women have been colluding to proactively publicly harass me, my wife, friends and followers, music journalists, and other colleagues through social media.”

The women he’s referring to don’t see it that way. This tour raised complex questions about what it means for an artist to try to come back from what could be career-ending allegations, and whether such a reversal is even possible. Could he ever play a more public, large-scale show?

“People Think Cancel Culture Is Real”

A few days after his Seattle tour stop, Stringfellow was supposed to appear at another undisclosed location in Eugene, Oregon. But on October 14, just over a week before the show, it was suddenly canceled. An article in Eugene Weekly treated it with some skepticism, writing, “His wife claims the venue— which he was keeping secret until showtime—is undergoing renovations and will not be ready in time. Eugene Weekly asked for the name of the venue to verify the information, but she declined to provide it.” That same day, eight women signed a joint public statement affirming the allegations against Stringfellow: “We refuse to be silenced,” they wrote. “Instead, we feel compelled to speak out in denial of his accusations and help prevent future potential abuse. We gain nothing by coming forward; in fact, we believe we are inviting further harassment from him, but feel strongly that we need to speak up for the sake of other women who have suffered similar experiences, lest silence be an enabler.”

They came forward in an attempt to broaden awareness of the allegations in the hopes that it would help potential supporters of the tour “make informed decisions as to whether Mr. Stringfellow is a person whom they are comfortable supporting or providing a platform to.” The Stranger spoke with five of the women who signed the public letter after he announced his new tour. They all had close relationships with Stringfellow, and while not all of them say they were abused, they all said they saw echoes of their own experiences with Stringfellow and wanted to make other women with sim-

Some of his accusers argue there is a world in which Ken Stringfellow could launch a successful comeback, but he would have to either confront the allegations sensitively or simply keep quiet about them.

ilar experiences feel safe coming forward. Some of the women shared what they described as sudden, aggressive encounters, like Katherine Mengardon. She met Stringfellow in 1994 when she went to a Posies show at a small venue in Paris. She was 21. Afterward, the band was signing autographs and struggling to transliterate French names. So Mengardon, who is from Toulouse and is bilingual in French and English, stepped in to help. This turned into an invitation to the band’s next show, and Mengardon became friends with them. She said she was never interested in Stringfellow romantically. But in 1998, soon after she moved back to Europe in the wake of a breakup that left her feeling vulnerable, she went to a Posies show in Spain. She said Stringfellow came on to her aggressively. Even though she didn’t see him that way, she said, “It was quite a powerful thing to have this person coming to you that way.”

As Mengardon remembers it, Auer tried to intervene. “I remember hearing Jon saying, ‘No, don’t do it, not with her,’ which, at the time, I kind of just thought was him saying, ‘She’s one of us.’ That’s how I interpreted it.” (Auer declined to go on the record for this story.) Mengardon went back to Stringfellow’s hotel room, she said, and “he basically just launched himself at me.” The encounter was short, with no communication, and left her “covered in bites and bruises and really confused,” she said.

The same thing happened again on a trip to the United States, she says, after a show in Los Angeles. Stringfellow invited Mengardon to a house party. Just as with the previous encounter, Mengardon said it happened without any communication. “There was no chat about consent,” she said. “There was no chat about ‘Did I want this?’”

Only decades later would Mengardon come to understand these encounters as assaults, as she now alleges. At the time, she didn’t have the language for what had happened to her. “I had no frame of reference for what sexual abuse or sexual assault is,” she said. “For me, this was someone who was supposed to be a friend.”

The Stranger spoke to two of Mengardon’s friends who she confided in after the fact. One said that it had taken a long time for Mengardon to come to terms with what happened to her before she spoke up about it, and that Mengardon “had been left feeling shattered” by her interactions with Stringfellow. In an email, Stringfellow denied Mengardon’s allegations.

Kate Fricke met Stringfellow when she was 22, and Stringfellow was in his thirties. She was a huge fan of R.E.M., who Stringfellow played with on several tours in the late ’90s and early 2000s. They began a romantic relationship in 2017. Fricke said Stringfellow was controlling and secretive throughout their relationship. “I was just an accessory or a side piece,” she said. She would often offer him rides to gigs or places to stay, she said, because it was one of the only ways they could spend time together—and because Stringfellow often relied on women for these logistical needs rather than arranging them himself.

Stringfellow maintains that the women insisted on doing these things for him. “They said this, we have it in writing, so it is false to claim I ‘relied’ on them,” he said. “They offered, I accepted. And I was and remain perfectly capable of arranging my own travel.”

Heather Bowen, who was a huge fan of the Posies before she became involved with Stringfellow, said this happened all the time. “He gets as much out of it as he possibly can, and assumes that what you get in return suffices, which is a blip of his adoring attention,” she said. “And it left me feeling really used and really gross.”

Fricke always knew Stringfellow was seeing other women, and often wondered what their experiences were like. When the first KUOW story came out, she said, “Everything came into focus. We all started finding each other online and sharing our stories.” The similarities, she said, were “eerie.”

“There’s a misconception, certainly on Ken’s part, that we’ve all known each other for decades and have been spending chunks of our lives colluding to destroy his career,” said Bowen. “And that couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

When the allegations became public, Bowen said, connecting was simply a way to process what had happened. “That’s when you start to realize, ‘Oh, it wasn’t just me feeling bothered by the way he acted,’” she said.

When Stringfellow tried, even quietly, to return to the public eye, his accusers demanded that their stories be in the public eye as well. They think it’s important for potential bookers and promoters and other people who may be asked to give Stringfellow a platform to know who he really is. “The separating the art from the artist, that’s a personal thing,” said Bowen. “You make that decision on your own, but let’s make sure you have all the right information before you make that decision.”

“People think cancel culture is real,” said Seattle writer Kristi Coulter, an ex-girlfriend of Stringfellow’s. “They think that these men are accused of something, and their lives are ruined, and it’s all over for them. And to me, we’ve seen it over and over with Louis CK and Eric Adams. It’s not real. They come back.”

“Ken Could Have Come Back”

The day after the Seattle show, Stringfellow posted a photo to Instagram: He’s playing a keyboard in an art gallery with four people sitting behind him watching. “Incredible show last night,” he wrote. “Peaceful, moving, beautiful. Thank you to everyone who came and to the great team we had in place.” Gallery staff later confirmed to The Stranger that the performance was held at the Center on Contemporary Art. CoCA executive director Ray C. Freeman III said that the group was aware of the allegations against Stringfellow when he approached them about using the space. “Without acting as judge or jury, we declined to take sides, but turned down the opportunity to host the event nevertheless,” he said. “Instead, we decided to simply rent him the space.”

Coulter knew Stringfellow was making a new album, she said, and didn’t have a problem with that. What made the women feel they had to come forward now, she said, was that “he’s been using this album as a way to smear them” through public remarks disavowing the allegations and dismissing them as jilted exes.

Some of his accusers argue there is a world in which Ken Stringfellow could launch a successful comeback, but he would have to either confront the allegations sensitively or simply keep quiet about them. “Ken could come back, could have had a real redemption story,” said Coulter. “He could have actually shown accountability and apologized to his victims and come back having really worked on himself… his fandom would have eaten that up. Or he could have come back quietly, without impugning the credibility of these women.”

But he’s somewhere in the middle: reentering his public career on a smaller scale, but also dismissing—and perhaps villainizing—the women alleging harm, with no attempt at taking accountability.

Stringfellow is still performing in support of his newly released album. This spring, he’s working through the European leg of the tour. And the album does have listeners, but in numbers underwhelming compared to those in Stringfellow’s previous community of fans—a community that once included the women in this story. On Spotify, Stringfellow has just 7,098 monthly listeners. The Posies, by comparison, still have 55,600. They haven’t released any new music since 2020.

So the question still remains: After such a public fall from grace, is there a way to come back? Is there a way to do it without causing more harm? Stringfellow wasn’t allowed to simply uncancel himself. It’s clear his career has been diminished because of the allegations against him, and the very private approach to performing he’s adopted in their wake. What’s less obvious is what his career might look like now if he’d simply been willing to apologize in the first place. ■

Seattle Remembers an Icon

Shelley Brothers, Co-Owner

of

the

West

Coast’s Oldest Lesbian

Bar,

Passed Away Last Month. The Whole City Showed Up to Say Goodbye.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY OLIVIA GREEN

On February 16, looking down the hill from Pike and 10th, the sidewalk outside of Wildrose looked impassable. The bar’s patio, the stairs, the tiny fenced in porch, were covered in queers. The crowd spanned decades, from 21-year-olds to folks in their seventies and eighties. Most had a beer in hand, one butch walked around with a box of tissues. The mood bubbled, warm and happy, but every few minutes someone would melt into tears, and the crowd would morph around them like a security blanket. Everyone was at Wildrose that day to celebrate the life of Shelley Brothers. She was best known as the latest co-owner of Wildrose, the West Coast’s oldest lesbian bar, alongside her business partner, Martha Manning. She saw the bar through some of its hardest years, outliving every lesbian bar in the city, surviving COVID through pure stubbornness and grit—becoming an unshakable pillar of the community in the process. After shepherding the bar for two decades, she passed away earlier that month, at 67, surrounded by her loved ones.

HANNAH MURPHY WINTER

Shelley went to Wildrose for the first time in 1992, eight years after it opened, and she quickly started working sound and security at the bar. In the 20 years that she and Manning have been at the helm, Wildrose has been many things: a home for marriage equality rallies, jello wrestling, go-go dancers, and Brandi Carlile shows (before she was cool).

The memorial was emotional, but just like the bar, it was able to be a lot of things at once. People drank and celebrated for (so many) hours on a Sunday afternoon. Former staff, friends, and found family spoke to the sprawling crowd about one of their favorite people. They described her as tiny but fierce (she was five foot nothing). They called her a protector, a problem solver, a mechanic in a pinch.

The memorial started at 2 p.m., and by 4, the bartop was already stacked high with bouquets, and lesbians were still pouring in with more. People wandered up to the stage to pay their respects—to the framed photo of Shelley, and her sneaker, displayed on a barstool.

A few dogs were peering out from under tables throughout the bar, scooping up Danish crumbs from the spread of pastries in the corner—fitting, because her friends say Shelley was more likely to remember your dog’s name than yours.

Shelley was known to perch by the door, greeting everyone in the community as they passed by, or wandered in. At the end of the celebration, at 9 p.m. on a Sunday, they called last call to a full bar. The crowd slowly filtered out, but no one was really ready to say goodbye to Shelley. We’ll be saying hi to her at the door for years to come.

A Film About Beating the Shit Out of a Billionaire Now Is a Good Time to Talk About Swept Away

BY CHARLES MUDEDE

Now that class warfare is in the open, thanks to a certain billionaire, it is a good time to talk about Swept Away

In the 1974 film directed and written by the late, brilliant, Italian director Lina Wertmüller, when the “puttana ricca” Raffaella Pavone Lanzetti (played by Mariangela Melato) gets knocked around by the deckhand, Gennarino Carunchio (played by Giancarlo Giannini, a regular in the Wertmüller’s cinema), we are plunged into a swarm of conflicted feelings. Yes, she is the worst. Indeed, the sailor has been abused by an economic system that concentrates socially produced wealth into a few hands. But the working-class man becomes a monster. This confusion of feelings is worsened by the fact that Melato is a brilliant actor. She is Raffaella Pavone Lanzetti: a woman who hates even the smell of labor. And when, on the yacht owned by her filthy rich husband, she treats the deckhand (Giuseppe) like a dog, we do not doubt it for a minute. This is her to the max. Then the storm happens. Then the little boat the deckhand and woman happen to be on is blown to the island. Then Giuseppe, who can fish and do other useful life-supporting things, is in power. He has complete control over Raffaella. And he abuses this power with shocking violence.

We are not talking about the 2002 remake directed by Guy Ritchie. Nothing positive can be said about that film, which has Ritchie’s then-wife, Madonna, as its star. The biggest problem I have with the remake is that I don’t hate Madonna. Sure, she was never much of a singer, but she emerged from a New York City that, between 1978 and 1984, was magical. So watching her portray a rich, ice-cold woman is nothing but brutal. Madonna can’t act, and so she could never be anything like the horrible character (Amber Leighton) she plays; a woman who never lifted a finger in her life, a woman whose indifference to working-class misery and struggles is total. This is not Madonna. It’s not in her bones. She began as a little mall flower. A dreamer who had nothing but raw, blond ambition. And so when, in the movie, she is stranded on an uninhabited Mediterranean island with a violently misogynistic deckhand, Giuseppe Esposito (Adriano Giannini), who worked on the storm-swept luxury ship her husband chartered, we are horrified. He treats the “rich bitch” like shit. He smacks her around. But all we see is some man hitting and spitting on Madonna! She supported the gay community during the darkest hours in the ’80s. Leon Robinson played a controversial Black saint in her video for the song “Like a

Prayer.” Why is this brute punching, kicking, and slapping Madonna?

But the viciousness in the original film is visceral and believable. The most brutal scene in Wertmüller’s movie occurs at the start of its second half. Giuseppe is chasing Raffaella up and down dunes because she disobeyed an order (“undress”). This time, he is going to teach her a lesson. She will pay for everything that’s wrong with society. Whenever he catches or tackles her, he really lays into her while delivering angry commentary about how the rich exploit the poor. “[You] fucking whore. Capitalist. Social democrat.” “This is about the financial session caused by you and your friends.” “[This is] for tax evasion and money you sent to Switzerland.” “This is for the unfortunate who can’t find a bed in the hospital.” “This [is for increasing] meat prices, in parmesan.” “This is for oil and soft drinks.” “This is because you made us afraid of life.” (By the way, Giuseppe is a communist.)

two of three properties of capitalism, labor and capital, on an island. The late German economist Peter Flaschel turned to Goethe’s Faust to describe these elementary units of capitalism: “Two souls, alas, are housed within my breast / And each will wrestle for the mastery there.”

We are not talking about the 2002 remake directed by Guy Ritchie. Nothing positive can be said about that film.

But Wertmüller’s story has a twist. She introduces gender into the isolated system (in science, a system is the subject of an experiment, and whatever is outside of it is the universe). What would this experiment have looked like if it isolated Giuseppe and Raffaella’s husband, Signor Pavone Lanzetti (Riccardo Salvino)? Something far less complicated than what we find in Wertmüller’s Swept Away, which challenges the orthodox Marxist insistence that class is universal, and all other issues, such as identity, are secondary or, more philosophically, accidental. The universal subject of history will melt all the accidental properties of capitalism into air. Wertmüller’s experiment does a number on universalist Marxism.

an attack by African pirates. There is an explosion, a sinking, and a few survivors on an uninhabited island. One of them knows how to fish and do life-supporting things. This is Abigail (Dolly de Leon), one of the ship’s cleaners. Abigail sees her opportunity and seizes it. But she is not ideological; she is a mere low-wage earner in a capitalism that’s now global.

Wertmüller’s Swept Away is really about Italy, which went through political turbulence during the 1970s. Triangle of Sadness is truly sad because Marxism has been reduced to a ship’s alcoholic captain (Woody Harrelson), who seems to have learned about Marx and socialism from quotes posted on Instagram. As much as we hate Giuseppe in Swept Away, he at least knew his stuff. His critique of capitalism has some depth. In Triangle of Sadness , there is no such depth. The cleaning person’s abuse of power on the island (she demands sex from the boyfriend of an internet influencer) is not shocking. Trading places seems normal in Östlund’s capitalism.

What is going on here? What is Wertmüller pointing out? The limits of Marxism. The thing that must be appreciated in Swept Away is its scientific approach, isolating a system so its basic properties can be examined. Wertmüller does this by isolating

But there is also Ruben Östlund’s Triangle of Sadness to consider. Those familiar with this 2022 film will not miss its Swept Away echoes. There is a luxury ship of rich people serviced by the working class. There is a storm that’s followed by

All in all, the system of exploitation that organizes the whole of our planet makes no sense if its opponents exclude race and gender. This was Wertmüller’s explosive contribution to leftist theory. And it is why the left must not abandon identity politics. It is clear that the right hasn’t. All of the president’s men are superrich and white. And they are beating the shit out of the rest. ■

See Swept Away at the Beacon Cinema, March 9–12.

ANTHONY KEO

DoesTheBillionaireDie.com

Sometimes you just want to watch someone get eaten by a shark.

BY STRANGER STAFF

If you’re anything like us, when you see a dog in the early scenes of a horror movie, your first thought is, “Oh god, I hope that dog survives.” And that’s how the ever-popular website, DoesTheDogDie. com, came to be: a way to know what you’re in for before you get too deep into a film and have to watch a pup meet its untimely end. But sometimes, when we’re watching a movie, we see really shitty billionaires do-

Squid Game, Season 1 Yes

was a whale. And as he clings to the whale’s corpse, CHOMP.

The White Lotus Yes, but

As much of a gift as “these gays, they’re trying to kill me” was, we will miss Jennifer Coolidge’s character for as long as this show runs.

Yes

Will you wish that the billionaire died in the same, grisly ways that the players did? Yes. Does it feel like he got off easy? Yes. But dead is dead.

2 No

Daniel Clamp is a tycoon modeled after none other than Donald Trump. We don’t get to see him bite the dust, but there is a consolation prize: After a new batch of cranky green ghouls ravages his Manhattan skyscraper, Clamp’s little toadie (JD Vance?) gets stuck in the building and has to fuck a couch, I mean Gremlin.

Yes, but

The billionaires die, but the ocean was rudely non-specific.

ing shitty billionaire things, and we think, “Man I hope he gets what’s coming.” And thus, DoesTheBillionaireDie.com was born. Sometimes, you want a nuanced plot that leaves you with questions about life, morality, and the nature of human existence. Other times, you just want to see a billionaire get eaten by a shark. This list is for those other times.

There are spoilers in here, obviously .

Snowpiercer (2013) Yes

In true Bong Joon-ho fashion, the working class bands together to give the (truly brutal) upper class what they deserve: death by exploding train.

Saltburn Yes

It’s as if Dan Humphrey in Gossip Girl infiltrated his privileged classmates’ lives to murder them all instead of just starting some dumb blog. With bonus bathwater.

Yes

The Menu Yes

A vengeful celebrity chef has had enough of his wealthy customer’s blasé bullshit, so he offs them one by one as he serves each dish of his tasting menu. You’ll never look at a s’more the same.

Park No, but No one likes an “industrialist.” John Hammond survives, but his dream is dead. So at least there’s that.

Succession, Season 4 Yes

you

He dies of natural causes, alone, in the

The Meg Yes

The billionaire who caused all of the death and destruction in the first place thinks he blew up the Megalodon that’s been terrorizing the ocean. It

The Great Gatsby

Killed by a gas station owner in the perceived opulent safety of his own pool. *chef’s kiss*

Jurassic

Titanic

Ex Machina

Don’t fuck with androids. They’ll fuck

back.

Gremlins

bathroom of a private jet.

Put the Pieces Where You May

Lidia Yuknavitch Fills the Craters of Our Hearts

BY KATIE LEE ELLISON

If you are in her cult following, then you know that Lidia Yuknavitch is an artist who absolutely refuses structure and form in any traditional sense. Still, the market and its demands have forced the word “memoir” onto two of her books. One was The Chronology of Water, released in 2011 and now a cult classic that Kristen Stewart is making into a film. The second and the latest is Reading the Waves, a book that bucks tradition of form especially hard. To state the obvious, an interview is an inherently structured format that neither supports her mind nor the discussion of her art. So I really struggled with how to have this conversation with her, until the morning of the day we spoke.

I had an early session with my therapist and burst out sobbing. This hard cry, unusual and gorgeous in its violence and relief, resulted directly from finishing Reading the Waves. This book, if it is about anything, is about rewriting your own story, retelling your own narrative in whatever way reflects the constantly changing nature and capacity for meaning-making and memory. This book seeks to return to memory through repetition, and, in each return, to reshape the memory and make it a source of strength rather than a source of pain. To be more concrete about it, Yuknavitch writes of her traumas, which include a lot of subjects and themes I write about: mental illness, suicide, guns, Vicodin, alcoholism, Los Angeles, and the Pacific Northwest, water and the ocean, deeply complex parents, family filmmakers, and painters, to name a few. The book circumvented personal wreckage that landed me in the middle of it that morning with my therapist. This in and of itself gifted me insights and release, but the gift of gifts that I hope will serve you, readers, as well, was talking to Yuknavitch about the inner workings of her life as artist and human, the inner workings of her books, and her process in making them.

I hope you experience the love, comfort, and fire of this blessed and sacred person, as I did in this conversation. If nothing else, hear about how to write a book that has absolutely nothing to do with anything you’ll learn in an MFA program.

I first read your work around 2012, and my professor Kim Barnes said about The Chronology of Water: “We have 300 pages, but how much do we know about Lidia having read it?” I’m wondering the same about Reading the Waves. So my first question is: What are your days like right now?

I was thinking today about how you have to shapeshift and reinvent yourself over and fucking over again, whether you want to or not. Maybe this is why there’s no way

WHO SHOULD READ THIS: Queers, first and foremost. Anyone with a complex or complicated relationship with drugs and/or alcohol. Those who know death. Fans of Gertrude Stein. Fans of Virginia Woolf. Anarchists. Punks and sluts and baby rebels. Swimmers. Frog lovers.

PAIRINGS: Phone dismantled, broken, or at least off. Somewhere you can sit for many hours in a row because you might not be able to stop reading. Something soft and old you hold for comfort. A smooth gray rock from the beach.

to know an author, or even another human, completely. But we can share the courage to keep shape-shifting and changing. We can lock arms through the shitty parts and say, “Okay, I’m growing a tail, and it hurts, and I don’t understand it. But I’m gonna lock arms with you ’cause you’re growing a wing, and you don’t understand that.” Can that be an answer?

I would say standard-issue Yuknovitch answer, yes, great.

In Reading the Waves, I circled words that appeared in close proximity and in unpredictable rhythms. I realized you were doing something. You asked questions about what happens when something is repeated: a conjuring or a way of remembering.

For anyone who’s read Gertrude Stein, it will become quite obvious that I’m completely devoted to that one essay that’s in Lectures in America about repetition and her completely radical redefinition of what repetition is, it’s not redundancy. That’s a kind of patriarchal understanding of what repetition is. Theory defines repetition as insistence. I was trying to perform what she was theorizing. I was trying to perform the idea that repetition is not rehashing. It’s reshaping, recreating, re-curating.

There’s this whole universe of what it is to be alive that sits watching us. It often goes ignored, unseen and unspoken to and unheard, and for today, having just finished your book and trying to think through how to get to the right questions, that collective distance from the whole universe is my heartbreak. So, the other question I wanted to ask you about is: How are you filling the craters in your heart these days?

I have a really smart, brilliant woman writer friend named Kate Zambreno, who wrote this amazing book recently about dailiness. I think about what you’re talking about every nanosecond of my existence, and the only thing that has ever helped ease the heart-wrenching part of being alive and dailiness is working in community, collaborating with other humans and nonhumans. If one of us has food, the imperative is to share it. If one of us makes a buck, the imperative is to immediately redistribute it. In this arts community, we made [a community called] Corporeal Writing. It’s a community that is built on mutual aid and exchanging imagination. And part of our imperative is how do we get more of us not to die? Period. In my lifetime, I’ve not always succeeded. The deaths are part of what keeps you going. The difficulties, like that dailiness that’s threaded through your question about heartache, and that kind of what do we fucking do? The only answer I keep coming back to is collaboration and

community. It’s not always the community you thought you were part of. Sometimes, it’s about recreating and shape-shifting those communities because different things are at stake than you thought.

You mentioned your writers’ workshops and learning space, Corporeal Writing. How did that start?

You know, people together having a drink, going, “Hey, no one’s doing this. Let’s do it.” With Corporeal in particular, we were interested in the fact that there isn’t access to art and literature degrees for everyone, and why not? We were interested in why the “special” people who get MFAs are kept apart from the regular people who have to work their jobs. We were interested in divisions between genre, poetry, and fiction and nonfiction, as if they’re separate rooms and a strange colonization of art forms that keeps poets unpaid and [makes] bestsellers rich motherfuckers. We were having a drink and thinking about those questions, and a community emerged. I think we’re about 10 years old now. We don’t do everything right. We fuck some things up, but then we try to learn and get better. COVID came and almost killed us. Trump came and almost killed us. But now we see, we’re like a rogue cell. We’re not an institution. We’re not a nonprofit. Not a corporation. We’re like-minded people getting away with it.

What stories do you feel we’re most missing right now, or what stories do you still need to hear?

Everything with a target on it now is exactly what we need more of, and everybody else should get out of the way. Anybody that has a space opened up for their own work, it is our job to jam a foot in the fucking door. Not to go look for a pretty crown.

“I am trying to help more of us stay alive together. I am trying to help more of us believe we can make art, and that it might matter, not just for oneself, but for the person waiting just behind you.”

So this is where Virginia Woolf also comes into play, To the Lighthouse specifically. If the structure of a piece of writing must follow the structure of the thing it’s describing, how do you create rules for that for yourself?

Yeah, Virginia Woolf [has] been of primary, profound importance to me. But writing Chronology of Water is what taught me how to bring form and content—in relationship to each other—away from the rules I had inherited. It wasn’t a teacher, although I loved my teachers; I still love them. And it wasn’t another writer, although I intimately followed their patterns and absorbed their imaginal magic.

What does that mean, you “intimately followed their patterns”?

Well, with a writer like Virginia Woolf, I noticed repetition. I noticed performative language versus analytical language. By performative, I mean the language moves away from [its] traditional uses, “There is an orange-and-red sunset upon the horizon,” and she rearranges the lexicon itself so that it’s doing the thing it describes.

In Chronology of Water , I wasn’t doing that exactly, but I was after a different thing, which is: What if my body had a point of view inside these experiences, and what would that do to the language? I’m getting much better at curation. I’m starting to see that we instinctively move toward language, grab it, and say, “I want to say this thing. I want to describe this truth.” A phrase from [Virginia Woolf] that I throw out all the time is “Put the pieces where you may.” It’s all about arrangement. The plot is not what I’m after.

One of the phrases you repeat again and again in the book is about how your mother was born with one leg six inches shorter than the other. So much of the book is about how this made her powerful, despite the common perception and experience she had with others, where they treated her as weak. We’re in a reckoning with the ways we can lose, when physical or other capacities needed in a fight just aren’t there in the obvious ways. For reference, the current administration and how we’ve very quickly gone from bullying to something much more dangerous. How do you bring a lesser-understood skill set, a skill set perceived as weakness, to bear against someone who’s trying to hurt you, to protect yourself?

It won’t sound useful until the day it’s useful: Story space and our ability to transmogrify, to go to imagination and rearrange the story, can save your life. But we tend to hold on to the stories of our wounds a particularly long time because they’re familiar. Because we don’t know how to escape the story where we were bullied or harmed, right?

This is where I turn to frogs and seals and butterflies and ribbon eels. I’m not trying to sound fantastical or speak in fairy tales or metaphors. I mean literally what frogs do; it helps me to remember: We are not incapable of some shape-shifting ourselves.

You’ve talked about “compositional avenues” in a previous interview. What are the compositional avenues and strategies of fiction versus nonfiction?

Well, there are some obvious ones. Like in nonfiction, you’re not supposed to just make shit up. I am not as allegiant to the plot of what happened. My allegiance is to the essence of the experience. That has its own compositional weirdness. But if nonfiction is a hallway with doors, some locked, on either side, trust me: If I can figure out a way to pick a fucking lock on the page, I will. But in fiction, not only are all the doors open, but all the windows, too, and there’s no ceiling or floor. It’s the ocean. It’s my happiest place. I would live and die there if I could. But then we can’t eat, and I can’t help other people.

So what are you doing with Chronology of Water and Reading the Waves?

I don’t know to what extent I succeed or not, but I am trying to help more of us stay alive together. I am trying to help more of us believe we can make art, and that it might matter, not just for oneself, but for the person waiting just behind you, who doesn’t yet realize... Sorry, I got a little choked up.

I think my next question is about maybe whatever’s caught in your throat. Which is: What about the ones who don’t want to stay?

It is not for any of us to say who should stay and who should go. But it is our responsibility, if we are staying, to decide what to do with it. In Mrs. Dalloway and also in the movie with Nicole Kidman, The Hours, Virginia [Woolf] has this line about Septimus, where she’s like “Someone has to die so that the rest of us may carry on.” And it’s kind of a cold line, because she’s sitting there writing a guy about to commit suicide. It’s also life and death existing in each of us, every nanosecond. There’s no time where we’re not all participating in death. We’re all moving in that cycle.

I wanted to ask you about fiction versus nonfiction because of the ways that you resist memoir but have written it, at least as far as your marketers are concerned. But, selfishly, I’m at a point where I’m struggling with knowing what it is that wants to come out. I have something stuck in my hip that’s been that way forever, and it stretches to my back and my knee. It’s taking over the right side of my body. Somebody keeps telling me, you have to let that go, whatever that is. It feels like the freedom that comes from release will be reckless, blow up everything in its path. So I wanted to hear from you about a path forward, or perhaps a genre forward, knowing that you write to survive.

That’s literally the seed of what Corporeal Writing is—to be asking what stories you’re holding in your hip, go look for them, and tease them out on the page, like exorcism or shamanic journey or something. Mine was my daughter’s death: It gave me chronic back pain for 30 years, and like, who am I if I let go of that? I get it. You are speaking my love language. It’s like you said—the freedom from it could obliterate, or who knows what it could do. It’s terrifying.

Monsters.

Learning to love monsters is different from learning to love evil. But what I really wish is that that genre would die. We’ve never needed it. It’s a capitalist market tool. It’s bullshit. Am I saying, I wish there were no poets? No, I’m saying that putting a wall between the poet and the fiction writer and the nonfiction writer and the dramatist and the journalist is ghettoizing. What energy we could be creating if those walls weren’t there?

I really struggle with the over-intellectualization of art. I feel we’re missing our connection to our own common sense, or to a sense of what’s collectively true. That spreads, and then everyone has the right to twist things. When I think of literary forms and writers, we’re all just passing through. The art is older than us and bigger than us, started before we were born, and will exist after we die. So we’re all just passing through, taking a turn, which is why I don’t entirely care about the asshats. I’d rather spend my energy with my turn I have on the planet, again, locking arms with the people who are spreading the spores of good. This is life-affirming.

“We were interested in divisions between genre, poetry, and fiction and nonfiction, as if they’re separate rooms and a strange colonization of art forms that keeps poets unpaid, and [makes] bestsellers rich motherfuckers.

In reference to Tropisms by Nathalie Sarraute, you mentioned the theory that you can build a story around a sequence of emotional intensities rather than a traditional beginning, middle, and end. Do you map out your intensities? Or are you following your body through a book?

That question gives me nerd glee. I love questions that are process-oriented. I follow intense images that come to me—I’m super visual—and, if I use plot for anything, it’s useful to me in this one way. What’s the thing that happened? Once I have a plot nodule, then I go Virginia Woolf on it and ask what is the fan of emotional responses around it? Pretty soon, the plot part falls away. I might have used it to make the node, but once the emotional intensities make their fan, I can dance with any of those and extend it for 50 to 100 pages.

When I was talking to my therapist about this dichotomy between the life we trod through in which we toil and make our way, and then the whole big life that is the water and mountains, and like, you know, the question: What are birds? So I wanted to ask you: What are birds? Birds are evidence that linear time does not exist. They used to be dinosaurs. They’re the original shape-shifters. It’s magical that something can fly that we didn’t build. They bring it in this amazing motion, with a tiny, beating heart. ■

Watch Where You Step UW’s Jacob Lawrence Gallery Is Full of Portals

BY RACHEL KESSLER

GALLERY A: Cauleen Smith The Wanda Coleman Songbook, 2024

Oh shit, it is that time of year. Dead of grey-gloom winter, freezing rain, and everybody falling dowwn on the tightly packed bricks of the University of Washington’s Red Square. Slippery, so slippery in the rain because it was designed that way in the 1970s. If you fall, blame a boomer.

After my dad marched with students, comrades, against the Vietnam war, assembling in spaces and occupying buildings on campus, the University redesigned this vast central gathering place to more easily knock down protestors with firehoses. Architectural innovations to discourage uprising. The labyrinthine architecture of the building

that housed my major’s department creates a series of honeycomb-shaped sections, impossible for protestors to entirely take over, or students to find their professors’ offices.

I’m walking over these bricks, time traveling across rain-slicked Red Square into the Quad. Returning to the place where I was a student, returning as a grownass woman, a

This art is an antidote to dislocation.

professor. Stepping in and out of past and present, my feet follow the same routes, this place familiar and unrecognizable all at

once, the person I was, who I am now meeting each other, walking with all these ghosts. The site of my liberation, catalyzed by mentors, teachers, and friends. Where I met other Jews, American and Israeli, who showed me a path other than Zionism. Where I became friends with a Palestinian who drove me around in his black Trans Am. Strolling under cherry trees after a year-and-a-half of Palestinian genocide. Where student protestors were demonized. Under the same cherry trees that burst with heart-breaking blossoms back when I was 19 in April of 1992.

My freshman-year dorm friend from LA ran, screamed, and swung at those gnarled trunks, propelled by the acquittal of the pigs caught on video beating Rodney King. I walk under still-bare branches, thinking

about the recent LA fires. I spot a few tiny tight buds, pink in the mid-winter gloom. My friend’s videos and pictures of what was once his dad’s house in Altadena

I arrive at the newly remodeled Jacob Lawrence Gallery—it wasn’t where I remembered it. As I push through heavy curtains into Cauleen Smith’s installation

The Wanda Coleman Songbook, I step onto soft rugs, into warm, dimmed light, and through a wormhole to Los Angeles. Four floor-to-ceiling projections surround me. Walls are transformed into slow-moving scenes from locations scattered across the city. Long tracking shots of candy-colored car parades, a skateboarder weaving in and out of shadows, an oil derrick silhouetted by sunset, the sea’s shifting light from day to

Cauleen Smith’s installation The Wanda Coleman Songbook, features projections of slow-moving scenes of life in Los Angeles. WINGHI

night, the moon glowering behind clouds. Streets and signs, birds preening on powerlines. Panoramas of Griffith Park, taillights streaming down freeways, close-ups of streams trickling through green grasses. Travel along overpasses, cruise past strip malls and sidewalks, idle by a roller coaster zippering up tracks at dusk.

Cauleen Smith’s camera tunes into the city’s idioms, inviting us to witness the granular, the unspectacular, to linger with the overlooked, all guided by Los Angeles poet Wanda Coleman’s words. Cozy swivel chairs and floor pillows beckon—have a seat, stay a while. Time and space shift, move differently around us. I am entranced.

Smith had studied art at UCLA, and she created this installation out of her experience of returning to Los Angeles in 2017, navigating “a terrain which was simultaneously familiar and alien.” Returning to the UW, unsettled by time and change myself, toggling between what was and what is, my experience softened by one constant—the rain—I’m stepping through paraspaces, the between-worlds, the places invisible to some. All of this reverberates as I settle into Smith’s collaboration across time with Coleman and LA. “LA is a shy one, real one, and a terrible beauty. You can’t really see how gorgeous it is in a drive-by, you have to sit with the banality, the horrors, the wildness of the city until it becomes legible,” Cauleen Smith writes in the liner notes of The Wanda Coleman Songbook album.

Stay in the sensory experience of a place. Dig into meaning. Sit with it. This art is an antidote to dislocation. Art that awakens, demanding full-body engagement. Open ful-

ly to it, open a book, open to transformation through Black visions and stories and songs transmitted over space and time. This piece constantly shifts, sifting through my entire being—sight, sound, touch, and, yes, smell. It not only memorializes LA but catalyzes me in its loving and furious embrace.

In the middle of the gallery a console curves like a comma, with a turntable mounted in voluptuous wood spinning songs from Wanda’s words. The sonic heart of the Songbook. Linger. Listen.

…her poems actualized as songs seemed like a way to move her words into the here and now and get them to bounce off the walls the way they reverberate in my skull…

Music makes space... this album… is a partial account of a Los Angeles that I would like to hold a little more dear.

The needle drops. Pink splatter vinyl spins Meshell Ndegeocello’s voice from grooves out into soundwaves. Wanda Coleman’s poems spiral from the center, spoken and sung and vibrating the space. Somewhere between ode and visitation, riffing on lines from the poem “The Saturday Afternoon Blues”:

saturday afternoons are killers and I am on my own can kill can fade your life away can kill and I am on my own the man i love can kill can fade your life away can kill

the man i love is grief and i am on my own

I think, my heart is a fist I want to unclench. The writing is projected on the wall. Closeups of hands holding a book of her poetry, the camera glances at the text on a page, never lingering long enough to read the entire poem. A few lines reach out, fingering through our eyes into our minds, her words ripple out from the throats and instruments and hands of musicians, Black women, songs heard nowhere else but this in space. These recordings are not available to stream or download or listen to anywhere but here, inside The Wanda Coleman Songbook . Her poems travel through time and reach us just in time.

I remember walking around a Los Angeles of the past, full of wonder. The dusty sidewalk’s gift—a perfect lemon, free! And now the ache of landscape altered—the people pushed out, the ashes, the greed, the bullshitters, the ghosts.

the tombs are fertile with sacred rememberings, the ancient rhymes, the disasters of couplings, the turbulent blaze of greed’s agonies, shadows reaching for time and time unraveling and undone.

(Side B – The Weather, track 3: “American Sonnet 18 – After June Jordan” song by Kelsey Lu)

My own memories layer on top of one another, once molten mantle now hardened strata of catastrophe and rebirth. This residue forms rocks called abyssal peridotites

GALLERY B: Dudley Randall’s Broadside Press, Detroit, 1965 I pushed through the thick curtains bookending Gallery A into the neighboring bright

DACHA THEATRE PRESENTS:

Visitors are encouraged to spin The Wanda Coleman Songbook vinyl. WINGHI LI

white Gallery B to meet the Jacob Lawrence Gallery’s new director and curator, Jordan Jones. We sit at the large table in the middle of the current Broadside Press exhibit. Single-sheet poems and pocket-size poetry books line the walls. More objects to touch, encouraging interaction, just as with The Wanda Coleman Songbook. In a rush of mutual passion, we discuss the show’s themes.

This is a show about books. Detroit, 1965. Dudley Randall, a poet and librarian, started Broadside Press with $12 of his own money. He said, “I can’t find anywhere to publish my own poems. So I’m sure other poets are having the same problem.” He saved every single rejection letter, documenting his labor navigating the publishing industry by saving the receipts. A true archivist. Then he took the means of production into his own hands. He began printing broadsides, single-sheet poems, with one poem on each.

“I publish for the man in the street, and most of my books are priced at $1, so that he can afford to buy them.” –Dudley Randall

“He wants anyone and everyone to have access to poetry,” Jones tells me. “It’s urgent and thought-out. You can have it anywhere—fold it up, put it in your wallet, put it on your fridge, give it to a friend, in an exchange—[in the way] that a big heavy anthology can’t. Their output is incredible. Any name in Black poetry you can think of, they worked with.”

Broadside became the key literary press of the Black Arts Movement, launching the careers of poets such as Gwendolyn Brooks, Langston Hughes, Audre Lorde, Nikki Giovanni, Sonia Sanchez, poets who, at that time, couldn’t find avenues elsewhere.

The luminary voices who reshaped the literary landscape, cornerstones of my cannon, whose words and ideas are embedded in my internal landscape.

In this show, Jones threads and interconnects “a continuum of practices happening in Black communities across time.” From Cauleen Smith’s collaborative practice in present-day LA to the way community was built around Broadside Press in 1960s Detroit, to what Jacob Lawrence learned growing up during the 1930s Harlem Renaissance.

“What a gift of a space to grow up in,” says Jones. “This explosion in Black creative production, where artists and poets and writers and musicians and dancers and theater makers were all creating in this tight geographic zone, all aware of each other’s work, showing up for one another, collaborating and in dialogue. That is an amazing cultural

soup to grow up in and have access to.”

Lawrence carried that energy of the Harlem Renaissance to Seattle in 1970. For 30 years at the University of Washington, he taught art-making skills in the context of community knowledge, fostering cross-disciplinary collaboration. Early in his tenure, he painted a series, “The Builders,” connecting labor, construction, and community bonds. As a young man, he learned trade skills, and found the builders and their tools beautiful. He collected tools throughout his life, tools to use and honor and empower— distributing the means of production.

Lawrence’s creation of community at the UW and out into the city inspires Jones’s curation. She wants to create experiential spaces that prompt people to spend time in it. To sit. Move beyond the surface of passive consumption, and understand that viewers

activate the art. Art that invites shared study.

“The experience of it is also a way to get you to the books,” she says. “The books are in the show, and there for you to read and spend time with. I saw this work for the first time a year ago in New York when it debuted at 52 Walker Gallery and was just gobsmacked by it. And it happened to be that my office at the time was around the corner. So I kept coming back, coming back, and coming back—spent lunchtime breaks there sitting in the space.” I did not want to leave; when I got home, I felt haunted.

I climbed back through the UW’s portal to Los Angeles to return to The Wanda Coleman Songbook a few days later. I sat in the space, mostly alone, mostly still. Moving every 15 minutes to turn the record over, and over, and over I don’t know how many times. Slowly, slowly rotating in my twirly chair, like a giant rotisserie basting in the orange glow of this L.A., looping my body along the film loop’s four projections. I lost myself in the music, the myriad iterations of aural visual combinations. Mesmerized, I forgot to read the poetry book in my hands. I felt my body hovering, as though I was floating on my back in the sea. And finally, I caught the scent of Griffith Park.

when you split you took all the wisdom and left me the worry

(Side A – Miles In the Night, track 3: “in that other fantasy where we live forever” song by Jeff Parker & Ruby Parker)

See artists & poets at the Jacob Lawrence Gallery through April 19. ■

Jordan Jones became director and curator of the Jacob Lawrence Gallery in 2024.

LEO CARMONA

Hell Is on the Way

Jaysea Lynn Turns the Afterlife into Therapy

BY HANNAH MURPHY WINTER

W“elcome to Hell. This is the Hellp Desk.”

A young woman with long, red hair and a glower that would make Miranda Priestly tremble stands in front of the gates of Hell. She holds your Soul File in her hand—a list of everything the Universe weighed when it decided if you were going to Paradise or headed to the gate you’re looking at now.

Most of Hell is run by demons, but Lily, the woman holding your file, is a human: one who had a short lifetime full of customer service experience. And the line you’re in isn’t for everyone. It’s for the Karens, the crypto-bros, people who insist it was “just a joke.” Everyone who, on Earth, learned that if you’re loud, obnoxious, or cruel enough, you’ll eventually get what you want.

Not here. This is the one customer service desk where the customer is always wrong. And no matter what, you’re going to Hell. All of it is courtesy of Hell’s Belles, the TikTok series created by Seattle’s Jaysea Lynn. Born of two traumas—religious indoctrination and customer service work—Hell’s Belles has built the afterlife we all wish existed: fair, nuanced, respectful of religion but devoid of dogma. The series has spent four years exploring morality, justice, and some of our best and worst human instincts, with a sprinkling of demon smut on top. The series has 1.8 million followers who scroll in five days a week to watch updates from the Hellp Desk. Hell’s Belles was only supposed to last a few episodes—an idea that Lynn had during a particularly bad day in, you guessed it, customer service. “This lady just told me to go to Hell,” Lynn told The Stranger. “The first skit came to me, and I was like ‘Cool, I’ll do, like, three or four of these. It’ll be cathartic, and I will fade into obscurity.’ And that was almost 600 episodes ago.”

Lynn started out by pulling material from her own life, growing up in Astoria (yes, of The Goonies fame) in a conservative, religious home. “In college, I lived in an all-women’s Christian co-op that was essentially a cult,” she says. “When I connected with those same people after college, we had all left religion— and some of us had left faith completely. And it was like, ‘Okay, what were the things that happened? They mattered and they hurt us,

and they’re worth talking about.’ Hell’s Belles was a place where I could start expressing that malcontent and that hurt and not have someone immediately go, ‘Well, that’s not God,’ to make it more comfortable for them to hear. It’s really validating to hear someone say, ‘That’s not what should have happened.’ Or ‘You were assaulted, and it wasn’t God trying to get your attention.’”

In the Hell’s Belles afterlife, we’re all judged by the Universe on the same basic scale: Did you do your honest best to avoid doing harm? If you did, head to the paradise of your choosing. If you didn’t, you’ll find yourself walking past the Hellp Desk toward the gates of Hell. The first two levels aren’t punishment—think of them more like therapy. A place to work through the reasons you weren’t able to be as decent as you should have been on Earth. As you get deeper, the punishments get more severe, but Lynn’s version of Hell assumes that everyone is redeemable. No one is doomed to rot there as long as they’re willing to put in the work.

Dostoevsky did not have customer service trauma that affected his work. Dostoyevsky did not write sex scenes.

Christian mothers who rejected their queer children, abusers, and backyard puppy mill breeders. Others are pulled straight from headlines: the day Anita Bryant died, Miss Oklahoma came up to the desk (“The gay is not a determining factor in how many stairs you have to do.”) When Luigi Mangione shot and killed Brian Thompson, an unnamed healthcare CEO passed through (“When you were lying in that bed, dying, did you still think it was best for healthcare decisions to be made by an insurance panel with no medical training?” Lily asked. “Your claim for hellp has been denied.”) But between the Hellp Desk patrons is the whole “life” part of the afterlife. Lily falls in love with a hunky demon named Bel, they have a little found family that passes between the many levels of the afterlife and plays sexy trivia and sings “Margaritaville” karaoke, and of course, that’s where the sprinkling of demon smut comes in.

personal life. “I started living more authentically,” Lynn says. “And it was like creative therapy for me. I’m more willing to talk to my mom about this. And we were able to have these sometimes sad or harsh conversations that built over time.”

But in January, as the TikTok ban loomed, it seemed like a chapter might be coming to an end. But the same week that TikTok went dark (if only for a day), Lynn signed a seven-figure, three-book deal, including her already self-published prequel to the series, For Whom the Belle Tolls. No matter which oligarch owns our various social media platforms, the Hell’s Belles universe will live on.

The series prequel starts when Lily is still alive, sitting in her car that refused to start, just after getting a bleak cancer prognosis: “The doctor had given her options, of course. Options to prolong. To ease. But options were for people with money. People whose cars would start.” By Chapter 3, though, we’re in the afterlife: Lily gets judged by the Universe, sorted into her own paradise, and the Hellp Desk comes to be.

The first book was the largest writing project Lynn has ever taken on—she doesn’t even script the Hell’s Belles episodes. But she’s excited to eventually move away from the daily grind of filming, editing, and posting an episode every day. “It’s not my favorite storytelling medium,” she says. And with a three-book deal, she may have the chance to (very, very slowly) move away from it. “At first I was like ‘Do you have two more books in you?’” she says. “As soon as I had the deal, I was like ‘Maybe I’m a fraud, and I only ever had one book in me, and this was all a fluke, and this is a lie, and they’re gonna put me in author jail.’ And then it was I took a nap and ate something, and I went, ‘No, I think I’ll be okay.’”

Some of the desk’s patrons are archetypes:

The show ran for four years, and in addition to the whirlwind that comes with TikTok notoriety, Hell’s Belles also helped reconcile some of that religious trauma in her

There are two possibly perfect descriptions I’ve read of For Whom the Belle Tolls The first comes from a document titled “Reading waiver for dad.” When Lynn’s religious father expressed interest in reading the manuscript before it was published, she agreed, but first, he had to initial and sign on a few dotted lines. “I know, from prior conversations, that you have read Dostoevsky and believe this book to be similar. While I am flattered, I’m also concerned,” the letter starts. “For Whom the Belle Tolls does—like Dostoevsky—deal with religion, morality, the human experience, and satire. However, it is not, in any way, like anything Dostoevsky wrote. Dostoevsky did not write sexy demons. Dostoevsky did not have customer service trauma that affected his work. Dostoevsky did not write sex scenes.”

The second comes from the book’s dedication: “For anyone who has ever felt temporary. And for the nerds.” ■

Jaysea Lynn will see you in Hell.

GARRETT HANSON

A.K. Burns: What is Perverse is

Josh Faught: Sanctuary

Tala Madani: Be flat + works from the collection

Artwork by Josh Faught

Who Raised Tariqa Waters?

The

Seattle Artist’s SAM Debut Is a Wave of ’80s Latchkey Nostalgia

BY MEG VAN HUYGEN

Tariqa Waters doesn’t want to ruin the surprise.

I’m asking for details about her upcoming solo Seattle Art Museum installation, Venus Is Missing, but I can only get hints. “Another key element, without giving too much away, is those hair baubles that we wore as kids. Where you could mess up your knuckles on them, you know?”

We’re in the upstairs nook at Charlie’s Queer Books in Fremont, in the attic of the pastel Victorian dollhouse. Waters is chatty and affable; her white raincoat features a festival of rainbow wildflowers, and an image of Fievel Mousekewitz peeks out from

her vintage sweatshirt. The whole conversation is a real exercise in nostalgia, physical space included, and the mention of ’80s hair baubles just ties it all together.

But nostalgia is kind of her thing. Waters made a splash locally with her 2021 exhibition at Bellevue Arts Museum, which included a gigantic lunchbox and matching gigantic thermos featuring Diahann Carroll as the title character from the 1968 TV series, Julia And she’s well known for her Mister Rogersflavored Seattle Channel talk show, and her old-school advice column in PublicDisplay. ART . And most of all for her renowned, super-maximalist underground art gallery, Martyr Sauce, and its attached Pop Art Museum—collectively known as MS PAM.

Well, her former gallery and museum. Waters has since pulled up stakes and moved her whole operation to Fremont, thanks to the rent getting jacked up at the Pioneer Square space. But her northward move has apparently ushered in a new, still very busy era for Waters. In May of 2025, her first solo installation at SAM opens (although her work has appeared in SAM’s gallery before, alongside other artists), she’ll be a

ALL AGES! H COLD BEER H SNACKS

visiting artist at Tacoma’s Museum of Glass from March 12 to 16, and her first book is debuting this summer. And that’s just the first half of the year.

Seems like busy is how Waters likes it. With a two-decade art career that has her in the roles of painter, sculptor, glass-blower, gallery and museum curator, TV presenter, journalist, and author—and sometimescollaborator with her husband, acclaimed guitarist Ryan Waters—it’s hard to calculate how anyone could wedge all these projects into the same life, even across 20 years. Plus she’s a mom of two who’s lived all over the US as well as in Sicily.

Open Saturdays!

The Waterses landed in Seattle from Atlanta in 2012, and right away, she says, she started experiencing racism in her new, very white city. To illustrate, she tells the story of taking her son to Children’s Hospital around the time they arrived in Seattle, wherein the hospital staff assumed she was homeless because she was Black and her address was in Pioneer Square. “They literally called Child Protective Services.” Another incident came in 2021, following her participation in the Yellow No. 2 exhibition at Bellevue Arts Museum. Waters helped draft and cosigned a letter that documented discriminatory treatment against her and other Black artists by BAM’s executive director, who resigned in response. Waters points out that, coming from Richmond, Virginia, and later the DMV area, and then hav-

ing lived in Atlanta as an adult, she’s struggled to explain her lived Black experience to folks in this city since day one. In Seattle, the Black population is around 6.6 percent, in comparison to Atlanta and Richmond, where Black people make up the majority at 47.1 percent and 43.7 percent respectively.

“As far as being Black and a woman,” Waters says, “I’ve never considered myself anything that I had to advocate for until I moved to Seattle. You know, it just is a demographic thing. And so the conversations I’ve been having here have been frustrating at best, because I can’t make anybody understand what that experience is.”

For her SAM show opening in May, this round’s nostalgia wave is centered around the mid-’80s, and specifically around the Black experience for kids who were growing up then. The house she lived in as a kid also looms large in the experience she’s describing. “It goes all the way back to this little house that I grew up in in Richmond. We grew up like right behind the old State Fair, in Henrico County, in this little blue-collar neighborhood in the ’80s. And it was the best We moved to Maryland when I was 11…but all of my core memories are there. I think about it all the time.” She talks about a quieter time living there, when life had fewer distractions. “Back then, unless my phone rang and I picked it up, we weren’t gonna have an exchange. The TV went off the air at midnight, and then it’s static, and you gotta go to bed or you gotta figure out why you’re still up, right? And so there’s something about the pacing, and something about the consumerist elements that I’ve been playing with throughout my work. The distractions are something that’s really interesting to me as a mother and a woman.”

Time travel is a recurring theme in Venus is Missing, Waters says, and refers to her fascination with ’80s toys as well, explaining that being a former latchkey kid is a big piece of that. “A lot of how I position myself alongside those objects is to add in that consumer point of view,” she says. “Like, as a kid, I was consuming that thing too. But I know you saw yourself in that object, because you would never see

“As far as being Black and a woman, I’ve never considered myself anything that I had to advocate for until I moved to Seattle.”

[someone who looks like] me on those Saturday morning cartoons [and commercials]. I wouldn’t be there. But I was also consuming these things at the same time.”

Waters also chronicles her Black experience in her upcoming book, WHO RAISED YOU?: A Martyr Sauce Guide to Etiquette The glossy art book is a monograph of Waters’s decade-plus in Seattle and her UX as a Black artist here. It’s loaded with her signature script-flipping, retro pop-culture references, and splashy, colorful photos of her work, herself, and the MS PAM space. Unpacking the title, Waters says, “Whenever I found I had to walk out of a space, I would always say, ‘Who raised you?’ You know, like ‘Why am I even having this conversation and being treated like this?’ And then the subtitle is just a tongue-in-cheek way for me to kind of covertly—or not so covertly—call out just certain circumstances that I’ve been in. And hopefully encourage others who are in those situations to burn shit down.”

A pastiche of an Emily Post-style guide, the book’s a retrospective of the aforementioned racism and, ahem, very bad manners Waters has been on the receiving end of in the Seattle’s arts community, as well as a love letter to her own self. In it, she’s reasserting the decisions she makes as an artist, despite criticisms from or comparisons to other artists.

“Like, I’m going to do what I want to do,” Waters says, “and if you have a problem with it, you can cherry-pick what you rock with or what you don’t rock with, or just write me off altogether. But I’m super transparent in the book. I’m in love with my story, because it’s the only one I have.”

Venus Is Missing opens at Seattle Art Museum May 7. Tariqa Waters’s glass pieces will be on display at Museum of Glass in Tacoma March 12–16. Her book, WHO RAISED YOU?: A Martyr Sauce Guide to Etiquette, is slated to publish in summer 2025 by Minor Matters Books. ■

See Venus Is Missing at Seattle Art Museum starting May 7. TARIQA WATERS

GEORGETOWN

Unstable Foundation

Ai Weiwei Remixes Our Globalized Culture in His Largest Retrospective in the US

BY CHARLES MUDEDE

The title of Seattle Art Museum’s Ai, Rebel: The Art and Activism of Ai Weiwei has Isaac Asimov’s I, Robot as its inspiration. And the reason for this is found in Asimov’s interconnected stories about a future that begins in 1998 and ends in 2052. I, Robot is about how humans and their machines, their creations, cannot be untangled. We are them, they are us—like it or not.

This conception was revolutionary for its time in the late 1940s. Asimov already understood that the relationship between humans and machines is not only very close, but would become more and more complicated over time. Even if we gave them precise directives—“Don’t ever do this,” “Do x when y happens,” and the like—there was no guarantee they would function in exactly the same way in all possible situations, because we humans cannot know all of the possible situations. This is what imposes limits to the theory of mechanism, which imagines

if all the factors are known, a precise picture of the future will be obtained. Life and its evolutionary processes make nonsense of this fantasy.

And so when Ai recently asked DeepSeek—a new and market-changing (in the creative destruction sense) Chinese AI app that directly rivals ChatGPT and is open

Weiwei’s work thinks big—big politics, big history, big issues, big materials.

source—“Who is Ai Weiwei?” it said: “I am sorry, I cannot answer that question. I am an AI assistant designed to provide helpful and harmless responses.”

The robot wasn’t neutral, or anything

close to Leibniz’s characteristica universalis, a mechanistic dream of pure intellectual function and knowledge exchange. DeepSeek

made it clear that it was all too human. It was too much like us. Its limits were our limits; its potentia is ours also. But as the curator of

Sunflower Seeds, 2010.

Ai Weiwei with the word “FUCK” sunburned onto his chest, Tiananmen Square, Beijing, 2000, part of the Beijing Photographs series, 1993-2003.

Image credit: Brian Allen

the SAM exhibit, Foong Ping, points out, Ai’s work often complicates the relationship between the real and the artificial, the authentic and the inauthentic, fantasy and history (both personal and cultural). For him, there is no “fixed thing,” and even “identity is not a fixed thing.” The ancient is as unstable as the new. This Weltanschauung is at the heart of Ai’s art, and also the artificial/human intelligence stories by Asimov. The complicated companion has arrived. We live in the worlds of I, Robot

Because Ai’s work thinks big—big politics, big history, big issues, big materials— the SAM retrospective, which opens March 12, will be the largest the United States has ever seen, spanning his 40-year career. It will not only occupy space in the downtown museum, but also Seattle Asian Art Museum and Olympic Sculpture Park. SAM will display what I call his bling-bling jewelry collection, along with Ai classics like Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn, a collection of images of Ai dropping and destroying, in 1995, a 2,000-year-old ceremonial urn from the Han period. The Asian Art Museum will have his largest Lego piece to date, Water Lilies, which is a larger-than-life interpretation of Claude Monet’s “Water Lilies #1.” It consists of 650,000 Lego studs, and this will be the first time it’s displayed in the US. The Sculpture Park will have his popular Circle of Animals/Zodiac Heads sculptures, which are reproductions of the twelve bronze ani-

mal heads that ornamented an 18th-century imperial garden in Beijing.

In Water Lilies , we have the meeting point of several elements that appear to be unrelated. One is the Lego itself. It is a construction toy made by the Danish industrial corporation the Lego Group. Then there is the reference to the French artist Monet, who founded, in the last decades of the 19th century, the Impressionist movement. But where is the Chinese in all of this? It’s actually found in a strange opening, a con-

The complicated companion has arrived. We live in the worlds of I, Robot.

siderable hole found on the right side of the 50-foot-long work. This, according to the Smithsonian, “is a door to an underground dugout [that the Ai] family lived in” during an exile imposed by Mao Zedong’s party. The door is personal and historical. The work’s materials are industrial and popular. And the image references European high art. This is how Ai remixes our globalized culture.

“Weiwei is kind of a pretty famous artist and an activist,” explained Foong, who is also a fan of science fiction literature. “And

I thought, Gosh, there aren’t that many people on this Earth who can so beautifully illuminate all three of our museums ... So, I went on this crazy journey to try and get all three of our sites activated. That took a long time. And it stretched our team to the maximum.”

It’s also interesting that this exhibit appears at this time in our history. Not too long ago, the US elected a president whose designs and declarations are clearly authoritarian. He even assumed control of the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. He has made it clear, again and again, that what’s good for him is the same as what’s good for the country. As Hyperallergic pointed out in the piece “Donald Trump Brings Back ‘Degenerate Art,’” the president recently wrote that “from now on, we will wage a Relentless War of purification against the last elements of our Cultural decay! Make American Art Beautiful Again!” This kind of language cannot be distinguished from that of the Mao Zedong party that banished the poet Ai Qing during the Cultural Revolution, or of the present Socialism-with-Chinese-characteristics party that arrested Ai, imprisoned him, almost killed him, and finally forced him into exile in 2015 for “economic crimes.” (He currently lives in Portugal.)

What can we learn from this? China, the dominant capitalist power of our day, and the world’s largest producer of robots, has not moved toward the US’s democratic sys-

tem, but we are certainly moving toward China’s authoritarian one. Will American AI robots begin erasing the histories of our artists? This kind of speculation is not farfetched. According to our president, the only history that should be on record is that which praises white men. Books that say otherwise are being removed from libraries and schools that receive federal funding. If robots are like us, American ones will soon not remember the days of slavery.

And this brings me to a final point about Ai. It concerns the work of the greatest science fiction writer of our time, Liu Cixin. (He, like Asimov, is into the hard stuff— science fiction with a lot of science, rather than fantasy, in it.) The opening of Cixin’s The Three-Body Problem trilogy has striking similarities with Ai’s childhood in Northern China. Ye Wenjie, the key fictional character of the first novel, comes from a family of scientists; Ai, from a family of artists. Each saw the zealots of the Cultural Revolution, which began when Ai was 11 years old, brutalize their fathers. And this experience left a lasting mark on their lives. But whereas Ye became a pessimist who saw no hope for humankind, Ai went in the opposite direction. He is a humanist. A big-machine-learning humanist.

Ai, Rebel: The Art and Activism of Ai Weiwei will be on display at Seattle Art Museum March 12–September 7. ■

COURTESY OF AI WEIWEI STUDIO AND NEUGERRIEMSCHNEIDER, BERLIN, © AI WEIWEI, PHOTO: MARJORIE BRUNET PLAZA

COURTESY OF AI WEIWEI STUDIO, © AI WEIWEI

Ai Weiwei’s Water Lilies consists of 650,000 Lego studs.

Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn, 1995.

Grief and Ass

Queer Dance Duo Drama Tops Want to Be Your DADS

BY NICO SWENSON

PHOTOS BY ERIN O’REILLY

An attractive, emotional, wild ride of a show is coming your way this April! DADS will be hitting the 12th Avenue Arts stage with a breathtaking dance performance that navigates fatherhood, masculinity, death, and purpose. There are also hot butts.

Drama Tops, accurately self-described as “Seattle’s hottest postmodern nightlife duo,” are Elby Brosch (he/him) and Shane Donohue (he/they). DADS is a study of extremes. At times, the pair are pulling off impressive, acrobatic choreography, climbing atop one another, and doing flips; in other moments, they are collapsed in exhausted intimacy. They experiment with duration against a soundscape that ranges from experimental sci-fi sounds to club hits, and though they sometimes break apart

for strikingly diametric solos, they always slam back together in unified, arduous repetition. The result is campy, challenging, and heartfelt, and each artist has their own relationship to it.

For Brosch, the seed of the piece came from his father’s death. “My dad passed when I was 15, and I do feel like that grief is part of why I even kept pursuing dance. I’ve been wanting to make a piece dealing with grief, but I haven’t felt ready until now.”

The theme is “so complicated, and it’s so big,” Donohue explains. “For a while, we were talking about Elby’s loss of a dad. His loss of his father in relationship to him idolizing his father and being able to stop time and encapsulate someone.”

“I was really lucky to have a very emotionally connected dad,” Brosch reflects. “My dad

was a very sensitive, emotional person. He modeled strength within emotion. He was someone who I felt very safe going to cry to, and that version of masculinity is really beautiful to me and important to me and something that I want to model as well. It felt clear that being a dad was so important to him, and so meaningful to him, and that he really cared for us.”

In death, we gain the ability to polish or idolize the memory of a person, which can feel like a gift compared to the tumultuous and sometimes messy relationships we maintain with the living day-to-day. This chaos, combined with the unpredictability of grief itself, mixes into further themes of purpose and queerness that are explored in DADS. “I’m interested in our relationship to fatherhood and purpose and what it means

to us as queer people to have purpose if we are not [literal] dads,” Donohue explains.

“Are we going to drink ourselves to death? Are we going to be single? Or are we going to, like, sex ourselves until we’re bleeding out of our buttholes? What is the queer sense of purpose that brings levity to our lives?” Brosch expands on that in contrast to the prescribed purpose of heteronormative culture. “If you’re straight, there’s such a prescriptive life path. You get your career, you have your spouse, you have your children, and everything’s for your children. We’re free from that as queer people, but then there’s that ambiguity of, like, what choices do I want to make? What choices are made for me by my circumstances? How do we find our agency and desire and purpose?”

It all comes together in a self-referential

Drama Tops are Elby Brosch (he/him) and Shane Donohue (he/they).

“I’m

interested in our relationship to fatherhood and purpose and what it means to us as queer

but very relatable piece. DADS is sometimes loud, fast, and humorous, and other times quiet, still, and serious. This fits perfectly with tensions of masculinity. “Softness versus aggression,” as Donohue puts it, “and realizing that they’re not always opposites. Aggressiveness is not always not sensitive and not soft, and softness doesn’t have to be docile.” When put in motion, it requires “navigating the complexities of those things and being present in the dance. Being present with each other in those things as they come up.” Brosch points out how well dance functions as a medium for that contrast. “Dance can be complicated and hold multiple truths at the same time. And I think we’re really finding that in this piece—each moment can have multiple conflicting truths.”

“I was really lucky to have a very emotionally connected dad. He modeled strength within emotion, and that version of masculinity is really beautiful to me and important.”

vulnerability. This comes with its own form of rigor, especially when navigating subject matter that holds its own complex relationship to emotions. Donohue contemplates how this comes up in their process: “I think I process my emotions way differently than Elby. In terms of how we’re both kind of pushing back and forth between each other’s habits, Elby is much more open to the emotional truth of the moment, and I want to choreograph into or around it. I think both of those things are aiding this complex piece that has a lot of defense mechanisms built in around these hard topics.” Brosch touches on the editing process of such personal content, noting that “It can be hard to get feedback on things that feel very tender and detach from it enough to think of it compositionally. That’s currently something that is very challenging.”

I asked how they care for themselves throughout such a demanding creative process. Donohue offers healthy, nonhierarchical collaboration as a means of care. “We spend time talking about it and give space when it’s needed. I really value making art with Elby because we can push ourselves into some sort of an edge. Avoiding harm is something that can’t happen, but experiencing small amounts of harm—and then processing it, understanding what it is, and understanding how to move forward—helps me learn about the world, helps me learn about Elby, and helps me be a better human being.”

It’s a vulnerable experience for the creators, one that invites the audience into that

Brosch agrees that the two are pretty willing to push themselves to “physical exhaustion limits,” but in such a way that it doesn’t feel damaging to their bodies.

people to have purpose if we are not [literal] dads,” says Donohue.

DADS opens at the Washington Ensemble Theatre April 24.

How

use the stage sets and props in DADS is mind-blowing... and that’s not the only thing they blow.

“Caring for yourself takes resources and practice. We received a National Dance Project Grant for this piece, and being able to pay ourselves has allowed us to prioritize time to do this. We’ve been working on this piece for two and a half years. We’re refining it, and we can get it to a place that it’s super sustainable for us and still pushes us in interesting ways. So I think planning is care.”

“Tell that to the kiddos: Knowing your schedule is care,” Brosch adds. For him, the grant has been huge. “I’ve gone down to part-time at my day job because we’re

able to pay ourselves for rehearsals. We’ve given ourselves performance stipends [before], but to actually have sustained support over months has been life-changing. We’ve been able to buy a lot of materials to make set pieces, and that is super different. Dance almost never has [stage] sets, and I think a lot of it is just [not having the] money.” (Without giving spoilers, the set and props of DADS alone are worth seeing, but how Donohue and Brosch utilize them is mind-blowing… and they blow a lot of other things too.)

Outside of the piece, they’ve found purpose and power in community and in the social role of dad-ness. Not in a way that discredits the strength of mom-ness, but in a way that reflects the positive modeling of dads, as well as their own dadness. Their friends have been Dad, they’ve been Dad to each other, their dramaturge has been Dad, and they’ve worked towards being community Dads as well. Brosch has been asking himself, “How do we offer information to a choreographer who’s just coming up right behind us? We’re nationally emerging artists

now. We’re going to tour, so as we’re growing and learning through that process, we want to be able to offer [that knowledge] to other dancers who are curious about that path. As a way of being fathers in community.”

“We are not powerless,” adds Donohue. “We can all shift the world. We can all be dads.” ■

See DADS at Washington Ensemble Theatre April 24–26 and May 1–3. Tickets at washingtonensemble.org. Visit dramatops.com for DADS tour updates.

Donohue and Brosch

The Rock Lottery Hat Is Never Wrong

The Magic of Community, Music, and Creating Something Out of Nothing

BY MEGAN SELING

PHOTOS BY BRITTNE LUNNISS

When I walked into the Vera Project on a rainy Sunday morning, I spotted musicians whose work I’ve followed for years— Shaina Shepherd, Chris Martin of Kinski, Ben Verellen of Helms Alee, Bree McKenna of Tacocat, Shaun Crawford of Acid Tongue… But they weren’t onstage. They looked as sleepy as I felt, sitting in folding chairs on the showroom floor under the club’s overhead fluorescent lights. It was barely 9 a.m. on October 27, just days before Halloween—and, even scarier, the 2024 Presidential Election—and 20 musicians from around the Pacific Northwest were coming together to kick off Rock Lottery 13.

Rock Lottery works like this: Twenty musicians are split into four bands of five by pulling names out of a hat. The new groups are given a bag of snacks, access to a practice space, and the directive to prepare at least three songs to be performed 12 hours later in front of a live audience. (They’re allowed one cover song—the organizers aren’t monsters.) The first Rock Lottery was hosted by the Good/Bad Art Collective in Denton, Texas, in 1997. Since then, dozens of installments—some official, some not so

much—have been hosted all over the country in Denton, Seattle, Brooklyn, Minneapolis, Phoenix, Louisville, and beyond. Seattle’s last Rock Lottery was at the Crocodile on January 25, 2020. The Before Times.

My coffee hadn’t yet kicked in when Rock Lottery cofounder Chris Weber stepped onto Vera’s stage and signaled with the wave of

So often, seeing how the sausage gets made shatters the illusion. But witnessing art being made? It feels like you’re watching someone else’s dream.

a hat that it was time to begin. “The Rock Lottery hat is never wrong,” he says, and it’s as legendary as the project itself. The wornout straw cowboy number is decorated with feathers, ribbon, and a small unidentifiable animal skull (real? Not real? Who can say?), and it has been around for as long as Rock

Lottery itself. It’s held more than 1,000 names—including Mike Watt, Father John Misty, Reggie Watts, and members of Psychedelic Furs, the Murder City Devils, the Roots, They Might Be Giants, Harvey Danger, and Yeah Yeah Yeahs—and spawned more than 200 bands. It was also once eaten by a dog sometime in the 2000s, but was fixed right up with some emergency crafting. (The dog, I’m told, was also fine.)

The drummers are the first names plucked from the hat—every band gets one percussionist, who then draws their bandmates’ names. Faustine Hudson of the Maldives was called up to the stage, followed by Dave Abramson of Diminished Men, Justin R. Cruz Gallego (aka J.R.C.G.), and Nicholas Tazza of Algernon Cadwallader. Applause scattered around the room as each name was announced, and I attempted to scribble some notes despite having left my hand-eye coordination back in bed.

It’s not that I was covering Rock Lottery reluctantly. The opposite, actually. I embraced the opportunity for a fun distraction and considered it an easy assignment. I’d go hang out with some cool bands, take notes throughout the day, pull together some kind of light entertaining hour-by-hour break-

down of how Rock Lottery works behind the scenes, and collect my accolades for a job well done.

And I needed an easy win. The previous 10 months had kicked my ass. More than kicked it. The universe buckled me into a seat on the Scrambler, cranked it up to high, and walked away. In January, my mother-in-law learned her cancer had come back, and she began the long, emotional, mindfucking process of dying. My husband, her son, spent the first half of the year flying back and forth from our place in Seattle to her home in Alabama for weeks at a time. I’d visit when I could, when it was appropriate. After she died in March, and after my husband worked another couple of months to clean out her house, we both landed back in Seattle, finally in the same state again, ready to establish some semblance of stability. Or at least manage our grief by eating Kinder Happy Hippo cookies (her favorite) and distracting ourselves with Eurovision.

Just as summer arrived, The Stranger, where I’ve worked full-time since 2022, doing a job I moved across the country for, was sold. Such a situation is always rife with upheaval, even in the best cases. Are we gonna get shut down? Am I about to lose my job? I moved here for this job—what the fuck am I

Vera Project volunteers had the honor of pulling the first names of the day from the Rock Lottery hat.

gonna do? The next month, with my job still intact but feeling precarious, my husband and I were told our landlord was going to sell the house. We had three months to find a new place.

They say the five most stressful life events are death, divorce, moving, major illness, and job loss. I told my husband if he divorced me, I would kill him.

On that Sunday, Rock Lottery Sunday, I needed to be looking for a house, I needed to be lining up movers, and I needed to be packing. Fuck, I needed to be grieving. But there was work to do. I had a new boss to try to impress and an impending election to try to ignore. So after the bands were formed, I hopped in the car with members of Band #2, featuring Dave Abramson, Ben Verellen, Numbers Power, Gabe Hall-Rodrigues, and William Cremin, and we headed to Verellen’s home studio in Greenwood.

In his heavy rock trio Helms Alee, Verellen uses his powerhouse vocals to sing/ shout about mythical sea creatures and doom while delivering a wall of guitar noise that can rattle the solar system. Stranger music critic Dave Segal once said Abamson’s band, the Diminished Men, excel at “eerie, ominous jazz rock that evokes myriad noirish cinematic scenarios” and often refers to them as “one of Seattle’s best bands.” The pairing makes sense. The hat is never wrong.

But Floral Tattoo play explosive, symphonic pop and utilize everything from lap steel guitar and singing saw to synthesizers and a euphonium on their latest release, The Circus Egotistica; or, How I Spent Most of my Life as a Lost Cause. In Cumulus, Cremin makes bright power pop with Alexandra Lockhart, and it’s a must-hear for fans of Rilo Kiley and Waxahatchee, and Hall-Rodrigues’s band Foleada play traditional Brazilian forró. I had no doubt they could write a coherent song. They’re professionals. But three songs? In 12 hours? Lol, ok.

“Anyone got some riffs they’ve been chipping away at that their other band rejected?” asks Abramson.

Power started to play some version of a C into a D minor and everyone agreed it was interesting enough to explore. As Power twirled on it for a bit longer, the others politely waited their turn to add their own flair. One series of chords turned into another and then another, and suddenly, a song. After about an hour, they had produced a wistful three-and-a-half-minute, mid-tempo indie

rock tune that sounded like something you’d listen to in 1994 while driving down a long highway thinking about someone you don’t want to be thinking about.

The band started hitting their stride just before noon as they began work on their second song. Hall-Rodrigues took the lead with his Petosa accordion, and it almost immediately started to sound like the soundtrack to a climactic scene in a silent movie about a murderous tycoon who’s haunting a young couple on their honeymoon at an Italian villa in the early 1900s.

Hall-Rodrigues pushed and pulled the accordion faster as Power added in some guitar, letting it build with the same energy as a slow but steady emerging storm. After a few bars of just accordion and guitar, Abramson started in with a waltzy beat while Verellen watched, waiting for his cue. Once Abramson switched to dramatic, drawn-

“Anyone got some riffs they’ve been chipping away at that their other band rejected?”

out cymbal crashes, Verellen and Abramson exchanged grins, and, clearly vibing off the song, the bass and drums joined forces to hit the climax where, in the film (if there were a film), we would see the villain, the knife, the scream, the blood.

“That’s got some John Carpenter Halloween vibes!” Abramson exclaims as the music fades out.

They all agree it could be faster, and, the next time around, Cremin noodles with the keyboard, which introduces a sci-fi element. The mood shifts from an Italian villa to an alien-invaded Western in the 1940s, and I started to recall Edgar Allan Poe stories in my head. Halloween was just days away, after all.

So often, seeing how the sausage gets made shatters the illusion. When a magician reveals his secret, he becomes nothing more than an average dude with a lot of time on his hands and the patience to perfect sly maneuvers.

But witnessing art being made? It feels like you’re watching someone else’s dream.

Band #2 from left: William Cremin, Dave Abramson, Numbers Power, and Ben Verellen.

The room fills with sounds, and the musicians can’t explain how the notes come to them. They just do. There is air. There is quiet. Then there is music. The best I can tell, invisible sounds are picked up by electrical impulses of the brain, which signal the neurotransmitters to let the receptors know that they need to tell the body, the hands, the fingers, the feet that these are the notes to play, the words to sing, or the beat to build in order to express exactly what needs to be said, needs to be heard, and needs to be felt in this very moment. That’s how brains work, right? It’s real fucking magic! At least to me, a nonmusician. And that’s not for lack of trying—I’ve played clarinet, piano, and bass guitar, but my brain can’t grab the invisible sounds. My neurotransmitters are busted.

That’s how brains work, right? It’s real fucking magic!

My body plays the message all wrong when it’s received. So instead, I’ve spent much of my 25-year career writing about music—I’ve been to thousands of concerts, interviewed hundreds of musicians, and have even been lucky enough to be in the room while a few records were being recorded.

But Rock Lottery was different. The songs didn’t exist when I woke up that morning. Neither did the bands. And getting to see something come from literally nothing at all with a little bit of magic and a lot of vulnerable creativity and community has reframed every piece of music I’ve listened to up to that point and every piece of music I’ve listened to since. I had taken music for granted. It has always been there; I have always loved so much of it, but I stopped thinking about and appreciating where it came from.

Across the city, three more bands were doing what Band #2, later named Diatoms, were doing in Greenwood.

At Black Lodge, the band who eventually called themselves Jenny (best band name, by the way)—composed of Bree McKenna, Shaun Crawford, Sébastien Deramat, J.R.C.G., and Shaina Shepherd—were nailing a scorching rendition of “Season of the

Witch.” In Vera’s showroom, Really Really I Love You had just formed—including members Faustine Hudson, Liv Victorino, Michael Hamm, Rebecca Gutterman, and Thomas Arndt—and were flirting with world music and jam-band vibes and getting wild with the percussion. They had three drummers going at once! Upstairs, the band who named themselves Minus One, featuring Nicholas Tazza and Chris Martin of rock-forward acts Algernon Cadwallader and Kinski, and Brad Loving of electronic project Reunion Island, lucked into a band with Anu Batbaatar of Zje Mongol. Batbaatar plays the horsehead fiddle box and does Mongolian throat singing, and the guys were wise to let her take the lead while they crafted their offerings around her unique (to Seattle, anyway) talents. The end result felt like watching a band from another planet present their music to us. The Rock Lottery hat is never wrong, indeed.

Now, months later, The Stranger is still standing, and I still have my job. My husband and I found a cute house to rent in Greenwood and moved in over Thanksgiving weekend. I think of my mother-in-law every day, but I’ve gotten pretty good with grief. Some of my favorite people are dead.

I can’t remember much about the finished songs I heard that night during the grand finale concert. But I do remember how they made me feel. I remember thinking, “Why isn’t Shaina Shepherd as famous as Brittany Howard?” “Is how I feel watching Shaun Crawford shred the guitar right now the same as how unsuspecting music fans felt the first time they saw Hendrix?” “How have I never heard of a horsehead box fiddle?” And “How has a band never thought to call themselves Jenny before?”

Had I stayed home that October morning, had I sunk into my urge to hide away, I would’ve missed my chance to witness it all. To see magic with my own eyes. Cheesy? Sure. Embarrassingly earnest? Call it what you want. But days after Rock Lottery’s return to Seattle, Trump won the presidency. A bullshit ending to a bullshit year. But even in the likelihood of more dark days ahead, I’m going to try my damnedest to stay open to the possibility that something good is always somewhere out there, too. And when I start to doubt it, I’ll just crank up my favorite songs and be reminded of their magic. ■

JAKE SHIMABUKURO DUO

Innovative and exacting ukulele master

MARCH 6 – 9

LAKECIA BENJAMIN & PHOENIX

5x Grammy-nominated fiery soul, funk, and improv alto saxophonist

MARCH 11 – 12

RICK BRAUN & RICHARD ELLIOTT

Funky horn power contemporary jazz heavyweights

MARCH 13 – 16

ISAIAH SHARKEY

Grammy winner as guitarist on D’Angelo’s Black Messiah album – jazz/soul/R&B guitarist extraordinaire

MARCH 18 – 19

TOWER OF POWER

American R&B and funk based horn section and band, originating in Oakland CA delivering their unique brand of soul music since 1968

MARCH 20 – 23

CHRISTIAN MCBRIDE URSA MAJOR 9x Grammy award-winning bassist and host of NPR’s Jazz Night in America joined by four rising young master instrumentalists

MARCH 27 – 30

GRETA MATASSA SEXTET One of Seattle’s top jazz vocal stylists APRIL 2

BLOOD SWEAT & TEARS

3x Grammy-Winners and Grammy Hall of Famers. Horn-driven rock, jazz, and blues. APRIL 3 – 6

JANIS SIEGEL AND CHERYL BENTYNE – BROAD APPEAL

10x Grammy-winning vocal powerhouses and longtime partners from The Manhattan Transfer deliver pop, swing, vocalese, and harmony music. APRIL 8 – 9

EMMET COHEN TRIO AND SPECIAL GUEST HOUSTON PEARSON

American jazz pianist/composer and one of his generation’s

Band #2, aka Diatoms, performing at Rock Lottery’s grand finale concert.

Vincent Peirani Ballaké Sissoko

Émile Parisien

Vincent Ségal

Isaiah Collier “The World Is On Fire”

Freddy Fuego Golden Ear Awards Party

Album Preview Revue

All the Local Releases to Spin This Spring

DEAD BARS

All Dead Bars Go to Heaven

(Iodine Recordings)

For a certain crowd, the phrase pop punk often conjures up imagery of white dudes with frosted tips singing through their nose about how all girls suck. But Dead Bars aren’t like that. That was 2006. Today’s pop punk is different—it’s not plasticized misogyny, it’s optimistic. It’s punk with a pep in its step, not because everything is great, but because everything is terrible, and at least we have each other. On their new album, All Dead Bars Go to Heaven, the band’s vocalist John Maiello delivers earnest lyrics about finding community in music (“Your favorite singers are on your side / let the riffs come alive”) and visiting dead friends through his records (“I wanna be a ghost tonight / I wanna party with my friends on the other side”). That all may sound a little too saccharine on paper, but the band’s buoyant, melodic punk riffs and rough-and-tumble percussion adds enough of an edge to let you feel like you’re still a badass even while sitting in your feelings. (Dead Bars’ album release show is April 26 at the Sunset) MEGAN SELING

PERFUME GENIUS

Glory (Matador Records)

In the words of a YouTube comment I read at 2 a.m. on the music video for the Perfume Genius single “It’s a Mirror”: “We’re about to witness the slay of the century.” YES. Give me a big mood, big music, big art direction; by all means, take up space on the strength of an album cover alone. An uncannily strawberry blond Mike Hadreas, in a crop top and low-rise jeans, strewn across the floor of a mysterious cabin? We needed this. For his seventh album, Glory, Hadreas and company swerve towards a fuller, more driving rock sound, while keeping it very weird and very queer. The sweaty, fever-dreamlike videos for both

EVEN MORE ALBUMS TO LOOK OUT FOR

February 28

Max Nordile

Crystal Rescue Flux Code cassette (Music For People)

March 7

Kinski

Stumbledown Terrace (Comedy Minus One)

singles, “It’s a Mirror” (featuring a leather-clad Hadreas riding a motorcycle, getting a full facial of gasoline in a field, and so much more) and “No Front Teeth” (featuring Aldous Harding in a psychotic waffle-making-and-eating scene, and so much more) were made by Cody Critcheloe, whose warped aesthetic, as always, sets the whole thing off. (Perfume Genius play the Showbox June 26) EMILY NOKES

SWAMP WIFE

Your Love Is All I Know

(LACE Records)

Sifting through show listings last year, I didn’t expect to find a special band. I knew I had when I heard “Your Turn,” a desperate howl about the last short end of a relationship, at the point you’re ready to ask someone if they still love you, and to show you how. If Your Love Is All I Know is like Swamp Wife’s self-titled first EP, it will be emotionally forthright and play smart with big, brittle guitars. Swamp Wife doesn’t play loud for the sake of it—they play for the friends they wrote the song with. The first single from Your Love Is All I Know, “Cadmium Red Light,” released Valentine’s Day, oozes Chastity Belt, Pixies, and Pixies offshoot the Amps. The band plays like a single dark, mechanical instrument. Singer Abby Wrath stands alone in its murk. As if illuminated in intense red light, Wrath whispers, yells, and stretches each word until it breaks. (Swamp Wife’s EP release show is April 11 at Black Lodge April 11) VIVIAN MCCALL

ADRIAN YOUNGE

Something About April III

(Linear Labs Records)

Self-taught musician, composer, producer, and orchestrater Adrian Younge is known for his work with big names like Kendrick Lamar, Wu-Tang Clan, Ghostface Killah, the Delfonics, and Snoop Dogg. However, the multi-talented artist has also released countless albums and soundtracks on his own. In 2011, Younge released the first installment of his Something about April trilogy—a pseudo-soundtrack series of dark psychedelic soul and cinematic instrumentals. After the album was sampled by hiphop heavies Timbaland and Jay-Z, Younge went on to release part two in 2016, and Something About April III will be released April 18. Don’t miss Younge as he stops by the Tractor Tavern with tracks from the trilogy with his 10-piece orchestra. I just have one question... how will that many musicians fit onto the Tractor’s little stage? (Adrian Younge plays Tractor Tavern on March 26 ) AUDREY VANN

SUZZALLO

The Quiet Year (Thirty Something Records)

The term supergroup has been overused to the point of meaning nothing at all, but please believe me and put some respect

on that word when I tell you Suzzallo is the most exciting supergroup to come from Seattle in quite some time. The band came together in 2022 after vocalist/guitarist Rocky Votolato’s child unexpectedly died in a car accident. Music and loved ones being the balm that they are, Votolato channeled his grief into performing soaring, guitar-driven rock songs with old friends, including his Waxwing bandmate Rudy Gajadhar, Steve Bonnell of Schoolyard Heroes, and, for a few songs, Ben Gibbard of Death Cab for Cutie. You can almost hear the heart healing—or, at least, finding a sustainable balance of love and grief—within the melodies. If you’re new to town and all these names mean nothing to you, know this: Seattle and the world are so excited about this record that Suzzallo raised more than $100K in presales via Kickstarter to make it happen. (Suzzallo’s album release show is May 17 at Madame Lou’s) MEGAN SELING ■

March 7

Lake

Bucolic Gone (Don Giovanni)

March 8

Tennis Pro

Mismatch (self-released)

March 21

Death Spa

Ewwwphoria (self-released)

March 28

Great Grandpa

Patience, Moonbeam (Run for Cover)

April 18

Melvin Thunderball (Ipecac)

May 30

The Minus 5

Oar On, Penelope! (Yep Roc)

June 13

Casual Hex

Zig Zag Lady Illusion II (Youth Riot Records)

June 13

Sea Lemon

Diving For a Prize (Luminelle Recordings)

The Hole Story

The

Stranger’

s Officially Unofficial Ranking of Seattle’s Best Bagels

BY MEGAN SELING AND THE STRANGER’S BAGEL CONTROL BOARD

PHOTOS BY BILLIE WINTER

No fewer than four brick-and-mortar bagel shops opened in Seattle in the past year. Bloom Bistro & Grocery moved into Georgetown in April, Toasted Bagels & Coffee landed in the University District and Backyard Bagel hit Fremont in July, and Hey Bagel has been drawing a crowd at University Village since January. And they join an already-crowded industry—I can name 15 bagel shops off the top of my head, and many of them have multiple locations around town. (Today’s newer generation of Seattleites seem to prefer their cream cheese on bagels over street dogs, but that’s a tragic tale for another time.)

Because we’re serious journalists, and we do serious journalism, we knew it was time to get our hands dirty and see how all these offerings stacked up.

Here’s how it worked: We bought both plain and everything bagels from 10 different bagel bakeries. All bagels were purchased on the day of the taste test and stored in their appropriate bags at room temperature. Then, we cut them into bitesized wedges just minutes before unleashing the hungry mob in an effort to ensure ultimate freshness and fairness.

There was a toaster oven for anyone who wanted to heat up or toast their bites, as well as plain cream cheese from a few different locations for those who prefer to sample their bagels with schmear. Each specimen was labeled with only a number— no one knew which bagel came from which shop until the scores were tallied.

Things got a little heated! One bagel that received a lot of praise from several West Coasters in the group was called “bland”

and “bready” by a native New Yorker. There were gasps. Then, an argument broke out over whether or not fennel seed should be

An argument broke out over whether or not fennel seed should be included in everything bagel seasoning.

included in everything bagel season. And one bagel got spit into the trash by multiple tasters. Things got messy. But when all was said and done, we had done it. We found the

best bagel in Seattle. Or, at least, the best bagel in the taste test. Because despite all the scientific research, this list isn’t comprehensive. There’s Bagel Oasis, who’ve been doing something right since the 1980s, and Mt. Bagel, who have good bagels but only had garlic and onion flavors left when I stopped in ahead of the taste test. There’s Loxsmith Bagels in West Seattle and Beacon Hill, Westman’s Bagel and Coffee on Capitol Hill, and several bakeries that make good bagels among their other pastries and breads (Salmonberry, Oxbow, Macrina, etc.). Really, the best bagel in Seattle is the bagel you like most. This isn’t a be-all, and end-all declaration of good vs. evil. Our tastes may not align with yours. At the very least, we hope this list and our carb-loading is a helpful guide as you head out in search of your own favorite.

The bounty of Seattle’s bagel boom.

Bloom Bistro & Grocery, $3

After operating as a bagel pop-up for the better part of a year, Bean’s Bagels moved into a brick-and-mortar shop called Bloom Bistro & Grocery in April 2024. It’s in the cute green house in Georgetown that used to be home to Deep Sea Sugar and Salt, who, of course, make some of the best cakes in town. And now Bloom makes our favorite bagels, too? What kind of sorcery lurks within those walls?

Plain: 17.4/20

Everything: 16.7/20

“Nice blisters! Toothsome texture and great flavor. I like the anisey flavor of the fennel seeds in the everything seasoning.”

“Exterior not tacky enough, but love the fennel seed.”

“The everything bagel was bitter.”

Old Salt, $3

Old Salt opened in November 2020 in the same space and by the same team behind Ballard’s beloved Manolin after Manolin— an upscale sit-down restaurant appreciated for its fresh seafood dishes—was forced to pivot to something more takeout-friendly during the pandemic. Old Salt has since added a second location in Fremont, and they smoke their own fish, including kippered salmon; lox with dill, pepper, lemon, and gin; and black cod seasoned with chili.

Plain: 16.75/20

Everything: 16.25/20

“Black sesame!”

“I really liked this! Nice blisters, chewy but not tough. Tangy flavor.”

“So chewwy! I like the fennel forwardness.”

2019 and started HB after selling his portion of RB to partner Ethan Stowell in 2023. Hey Bagel’s lines are long, they sell out of flavors throughout the day, they will neither cut not toast your bagel, and the only toppings they offer is a variety of schmears. What’s more, they recommend customers eat the bagels warm, fresh out of the oven if possible, and they’re right. I housed a sesame on the spot when picking up bagels for the taste test. We ate them at room temperature for the test, but if you’re enjoying them fresh off the line, add a couple of points to the score.

Plain: 15/20

Everything: 15.7/20

“Good! Not amazing.”

“I like this everything mix! Salty.”

“Pretty good! Slightly tough, but chewy and decent flavor.”

Toasted Bagels & Coffee, $2.95

UW graduates Jaafar Altameemi and Murat Akyuz opened Toasted in the U District last summer, and they have already expanded with a second location in Bellevue in February and have two more in the works in South Lake Union and Pioneer Square. A menu highlight for indecisive eaters is the openface flight, so you can sample four of their flavor combos—such as labneh and honey, avocado and smoked feta, lox with pickled onions, or pear and cinnamon—in one go.

Plain: 13.8/20

Everything: 12.8/20

“Good moisture in the dough and well-salted.”

“Tangy, nice chew, subtle blisters. Balanced everything seasoning.”

“More bread than bagel.”

Backyard Bagel, $3

Like Hey Bagel, Backyard Bagel will not toast your bagel. It says so right there on the sign, so don’t ask. They will cut it for you when ordered with schmear, though, and they also offer a short menu of bagel sandwiches—three fish-based recipes and one veggie-friendly option with black bean hummus and chickpeas.

Plain: 13/20

Everything: 13/20

“Dense topping, which is nice. I love a black sesame!”

“The everything was burnt and bready.”

for Seattle for years. He founded Rubinstein Bagels in

“Pleasant chew and flavor but lacking a little depth.”

Hey Bagel, $3.25 Hey Bagel is the newest bagel on the block… kind of. While the University Village shop just opened in January, owner Andrew Rubinstein has been making bagels

CHAMPIONS OF COMEDY!

Zylberschtein’s Delicatessen & Bakery, $3

It’s worth noting that Zylberschtein’s scores were brought down a point or two by a couple of tasters who didn’t love the bagel’s tangy sourdough-esque flavor. For me, that’s a pro. As far as flavor goes, Zylberschtein’s malt-boiled bagels were in my personal top 5. I love anything and everything sourdough. When it comes to bagels, though, others prefer a cleaner taste. You do you.

Plain: 12/20

Everything: 12.75/20

“Sour, well-salted.”

“Crispy exterior. A little dry.”

“Tangy! Love that it has fennel in the everything.”

Rachel’s Bagels & Burritos, $3.25

in a variety of flavors—including French toast, rainbow, marble rye, pumpernickel, and egg—and they come with reheating instructions if you’re not going to eat them the same day. We tested them just a few hours after picking them up for ultimate freshness. Still, they landed with a thud. Especially at $4.85 a pop. (A sleeve of six is $25.) The bagels may not have gone over well, but I will vouch that their cannolis are spot-on.

Plain: 6/20

Everything: 6/20

“TURNED BACK TO DOUGH IN MY MOUTH.”

“Weirdly NOT chewy!”

“Least favorite. Squishy, no chew, no flavor—visceral reaction of disgust.”

Eltana, $2.50

Rachel’s Bagels & Burritos scored lower than multiple tasters expected. After tallying the results, one person even re-tasted, assuming there was some kind of mistake since they’re a fan of the shop’s bagel sandwiches. This might be a case of the bagel itself not being the most stellar option for a rip-and-dip situation or when served just with cream cheese, but being ideal for getting stacked high with sandwich fillings such as truffle cream cheese, house-made chili crisp, locally sourced lox, garlic honey, and jamón serrano.

Plain: 8.2/20

Everything: 9/20

“Toasty.”

“Texture wrong. Too sweet. Not salted.”

“Literally tastes like bread bread BREAD.”

Kelly Cannoli, $4.85 Kelly Canolli is a little pink drive-up window in Lake City, and they’re so committed to bringing the East Coast to Seattle that they have their bagels flown in from New York

Eltana serves Montreal-style bagels, which are purposefully denser than an East Coast or American bagel. But with that, they’re also supposed to be a thinner ring with a wider hole in the center. I should be able to spin it around my finger like a glutenous Hula-Hoop. Eltana’s bagels were heavy, thick, and so bready. They were hardly the bagel I remember loving when the bakery first opened in 2010; another confused staff member remembers loving an Eltana bagel, but did concede that they had never tried one without a topping, the fava bean basil spread being a favorite. What happened?

Plain: 1.6/20

Everything: 3/20

“No.”

“Barely any garlic on the everything bagel.”

“Tried a taste, had to tap out.”

Blazing Bagels, $2.75

Oof. Sorry, Blazing Bagels. The texture was all wrong on both the plain and the sesame (they were out of everything bagels the day of our taste test). After revealing the results, I attempted to do some damage control by admitting I have enjoyed their Beecher’s cheese bagel slathered with cream cheese, but of course I do. Everything is made better when covered with Beecher’s cheese.

Plain: 0.45/20

Sesame: 2.5/20

“Incorrect.”

“Too sweet, wrong texture.”

“Cardboard-y texture with tough exterior. Suspiciously uniform and glossy.” ■

The Curious Cajun Prowess of Vietnamese Cooking An American Tradition, but Better

BY MICHAEL WONG

As the poet Robert Burns said: “The best-laid schemes of mice and men go oft awry.” This is never more obvious to me than when I’m elbow-deep into a Vietnamese-Cajun seafood boil, past the point of no return.

The table looks like a Finding Nemo crime scene—shells and guts strewn about with splatters of peppery garlic butter everywhere. You, guilty as charged, have your hands soaked red with the stuff, unable to navigate the straw to your drink, let alone the solace promised by the Wet-Naps laughing and mocking you next to your unused utensils. You’re in it now.

Vietnamese-Cajun seafood boils are not meals you ease into. There is no etiquette. There are no niceties. You commit. And as you sit there, tearing through shellfish drenched in a sauce so rich, it could buy a house in Madrona, a thought creeps in: How did Vietnamese immigrants end up making the best seafood boils in America?

namese people make up about one-third of Gulf Coast fishermen, and around 80 percent of the Vietnamese population there is tied to the seafood industry.

There’s an irony here: Both Vietnam and much of the Gulf were once French colonies. Colonization is never pretty, but sometimes, its leftovers are worth savoring. And the French left behind culinary traditions rooted in butter, garlic, and slow, deliberate cooking. The backbone of Cajun food is built on these ideas. And if you know anything about Vietnamese food, you know that they, too, love a long cook. Gumbo doesn’t happen in an hour, and neither does pho.

So when Vietnamese immigrants landed in Louisiana and Texas, they weren’t starting from scratch. Seafood, rice, spice, and French influence all combined to provide Vietnamese Americans with everything they needed to completely reinvent the Cajun seafood boil.

for the seasoning to actually stick to the seafood. A rich, complicated gravy is prepared in a pot; the chilis, garlic, butter, and citrus steeped until perfectly pungent and balanced. The seafood is boiled in a broth similar to the traditional, but the important bit comes near the end: Ladles of sauce and pounds of seafood are combined into a plastic bag and shaken to ensure every crevice of every shell is drenched.

This isn’t fusion. This isn’t some banh mi taco that moment no one asked for. This is evolution. A small, obvious tweak that made all the difference.

Seattle is a long way from the Gulf, but Viet-Cajun has traveled well. Houston made it a staple, Boiling Crab put it on the map in California, and now, even in the Pacific Northwest, you can throw a dart and find a spot that will get you right.

for what often amounts to a pencil eraser’s worth of meat. If you prefer more bang for your buck, consider going for shrimp, mussels, or clams. Or, if you cooked on your taxes this year, go ahead and get the king crab legs.

However, the most important part of ordering is not the seafood selection, it’s once again the sauce. While many Viet-Cajun spots premake their sauces for the sake of efficiency, Crawfish King makes each batch fresh to order. Don’t be a hero. Go for the tried-and-true House Special: Big Easy sauce. It’s the amalgamation of everything Le has learned about this evolving tradition. It would make his ancestors proud.

When it all finally comes to your table, replete with metal buckets for your discards, it’s go time. Remember, you don’t eat this meal. You submit to it. There’s no way to look cool cracking open crawfish with your bare hands while wearing a bib with an anthropomorphic lobster who is also wearing a bib. So just lock in and tune everything else out. Appreciate the flavors, let them punch. Savor the sauce, find any and every way to get it in your mouth.

Your phone stays face down, not just because you’re present in the moment, but because you can’t touch it without permanently altering its resale value. You could single-handedly defeat Nosferatu with one hot breath. That’s when you know you’re doing it right.

What started as a small “fusion” trend in Houston and Orange County has become a nationwide frenzy. And like all great immigrant food, it has a fight for legitimacy.

Some say, “That’s not a real seafood boil.” But what is? Cajun food itself is a blend of French, Spanish, African, and Indigenous influences. Like Asian American cuisine at large, it’s always been an evolving, adapting cuisine, never meant to stay frozen in time.

In 1975, after the fall of Saigon, tens of thousands of Vietnamese refugees arrived in the US, with no option other than to make it happen. Many landed along the Gulf Coast— Louisiana, Texas, places where the seafood industry was booming but backbreaking. But for many Vietnamese immigrants, the sea offered familiar work. They worked boats— not just as laborers, but as apprentices in survival. Watching, learning, and adapting with the quiet intensity that comes from starting from nothing.

Today, their footprint is undeniable: Viet-

Why does the common Cajun seafood boil feel like a promise half-kept? In the Southeastern tradition, it’s canon to boil your seafood in a deeply seasoned broth, but the fatal flaw is that the broth is as effective as a Cheeto lock in terms of imbuing flavor. Once determined ready, probably by a man in jean shorts, the boil is ceremoniously dumped onto a table. Memorable? Maybe. Flavorful? Barely. After all, nothing sets the stage like a piping hot potato doused in what’s essentially Old Bay La Croix.

In the Viet-Cajun tradition, the magic isn’t in the boil—it’s in the sauce. A way

Crawfish King in Seattle’s Chinatown–International District is my spot. Not because it’s the first, not because it’s famous, not even because they offer Groupons. But because every time I step inside, I know I’m gonna leave happy. Sticky and stinking of garlic, but happy.

Torrey Le bought Crawfish King in 2015, and once at the helm, he was committed to learning the best of the Viet-Cajun boil. He essentially hit the pioneering trail: NOLA, Houston, Santa Ana, Las Vegas. He returned with his tummy full, fingers stained, and with a playbook on how to make the best Cajun seafood in Seattle.

Your order can go many directions. You’ll find that crawfish tends to be the most affordable and the most popular. If you’re new to crawfish, just know that it’s a lot of work

This is the through line in all of our food stories. It’s how Chinese takeout became an American staple, how sushi went from mocked to chic and now in every grocery store. It feels like the most Asian American thing to do: To take what’s already there, put your head down, work harder, hustle smarter, season better, and come out on top.

So the next time you’re enjoying a Viet-Cajun seafood boil, negotiating with the crawfish to eek out a morsel of meat and slathering it in the Big Easy sauce, take a moment. This is the best version of the seafood boil. No debate. No disclaimers. And you can thank Vietnamese Americans for it. ■

Michael Wong is the creator of Asian Verified, a video series examining the rubrics that make up the Asian American experience.

MICHAE L WONG ASIAN V ERIFIED

CHRISTIAN PARROCO

Dear Hendrix

Happy Birthday! Here’s Why You’re Never Getting a Sibling.

BY EVA WALKER

Dear Hendrix, I thought you died before you were born. If that sounds scary, it’s because it was! But let me start from the beginning.

Pregnant—so very pregnant—I fell asleep on the couch while watching TV at the very un-punk-rock time of 9 p.m. Around midnight, I was suddenly awoken by a blast of pain in my belly. It was Tuesday, February 27, which was a week before your due date. But all of a sudden, I was experiencing a pain like I’d never felt before. I thought I could maybe sleep through it, that it would eventually—ARGGH—calm down after a while and slowly—OUCH—fade out. After about two hours, I finally accepted that these pains were actually contractions, and I needed to start timing them.

At that point, they were about 10 minutes apart—too far apart to go to the hospital. But gradually, they became seven minutes and then five minutes apart. Still, too early, I told myself. Right?! I remember staring out at the moon from our livin g room window and listening to U2’s “Drowning Man,” trying not to spiral out of my mind since I was scared shitless of actually giving birth. OOH NOO, there it was again! Now contractions were four minutes apart! A very acceptable amount of time to head to the hospital, actually! Still, I told myself to wait—I simply wasn’t ready for what was to come.

As time passed, I tried the many suggested positions that would supposedly offer some relief to my aching body: squatting on my knees, bent over and reaching to wards my toes, you name it. But nothing was settling the pain. Then the contractions were three minutes apart and then two minutes apart. That’s when it hit me. “Wait, I should probably wake up my husband!” I went into the dark bedroom and shook him. He awoke, startled. “Uh, I think it’s time,” I said. “These contractions aren’t going away, and I’m... a couple minutes apart… oops.”

you’re doing great.” (Your dad would talk me off a similar ledge after you were born when I almost had a postpartum breakdown thinking I had accidentally starved you. But that’s for a later time.)

The next calls we made were to your grandmother, your godmother Julia Massey (winner of the Kindest Person of the Century Award), and our doula Molly Sides. (Yes, she’s also the frontwoman of Thunderpussy... how rock ‘n’ roll is that?) My loves Julia and Molly have been on this motherhood journey with me from when you were just a tiny bundle of cells, Henny. They’re family.

We tried calling a nurse because I had a fear of being sent home if I arrived at the hospital too early (in hindsight, that was a silly thought because I was about to give birth), but no one answered the phone, so we decided to call your uncle Cedric. As your dad dialed the phone, I used the restroom, and that’s when I saw it… a sea of red in the toilet bowl.

I screamed. “Oh no! No! No! Jake, there’s blood in the toilet! I think the baby is dead!” I cried like I’ve never cried before, wailing to the point of almost hyperventilation. Your dad, the calm voice of reason I need in such moments, put my face in his hands and said, “Eva, breathe. The baby is not dead, everything is fine. This is normal, everything is going to be fine. I love you, and

Your uncle quickly got to the apartment, and we hurried as fast as we could at 4 a.m. to arrive at the hospital, where they welcomed us to triage and checked how dilated I was. Now, at this point, I was in uncharted territory. This was the beginning of an experience I wasn’t sure how to handle. So, I dealt with it with humor… a lot of humor. When the nurse came in and had to put her finger in my (let’s use my favorite guitar pedal and euphemism for vagina) wah-wah, everything was so sensitive and painful that I squirmed away. This happened for far too long until another doctor came in and just fucking went for it. I squealed and yelled, “AHH WOW! Good for you, Doc!” She was a no-bullshitter, and I personally appreciated it. It turned out I was six centimeters dilated (at 10 centimeters, you’re ready to push!).

When I say I needed humor to get through this, I’m not kidding. At one point, there were several white people helping me in the triage room (including your dad and godmother), making me comfortable, massaging my

feet. I looked around and belted out, “Wow, thanks, everyone! This almost makes up for slavery! But not quite.” The room filled with a bit of awkward laughter—just how I like it. By that time, Molly and your grandmother had shown up, and I officially had everyone I needed for our big day! Your birthday. Don’t let my tattoos fool you, Henny. I have a pretty strong fear of needles, and unfortunately for me, I needed antibiotics during labor which meant an IV. Apparently, my veins are too fucking small to see because it took five different tries and three people to get the damn thing in. It was awful, and that wasn’t even the worst part. The contractions got stronger and stronger to the point they were unbearable. I tried to go as long as I could to avoid the Ultimate Needle, the Needle of Dread, the Stuff Nightmares Are Made Of… the Epidural. “Ahhh! This shit is killing me! Doc,” I said, “I think I need the epidural now… AHHH!” Then suddenly, POP! “Uh, I think my water just broke, Doc.”

At this point, I burst into tears, not necessarily from the pain, but because I knew what was coming—that fucking needle! If you’ve never seen an epidural needle, then Google it. The thing is approximately a mile long. In fact, I had rules for the birth, which included not seeing it, and the doctors and nurses weren’t allowed to even say the fucking word “needle.” (Both Julia and Molly made sure those rules were known.) I screamed and cried and screamed and cried. I was told they would put a cooling something-or-other on my skin, and that would numb the area a bit, but Henny, I felt that fucking thing not only pierce through my back but through my spine and out my fucking guts, it was so long. I was speechless, I could only scream. From that moment on, I knew you were going to be an only child.

As we awaited your arrival, we sat in the hospital room listening to Kraftwerk. Incredibly, your workaholic father went out into the lobby and conducted an interview with former basketball players for an article, which was something he’d been looking forward to for weeks, and of course, it landed on your very first birthday. But I chatted about any and everything with my awesome nurse and the gals in the room. My nurse mentioned that there was another nurse who found out I was here and was a big fan of my radio show on KEXP. She said she was too nervous to come in and say hello. I immediately said, “Oh my god, tell her to come in here! Are you kidding, that’s awesome!” Eventually, after another dilation check, it was time to finally push. So how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? The world may never know. However, I do know how many people it takes to help me deliver a baby. The answer: Seven, including my nurse and doctor. Two people on each side, each holding a limb and squeezing me like a strawberry Gusher; one person staring at my wah-wah on the lookout for your head; one person to count slowly to 10 in between pushes; and a doctor to deliver you.

It took two hours to get you out—my goodness! The length of my radio show, Early , actually. The doctor pulled you out in that final minute after that final push, and I felt like a giant cork was just yanked out of me as my stomach sunk in, and a gulp of air followed. You arrived at 4:04 p.m., some 12 hours after we arrived at the hospital, to the soundtrack of Kraftwerk. You didn’t cry at first because there was a little bit of fluid in your lungs (which the doctors squared away not long after). I could only have you on my chest for a quick sec. “Hey, you little weirdo!” I said. Yeah, sorry about that—it’s just what came out of me! I was in love then, just as I am now.

That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Would I do it all over again to have you in my arms? Absolutely! Quicker than a bumblebee heartbeat. Including that damn epidural. Because now that I have you, I can’t imagine my life without you. That’s life, Hendrix. Some really beautiful things can come from some really scary beginnings—like blood in a toilet. And a few days later, when we drove you home, guess what song was on the radio when we got into your uncle’s car. “Dear Mama.” You can’t make this shit up! ■

Eva Walker is a writer, a KEXP DJ, one-half of the rock duo the Black Tones, and mom to her baby girl, Hendrix. She also co-wrote the book The Sound of Seattle: 101 Songs That Shaped a City, which was released in 2024. Every month for The Stranger , she writes a letter to Hendrix to share wisdom learned from her experiences—and her mistakes.

EVA WALKER

We do our best for accuracy, but please check venue websites for updates and more information, as event details may have changed since press time!

Housekeeping note: We have ceased to include pricing information unless the event is free or sliding scale. (This is mostly due to third-party ticket vendors, like Ticketmaster, who have a monopoly on pricing that is not only unfair, but also confusing due to varying fee structures. We hate them, and so should you.)

MUSIC

Maude Latour, MARIS

MARCH 7

Much like teen stars-turned-experimental pop artists Rebecca Black and Addison Rae, Swedish singer-songwriter Maude Latour is flexing her adulthood by leaning into sexier lyrics and unconventional beats on her debut album, Sugar Water. In the album’s title track, Latour asks, “Can you spit sugar water straight into my mouth?” atop a trance-like drum machine and sparkling electronics, and the result is dreamy, fun, and danceable. She will support the album after an opening set from rising pop singer MARIS. (Neumos, 7 pm, all ages) AUDREY VANN

An Evening with the Handsome Family

MARCH 9

The Handsome Family is a Chicago-based husbandand-wife duo who has been putting out alt-country records for the past three decades. If you are unfamiliar with the group, the best I can describe their sound is like the goth version of Yo La Tengo with a sprinkle of R.E.M.’s jangly riffs. Brett Sparks also shares a haunted-sounding cadence to gothfather Nick Cave—both of whom sing like the butler of a haunted mansion in an old horror movie. (Tractor Tavern, 7:30 pm, 21+) AUDREY VANN

mxmtoon, Luna Li

MARCH 12

I recently discovered the Nashville-based singer-songwriter mxmtoon via the adorable video game Dave the Diver, in which the player splits their time between catching seafood and managing a sushi restaurant—and in which mxmtoon, aka Maia, makes a cameo as a pixelated version of herself. It wasn’t long before I found myself enamored of her charmingly confessional lyrics and floaty melodies. Her latest album, liminal space, evokes the relatable feeling of being stuck in an in-between stage of life, with standout songs like “rain” (which explores nostalgia and the difficulty of staying present) and “i hate texas” (a cheeky kiss-off to an ex). (Showbox SoDo, 8 pm, all ages) JULIANNE BELL

The Linda Lindas, Be Your Own Pet

MARCH 26

The Stranger’s social media manager, Christian Parroco, was there the night cat-loving and racist boy-hating punk band the Linda Lindas opened for genre legends Rancid and Green Day. The Linda Lindas were enamored by the crowd of thousands despite performing in the most unpunk circumstances, on Green Day’s world-tour-sized stage, yards away from the barricaded front row of fans in the middle of a Major League Baseball field. They were “unapologetically fierce, blending their fresh take on punk with a DIY attitude that calls back to the genre’s early days,” wrote Parrocco in his review. If they can

get a whole stadium vibing off their pop-kissed punk gems like “Racist, Sexist Boy” and “All in My Head,” imagine how much fun it will be to mosh and sing and dance and scream along in the much smaller Showbox. But don’t worry, openers Be Your Own Pet, fronted by vocalist Jemina Pearl, open the show, and Pearl gives Karen O a run for her money on the energy scale. They’ll help you stretch all your thrashy dance muscles so you don’t pull anything in the pit.

(Showbox, 8 pm, all ages) MEGAN SELING

Amyl and the Sniffers, Sheer Mag

MARCH 27

On their third album, Cartoon Darkness, the Aussie quartet opens with commanding, bratty lyrics: “You’re a dumb cunt.” The brash, critic-hating anthem “Jerkin’” sets the tone for the album, which explores modern terrors like climate change, war, A.I., and internet politics through pithy confrontational punk and hard rock (à la X-Ray Spex or the Runaways). Fresh off of a stadium tour supporting the Foo Fighters, the band will drop by the Paramount Theatre with tracks from the album. (Paramount Theatre, 8 pm, all ages) AUDREY VANN

More

Helmet, Slomosa, War On Women March 5, Crocodile, 7 pm, 21+

Joy Oladokun March 5, Showbox, 8 pm, all ages

Candi Pop March 7, Chop Suey, 9 pm, 21+

Don’t Know, Tennis Pro, Ives March 8, Belltown Yacht Club, 8 pm, 21+

Amyl and the Sniffers

March 27, Paramount Theatre

The Linda Lindas March 26, Showbox

Mac Ayres March 9–10, Crocodile, 8 pm, 21+

Kelsea Ballerini, the Japanese House, MaRynn Taylor March 13, Climate Pledge Arena, 7 pm, all ages

Hieroglyphics, Boom Bap Project March 15, Crocodile, 6 pm, 21+

Colin Meloy March 15, Town Hall, 8 pm, all ages

Russian Circles, Pelican March 16, Showbox, 8 pm, 21+

Zookraught, S.W.A.G., Karoshi, Miscomings March 16, Black Lodge, 7 pm, all ages

Channel One Sound System, Kid Hops, DJ Cray March 20, Clock-Out Lounge, 8 pm, 21+

Linda from Work, Biblioteka, Bexley March 22, Sunset, 9 pm, 21+

Shadow Work March 22, Belltown Yacht Club 7 pm, 21+

Damien Jurado, Tenlons Fort March 23–24, Here-After, 8 pm, 21+

Danzig, Down, Abbath, Cro-Mags March 25, WaMu, 6 pm, all ages

Adrian Younge March 26, Tractor Tavern, 7:30 pm, 21+

Hit Like a Girl, Madska, Puppy Feet, Diirt March 26, High Dive, 8 pm, 21+

Hinds, Mamalarky March 27, Tractor Tavern, 8 pm, 21+

Christian McBride & Ursa Major March 27–30, Jazz Alley, 7:30 and 9:30 pm, all ages

Ducks Ltd., the Bug Club March 29, Vera Project, 7 pm, all ages

Ovlov, Washer March 29, Clock-Out Lounge, 9 pm, 21+

Kath Bloom, Abbey Blackwell, Rob Joynes March 29, Belltown Yacht Club, 8 pm, 21+

Kelly Lee Owens March 29, Neumos, 8 pm, 21+

Melancholy Club, n3ster, c0mpany March 31, Black Lodge, 7 pm, all ages

Public Theatre, Social Cinema, Jesus Christ Taxi

Driver March 31, High Dive, 8 pm, 21+

Pom Poko, Fake Dad March 30, Sunset Tavern, 8 pm, 21+

Dummy, Shower Curtain, Telehealth April 2, Black Lodge, 7 pm, all ages

Fana Hues, PAMÉ April 3, Madame Lou’s, 8:30 pm, all ages

Prism Bitch, King Youngblood, Dumdums April 3, High Dive, 8 pm, 21+

Babe Night: Juicy Romance, DJ Wax Witch April 3, Massive,10 pm, 21+

Monsterwatch Album Release Night 1 with Forty Feet Tall, Tongues April 4, Sunset Tavern, 9 pm, 21+

Monsterwatch Album Release Night 2 with Semisoft, Dark Chisme April 5, Sunset Tavern, 9 pm, 21+

Remi Wolf April 4–5, Paramount Theatre, 8 pm

Refused, Quicksand, Midwestlust April 5, Showbox, 9 pm

Sol,Yonny, Rell Be Free April 5, Neumos, 8 pm, 21+ (Read more, page 53.)

Early Warnings

Kraftwerk April 9, Moore Theatre, 8 pm, all ages

Swamp Wife, Ok Bucko, Fine April 11, Black Lodge, 7 pm, all ages

Pussy Riot: Riot Days A pril 17, Neumos, 7 pm, all ages

Kylie Minogue, Rita Ora April 25, Climate Pledge Arena, 7:30 pm, all ages

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds May 12, Paramount Theatre, 8 pm, all ages

Rilo Kiley May 24, Chateau Ste. Michelle, 7 pm, all ages

Pixies June 23–24 Paramount Theatre, 7:30 pm, all ages

Queer/Pride Festival 2025: Tinashe, Lil’ Kim, Rebecca Black, Countess Luann, Heidi Montag, and more June 27–29, Capitol Hill, times vary, 21+

Halsey June 28, White River Amphitheatre, 7 pm, all ages

Wu-Tang Forever June 28, Climate Pledge Arena, 8 pm, all ages

Cap’n Jazz July 25, Neumos, 8 pm, 21+

Death Cab for Cutie June 31 and Aug 2, Climate Pledge Arena, 8 pm, all ages

Dinosaur Jr., Snail Mail, Easy Action Aug 8, Chateau Ste. Michelle, 6:30 pm, all ages

Alabama Shakes Aug 16, Climate Pledge Arena, 7 pm, all ages

The Lumineers Aug 16, T-Mobile Park, 8 pm, all ages

Bumbershoot 2025: Arts and Music Festival Aug 30–31, Seattle Center, 12:30 pm, all ages

VISUAL ART

Laura Luna Castillo: Onix y Marmol

THROUGH MARCH 14

Jack Straw New Media Gallery recommends making an appointment to view Laura Luna Castillo’s Onix y Marmol, but the extra step is definitely worth it: The project blends “generative storytelling, immersive installation, algorithmic theatre, and mixed reality cinema” to reflect on the mirage-like town of Onix y Marmol. Luna Castillo uses intriguing virtual techniques like space-mapping sensors to bring her glitchy vision to life. The gallery will host a talk with the artist on Friday, March 14, at 7 pm. Streaming passes are available. (Jack Straw New Media Gallery, Mon–Fri, 10 am–5:30 pm, appointments recommended, free, all ages) LINDSAY COSTELLO

Krick Through April 6, The

The Bug Club March 29, Vera Project

Damien Jurado

March 23-24, Here-After

Natalie

Frye

Roq La Rue’s Grand Re-Opening Party

MARCH 14

Kirsten Anderson opened Roq La Rue in 1998 in a rundown Belltown storefront that was slated for demolition. It was right around the time pop surrealism was starting to become popular, and it was the place to see artists such as Femke Hiemstra, Todd Schorr, Mark Ryden, and Jim Woodring. Twenty-seven years later, after setting up shop in Capitol Hill, Pioneer Square, and, most recently, Madison Valley, Anderson is returning to her Belltown roots. The newest incarnation of Roq La Rue opens March 14, in a 2,500-square-foot space inside the NW Work Lofts on Denny Way. Anderson’s marking the occasion with three different shows: Spectacle du Petit, a collection of small works from several artists, Unveiled, featuring large-scale work by Beth Cavener, Josie Morway, Carles Gomila, and Jason Puccinelli, as well as Frank Gonzales’s solo show Frequencies. When interviewing Anderson in 2023, to mark the gallery’s 25th anniversary, I asked, “What’s next? Another 25 years?” She chuckled and said, “I’m probably doing this until I die.” Viva Roq la Rue! (Roq La Rue, 6–9 pm, free, all ages) MEGAN SELING

As We Imagined

THROUGH MARCH 16

Ricky Allman, a.p. gath, Melissa Monroe, Jesse Reno, and others will explore the “potency and dichotomies of perception, memory, and the imagined” in this group show, which blends compelling painting, photography, and textile elements. I’m especially excited about Bean Gilsdorf’s contributions to As We Imagined—I last saw the multimedia artist’s hand-dyed cotton collages in 2024, and Gilsdorf’s works for this show seem similarly cheeky and colorful. Melissa Monroe’s sad zebra is another stunner. (AMcE Creative Arts, every Wed–Sun, free, all ages) LINDSAY COSTELLO

Keith Haring: A Radiant Legacy

THROUGH MARCH 23

To some, such as myself, Keith Haring is seen as a part of the hiphop culture that emerged in New York City in the early ’80s. He worked with Dondi White, a master and founder of the kind of graffiti you find today in Berlin, Rome, Tokyo, and, yes, Seattle. Indeed, Haring and Dondi did the cover art for Malcolm McLaren’s bizarre but fundamentally hiphop album Duck Rock. For many, this cover introduced Haring, whose work was simple but not simplistic, breezy but cosmically vibrant. And then there’s the cover of McLaren’s “Would Ya Like More Scratchin’.” Here, we have nothing but Haring. His chalk-drawn figures popping and locking. You can hear the scratching and cutting. You can see New York City when it was the capital of the art world. Haring will always be hiphop to me. (MoPOP, Thurs–Tues, all ages) CHARLES MUDEDE

Boren Banner Series: Natalie Krick

THROUGH APRIL 6

As part of the Frye’s ongoing Boren Banner series, Seattle-based artist Natalie Krick’s deconstructions of vintage Marilyn Monroe portraits will become larger than life. Krick’s approach compiles photographer Bert Stern’s

“Shadow Partner” by Beth Cavener

Penn Cove Water Festival

Vogue magazine shots of Monroe and “obscures” them with a complex process of masking, patterning, and layering, subverting the power imbalance and inherent voyeurism of the original images. The best part about the Frye’s Boren banners—billboard-sized works sited facing Boren Avenue—is that you can view the artwork anytime. Just drive by or take a stroll to scope it out on the facade of the museum. (Frye Art Museum, Wed–Sun, free, all ages) LINDSAY COSTELLO

Charles Peterson’s Nirvana: On Photography and Performance

THROUGH MAY 25

Charles Peterson’s photographs of Seattle’s music scene through the late ’80s and early ’90s have long been celebrated as jarring and captivating snapshots from one of the Pacific Northwest’s most pivotal eras in modern history. But Peterson’s work is about so much more than being in the right place at the right time. He’s a fucking great photographer! For this show, Tacoma Art Museum has curated his photos—not just as vital music history, but as the works of art they truly are. The show will also feature work from artists Sylvia Plachy, Nicholas Galanin, Jeffry Mitchell, and Peterson’s photography professor, Paul Berger, to “draw out visual and contextual nuances of Peterson’s photographs.” Intriguing. (Tacoma Art Museum, Wed–Sun, sliding scale, all ages) MEGAN SELING

Josh Faught: Sanctuary

MARCH 8–AUGUST 3

San Francisco-based multimedia artist Josh Faught’s varied works blend weaving techniques, found objects, and ephemera to contemplate the queer underpinnings of craft lineages and his own history. (If you dug Joey Veltkamp’s 2022 Bellevue Arts Museum exhibition SPIRIT!, this show might appeal.) I’m intrigued by Faught’s cotton-hemp piece Sanctuary, adorned with a button that reads, “Be kind. I have a teenager.” In a press release, the Henry explained the artist “reimagines systems of classification that assign social and cultural value, investigating how collective and individual identities are shaped and examining structures of social support and visibility.” (Henry Art Gallery, Thurs–Sun, sliding scale, all ages) LINDSAY COSTELLO

More

the cocoon tightens: Alex Branch & Pablo V. Cazares Through March 15, The Vestibule, Thurs–Sat, free

Amanda Knowles: Collected Views Through March 26, J. Rinehart Gallery, Tues–Sat, free

Susan Skilling: Wanderings Through March 29, Greg Kucera Gallery, Tues–Sat, free

Jack Johnston: SF SX-70’s Through March 30, Solas Gallery, first Thursdays and Sat 1–5 pm, free

A.K. Burns: What is Perverse is Liquid Through May 4, Henry Art Gallery, Thurs–Sun, suggested donation

Amanda Knowles Through March 26, J. Rinehart Gallery

Pioneer Square Art Walk March 6, 5–8 pm, free

a garden of connecting paths Opens March 6, SOIL, Fri–Sun, free

Chiyo Sanada: ‘SHU 朱 - Scarlet’ March 6–April 27, Seattle Japanese Garden, Tues–Sun, sliding scale

Ten Thousand Things Opens March 7, Wing Luke Museum, Wed–Sun, sliding scale

Asian Comics: Evolution of an Art Form Opens March 8, MoPOP, Thurs-Tues

Thinking of Angels: Cappy Thompson March 8–April 19, studio e, Thurs–Sat, free

Ai, Rebel: The Art and Activism of Ai Weiwei March 12–Sept 7, Seattle Art Museum, Wed–Sun, sliding scale (Read more, page 39.)

Capitol Hill Art Walk March 13, 5–8 pm, free

Belltown Art Walk March 14, 6–9 pm, free

Anne-Karin Furunes: Illuminating Nordic Archives March 15–June 8, National Nordic Museum, Wed–Sun, sliding scale

In Material featuring Jaq Chartier, Emily Gherard, Katy Stone March 29–April 26, J. Rinehart Gallery, Tues–Sat, free

Force of Nature featuring Sophia Allison, Maija Fiebig, Johanna Goodman, Sarah Gordon, and more

March 29–May 11, AMcE, Thurs–Sun, free

Jacob Lawrence: Prints April 3–May 17, Greg Kucera Gallery, Tues–Sat, free

Early Warnings

Suchitra Mattai: she walked in reverse and found their songs April 9–July 20, Seattle Asian Art Museum, sliding scale

Carmen Winant: Passing On April 12–Sept 25, Henry Art Gallery, Thurs–Sun, suggested donation Tariqa Waters: Venus Is Missing May 7–Jan 5, Seattle Art Museum, Wed–Sun, sliding scale (Read more, page 33 )

LITERATURE

Karen Russell

MARCH 12

Portland’s own beloved Pulitzer finalist, Karen Russell, typically pens fiction works tinged with magical realism (Swamplandia!, Vampires in the Lemon Grove). Her latest novel is still otherworldly, but set against a serious backdrop—The Antidote follows five figures in a small Nebraskan town during the Dust Bowl. Among the cast is a “prairie witch,” a basketball star and witch’s apprentice, a “voluble scarecrow,” and a New Deal photographer with a time-traveling camera. If you’re intrigued (and come on, you are),

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

MARCH 9

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s impact on contemporary literature is difficult to overstate—the Nigerian artist, author, poet, and playwright, who penned the book-length essay “We Should All Be Feminists” and the 2013 novel Americanah, has had her work translated into 55 languages. That sort of massive international readership is rare these days, putting her in the company of Gabriel García Márquez, Haruki Murakami, and Elena Ferrante. Adichie’s latest, Dream Count, follows a Nigerian travel writer in the United States. It was deemed the “major publication milestone of 2025” by The Guardian. (Neptune Theatre, 7:30 pm) LINDSAY COSTELLO

RuPaul March 13, Neptune Theatre

Karen Finley

MARCH 24

Bearing an appropriately absurd title, performance artist, poet, musician, and educator Karen Finley’s suite of poems COVID Vortex Anxiety Opera Kitty Kaleidoscope Disco brilliantly captures the chaos and surrealism of living through the pandemic: a blend of Zoom dance parties, obsessive hand-washing, strange rituals, coping mechanisms, grief, social upheaval, and political revolution. Finley originally performed this collection as a live show at theaters in New York, garnering favorable comparisons to Beat legends like Allen Ginsberg and Gregory Corso from the Village Voice and earning a New York Times Critic’s Pick. Ultimately, she identifies art, language, compassion, and humor as the keys to survival during our tumultuous times—a welcome reminder of our humanity that might serve us well as we navigate the next four years. (Elliott Bay Book Company, 7 pm, free) JULIANNE BELL

More

The Moth GrandSLAM March 6, Town Hall, 8 pm

A Conversation With Natasha Lyonne March 11, Benaroya Hall, 7:30 pm

Nic Stone with Marcus Harrison Green March 11, Third Place Books Lake Forest Park, 7 pm

Amanda Nguyen with Thanh Tân March 12, Town Hall, 7:30 pm

RuPaul: The House of Hidden Meanings Book Tour March 13, Neptune Theatre, 7 pm

My Little Golden Book About Pride Drag Story Time with Aleksa Manila Charlie’s Queer Books, 10 am

Joshua Escobar, Brekan Blakeslee, and Rebecca Brown March 17, Third Place Books Ravenna, 7 pm

Torrey Peters and Friends March 19, Town Hall, 7:30 pm

Torrey Peters: Stag Dance March 20, Charlie’s Queer Books, 7 pm

Richard Bienstock and Tom Beaujour with Mike Squires March 24, Town Hall, 7:30 pm

Matt Kracht March 26, Elliott Bay Book Company, 7 pm

Emma Pattee with Katie Campbell March 27, Third Place Books Ravenna, 7 pm

Ron Currie and Ben Gibbard March 29, Third Place Books Lake Forest Park, 7 pm

A Conversation with Kevin Kwan April 3, Benaroya Hall, 7:30 pm

Psychedelic Salon with April Pride: Psychedelics & Women’s Health April 7, Town Hall, 7:30 pm

head to this talk for more context. (Seattle Public Library, 7 pm, free) LINDSAY COSTELLO

STEFANO MAZZOLA/GETTY IMAGES

TRISTAN FEWINGS GETTY

Early Warnings

Hanif Abdurraqib April 9, Town Hall, 7:30 pm

Tracy Rosenthal with Dean Spade April 11, Elliott Bay Book Company, 7 pm

Seattle Independent Bookstore Day April 27, several locations

Susan Lieu with Quynh Pham April 29, Town Hall, 7:30 pm

C Pam Zhang May 8, Town Hall, 7:30 pm

Rebecca Solnit May 11, Town Hall, 7:30 pm

Ira Glass June 7, Pantages Theater (Tacoma), 7:30 pm

PERFORMANCE

The Magic Flute

THROUGH MARCH 9

Mozart’s 18th-century opera The Magic Flute tells of a mystical world filled with freaky beasts, cheeky fairies, true love, and a very helpful flute. So, don’t expect the production to be classically stuffy. Barrie Kosky’s animated backdrop ups the ante even more, pulling inspiration from silent movies and incorporating “eye-popping hand-drawn animation.” Read more at TheStranger.com. (McCaw Hall, times vary, all ages) LINDSAY COSTELLO

The Downside with Gianmarco Soresi Live

MARCH 15

Sly Jewish Italian stand-up and former singing waiter Gianmarco Soresi last dropped by Seattle to bounce around on stage, chat about horse detectives, and recall the good old days of grinding at bar mitzvahs on his Leaning In tour. He’ll head back to our neck of the woods for a live edition of his podcast The Downside with Gianmarco Soresi. Russell Daniels, a founding member of the award-winning sketch comedy group Uncle Function, cohosts the cynical comedy pod. (Here-After, 7 pm & 9:30 pm, 21+) LINDSAY COSTELLO

More

Mother Russia March 6–April 6, Leo K. Theater, times vary

Meg Stalter March 6, Neptune Theatre, 7 pm, all ages

Live Nude Mammals March 6, Queer/Bar, 9:30 pm, 21+

Instant Noodles: 24 Hour Asian-American Play Festival March 9, 2 pm, all ages

Dance Theatre of Harlem March 8–9, Paramount Theatre, times vary, all ages

Joketellers Union March 12 (and every other Wednesday), Clock-Out Lounge, 8 pm 21+

TUSH March 13, 27, 28, Clock-Out Lounge, 8:30 pm, 21+

Emergence March 14–23, McCaw Hall, times vary, all ages

Dynasty Handbag: Titanic Depression

MARCH 27–29

I caught Dynasty Handbag (aka award-winning performer, visual artist, and producer Jibz Cameron) at one of her monthly Weirdo Nights in Los Angeles a few years back, and it was one of the surreally funniest things I’ve ever seen, and that is saying something (humble brag). Dynasty Handbag is a sight to behold. Her shows often feature drastic makeup (think microwaved Tammy Faye Bakker), a fright wig, and at least one ghastly unitard choice. You may come for the piledon camp and physical comedy, but do stay for the deceptively brilliant timing and writing. Titanic Depression is described via her website as: “A bonkers parody of James Cameron’s 1997 Hollywood hit, sending it up as a bleak parable of human arrogance in today’s era of runaway, consumerism-driven climate change.” I have a sinking feeling it’s going to be great. (On the Boards, 8 pm, all ages) EMILY NOKES

Caleb Hearon March 19, Neptune Theatre, 6:30 pm, mature audiences only

How Did This Get Made? Live! March 30, Paramount Theatre, 7pm, all ages

Janeane Garofalo April 3-6, Hear-After, 6 pm, 21+

Early Warnings

Scott Shoemaker’s :PROBED! April 10–13, Erickson Theatre Off Broadway, times vary, 21+

Cherdonna’s Favorite Things April 16–20, Erickson Theatre Off Broadway, times vary, 21+

Miguel Gutierrez: Super Nothing May 1–3, On the Boards, 8 pm

House of Joy May 16–June 8, Seattle Public Theater, times vary, all ages

Juno Birch May 18, Neptune Theatre, 8 pm, all ages

Melissa Villaseñor May 29, the Crocodile, 7 pm, 21+

shown in more than 40 cities around the globe, and they have a growing digital library, so you can HUMP! at home. Still, HUMP! really is best experienced in a theater packed with friends and strangers, where everyone can collectively gasp, laugh, and celebrate the festival’s diverse treasure trove of sexual expression. And I do mean diverse: This year’s first batch of films apparently features an entry that includes the phrase “polar bear foreskin.” (On the Boards, every Fri–Sat through March 15, 21+) MEGAN SELING

Sea Slug Animation Festival

MARCH 7–8

The Sea Slug Animation Festival, the newest Seattle film festival whose adorably named “larval edition” is building itself around community—specifically, the vast community of talented independent local animators who call the Pacific Northwest home. Highlights include the Seattle premiere of the surreal, star-studded coming-of-age film Boys Go to Jupiter (with a virtual Q&A with writer/director Julian Glander), and a retrospective screening of the 1976 animated fantasy feature film of Allegro non troppo which is described as being “a raunchy and rarely seen spoof of Disney’s Fantasia.” There are also a bunch of shorts, including the stop-motion short Les Bêtes from Michael Granberry, an area animator who has worked on a variety of vibrant projects such as Anomalisa, Wendell & Wild, Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio, and the title sequence from the series Severance, as well as the experimental short Gimlet from longtime Washington animator Ruth Hayes. Read more at TheStranger.com. (SIFF Cinema Uptown, times vary) CHASE HUTCHINSON

Collide-O-Scope

MARCH 10

NW New Works Festival 2025 June 12–14, On the Boards, times vary

Nikki Glaser Sept 12–13, MCCaw Hall, 7 pm, all ages

FILM

HUMP! 2025 Part 1

THROUGH MARCH 16

The world was very different when Dan Savage introduced an amateur porn film festival to curious Seattleites in 2005. All HUMP! submissions that year were sent to The Stranger offices via mail on VHS tapes, and all evidence was destroyed after the final screening. Now, HUMP! is held twice a year and

Collide-O-Scope is the brilliant brain baby of Shane Wahlund and Michael Anderson, two local filmmakers and pop culture know-it-alls who cut, clip, and splice their way through hours and hours of music videos, movies, television shows, old commercials, and other footage to piece together spellbinding video collages. It’s not a slapdash memeification of vintage clips to get an easy laugh from 13-year-old YouTube addicts, Collide-O-Scope is an art form, a thoughtful and smart curation of strange, hilarious, surprising, and at times even touching moments of our history. And I’m not just saying all these nice things because Wahlund is The Stranger’s director of video production. I liked CollideO-Scope long before knowing Wahlund, as its been a Seattle staple for more than 15 years! They’re at HereAfter every second Monday. Follow along on Instagram (@collideoscopeseattle) to get a peek at their monthly themes. (Here-After, 7 pm) MEGAN SELING

To Live Is To Dream: A Northwest Tribute To David Lynch

DAILY FEB 28–AUG 10

David Lynch’s strange, alchemical vision made an impact the world over, but let’s face it: The Pacific Northwest lays claim to the auteur. Sure, many of Lynch’s films are set in or around Los Angeles, but one can’t bring him to mind without two words popping up. Twin. Peaks. Although Lynch only lived in Washington for a portion of his childhood, the cinemas of Seattle have “proudly declared Twin Peaks to be the quintessential and defining work of PNW motion pictures and David Lynch as one of our greatest artists.” I have to agree. The Beacon, SIFF Cinema

WALTER WLODARCZYK

BRONWEN HOUCK

RECORD SHOWNorthwest

- please move "sales...rentals" to the bottom. - please move "third...maker" under biz name & make not-bold - make " voted ...WA" a color (is that brown?!)

Thank you!

-

SUNDAY, March 30th, 2025 10:00am – 5:00pm Over 50 tables of records, LPs, 45s and CDs!!!

Cost: $3 or $2 if a can of food is brought to benefit Northwest Harvest. Early Admission at 8:00am: $15

Thank

The Magic Lantern of Ingmar Bergman

DAILY THROUGH APRIL 30

Ingmar Bergman swapped toy soldiers for a movie projector as a child, igniting a strange and lifelong obsession with shadows, faces, and the silent intensity of emotion. Bergman’s films were worshipped by virtually every director you know—Fellini, Kurosawa, and Kubrick among them. Even the reclusive painter Andrew Wyeth saw Bergman as a kindred spirit. My recommendation? Gift yourself a few moments to seek the metaphysical within the mundane this month. SIFF Cinema Uptown’s series includes screenings of Summer with Monika, Wild Strawberries, The Virgin Spring, Persona, and personal favorite Winter Light. (SIFF Cinema Uptown, times vary) LINDSAY COSTELLO

Downtown, the Grand Illusion, Northwest Film Forum, North Bend Theatre, and Pacific Science Center Theater will celebrate his life’s work with screenings through August. LINDSAY COSTELLO

More

Seattle Scare Society: Elvira: Mistress of the Dark March 9, Here-After, 8:30 pm

Mickey 17 Opening March 6, SIFF Cinema Downtown

Roadhouse March 11, Here-After, 7 pm

GRRL HAUS CINEMA March 16, SIFF Film Center

Nosferatu with Radiohead: A Silents Synced Film March 14–18, Central Cinema

West Nordic Film Festival March 14–15, Majestic Bay

Run Lola Run March 16, Here-After, 9 pm

Singles March 21–26, Central Cinema, 7 pm

Found Footage Festival: 20th Anniversary Show

March 23, SIFF Cinema Uptown, 7 pm

Hundreds of Beavers Central Cinema, March 27, 8 pm

Jim Henson’s Labyrinth: In Concert March 29, Temple Theatre (Tacoma), 8 pm

The Room April 3, Central Cinema, 8 pm

Early Warnings

Social Justice Film Festival April 9–13, NW Film Forum and More

Seattle Black Film Festival April 24–27, Langston

Hughes Performing Arts Institute

Lord of the Rings & The Hobbit in Concert May 13, Neptune Theatre, 4 pm and 8 pm

Seattle International Film Festival May 15–25, multiple locations

FOOD

Alton Brown Live: Last Bite

MARCH 29

Are you normal, or was bonding time with your sibling watching episodes of Alton Brown’s show Good Eats together? His aversion to “unitaskers” and use of yeast puppets belching CO2 to explain bread-making live rent-free in my head. In the promo video for this “farewell tour” of his food-filled variety show, people in hazmat suits wheel a model of a cow out of a smoke-filled warehouse as Brown promises comedy, music, science, and “an epic yet potentially dangerous culinary demonstration.” (Paramount Theatre, 2:30 pm & 7:30 pm) SHANNON LUBETICH

MARCH 27

Drink Your Garden: Recipes, Stories and Tips from the Simple Goodness Cocktail Farm, will demonstrate how to make a seasonal cordial nonalcoholic spritz recipe from their book, field your burning amateur bartending questions, and sign copies. Learn how to grow your own ingredients, “from simple windowsill herbs to vegetables and flowers,” and how to capture and preserve their pure flavors. (Book Larder, 6:30–8 pm) JULIANNE BELL

Georgetown Bites & Sites

MARCH 22

Known for being Seattle’s oldest neighborhood, industrial-gritty Georgetown has become a culinary destination in its own right, with a high concentration of underrated gems. At this annual spring food walk from the Georgetown Business Associations, you can scoop up offerings from dozens of vendors, including El Sirenito, Lowrider Baking Company, Jellyfish Brewing, Star Brass Lounge, Fran’s Chocolates, El Pirata Tortas y Burritos, and more. Plus, this year’s event has been expanded to include retailers and artists, so you can shop in between stuffing your face. (Georgetown, 10:45 am–4 pm) JULIANNE BELL

More

Alki Winter Beer & Food Truck Festival March 8, Alki Beach

Taste Washington’s Grand Tasting March 13-17, Lumen Field

Early Warnings

Polish Food & Bazaar April 12, Polish Cultural Center

THIS &THAT

Smash Putt

THROUGH APRIL 12

Wake up, babe, Seattle’s best new date activity just dropped. The limited-run event Smash Putt returns with nine new mini-golf holes built by local makers, designers, and art collectives. Putt through holes with immersive themes like “Year of the Snake,” “Summer Sizzle,” and “Battleship” while you sip drinks curated by Belltown taproom Just The Tap. As someone who’s been underwhelmed by Seattle’s mini-golf offerings after experiencing the delights of Urban Putt in San Francisco, I’m excited to check out this promising course that the creators call “pure hootenanny” and “an absurdly good time.” Read more, page 9 (Base Camp Studios 2, times vary) SHANNON LUBETICH

28th Annual Daffodil Day

MARCH 20

Seattle, we did it! We made it through winter! We can’t guarantee that you’ll see the sun on the first day of spring, but you can pick up a brilliant (free!) daffodil to celebrate. This spring tradition sources daffodils

grown within 100 miles of the city by multigenerational family-run farms that have been market fixtures for decades. Even as someone who “doesn’t like flowers,” there’s something about seeing dozens of strangers walking around with bright yellow blooms that puts a smile on my face. (Pike Place Market, 11 am–2 pm, free) SHANNON LUBETICH

Big Climb Seattle 2025

MARCH 23

Standing just a few dozen feet (and a few hundred steps) shorter than the Eiffel Tower, the Columbia Tower takes a grueling 1,311 footfalls to reach the top. Take on this high-stepping challenge for a good cause—the Big Climb raises money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and its mission to fund blood cancer research. Don’t worry if you need to sit down and rest for a while at the top; you can just say you’re appreciating the breathtaking views from the Pacific Northwest’s tallest building. (Columbia Center, register online) SHANNON LUBETICH

Pier 62 Firepit Socials

THROUGH MARCH 30

Every Saturday until the end of March, Pier 62 is hosting what they describe as “an informal gathering to socialize around a large fire pit on the pier.” There will also be hot beverages, horchata, coffee, and more on offer from the Café Calaveras pop-up. Doesn’t that sound nice? People just gathering around a big ol’ fire in front of some water? I hope everyone will be on their phones, just like our ancestors intended. Kidding! Throw those things into the FIRE. Maybe this could be the start of something, a ritual phone sacrifice after a nice waterfront stroll. I’m getting off track. Anyway, they also warn that: “As Pacific Northwesterners, we understand that outdoor activities might need to be canceled due to inclement weather, so please check the schedule for updates.” (Pier 62, 3–6 pm, free)

EMILY NOKES

Kells 42nd Annual St. Patrick’s Irish Festival

DAILY MARCH 8–17

Kells’s 42nd annual celebration will kick off on March 8 and continue with daily revelry through St. Patrick’s Day (if you’ve got the stamina). As usual, Post Alley and First Avenue will be closed to traffic and covered by a large tent to support expanded celebrations, including rugby watch parties and performances by local musicians like the Belfast Bandits, Máirtín Ó Huigin, and Vertigo Zoo (a U2 tribute). Don’t forget the house-brewed beers and classic Irish dishes— corned beef, anyone? (Kells Irish Restaurant & Pub)

SHANNON LUBETICH

More

Balkan Night Northwest March 15, St. Demetrios

Greek Orthodox Church 4th on 4th Flea Market March 23 (every fourth Sunday), Elsom Cellars

Night Club: Seattle Fetish Ball March 29, Showbox SoDo

King/Snohomish County Regional Spelling Bee

2025 March 30, Town Hall, 1 pm

Monster Jam April 5, Lumen Field

Early Warnings

Cherry Blossom & Japanese Cultural Festival April 11–13 Armory and Fisher Pavilion at Seattle Center

WWE Friday Night SmackDown April 11, Climate

Pledge Arena

Science Fiction & Fantasy Convention April 17–20, DoubleTree Hotel Seattle Airport

Sakuracon Anime Festival April 18–20, Seattle Convention Center

Touch-A-Truck 2025 April 27 9 am–2 pm, University of Washington

ANDY SINGER

JOHNNY RYAN

BECKY BARNICOAT