The Stranger Vol. 22, No. 48

Volume 22, Issue Number 48 July 31–August 6, 2013

STUDY GUIDE

Questions for The Stranger, Volume 22, Issue 48

1. In a group feature, Stranger staffers discuss their worst jobs, which mostly involve drudgework for very little pay in unhealthy work environments. If Stranger staffers were provided complete anonymity, what percentage of the staff do you believe would have admitted that The Stranger is actually their worst job?

2. The news lead—the story that Stranger staff has decided is the single most important story in Seattle this week—is a gotcha piece written by GOLDY that suggests Mayor Mike McGinn’s two leading opponents in the mayoral race have “flip-flopped.” Make a list of five other stories that are more relevant to the lives and happiness of decent Seattleites than this shallow tabloid fodder.

3. BETHANY JEAN CLEMENT decided to frame her review of the restaurant Gastropod in the form of an arbitrarily numbered list. The piece would work just as well without the numbers. Why do you think she decided to write the review as a list? Is it a desperate attempt to cash in on BuzzFeed-style listicle journalism? Explain how a normal writer would have composed this review without the distracting conceit.

4a. Why does PAUL CONSTANT continue to review books of poetry, even though nobody reads poetry anymore? Is this performance art, or does it just represent Constant’s bonedeep loathing of his audience? Write your response in the form of a poem, just to be funny. 4b. Furthermore, Constant doesn’t even seem to possess the mental capacity to properly review poetry, instead treating poems as though they’re stories with half the nouns and adjectives hacked out. He also seems to think that funniness is the most important scale on which to rate poetry. Does this make Constant a tragic figure, or an aspirational one?

5. For some time now, The Stranger has published a column called “Loose Lips.” Try to determine, using contextual clues, what the purpose of the column is. If you can’t, write a whimsical piece of fiction imagining the purpose that a gossip column could possibly serve in the age of the internet.

6. DAN SAVAGE is on vacation. Now that you know that the only reason you read The Stranger is on vacation, write an essay with supporting examples explaining why you bothered to finish reading this sentence.

COVER ART

Herero Woman in Pink Dress by JIM

NAUGHTEN

On display as part of Signares & Hereros: Power and Resistance in Costumes at M.I.A Gallery, Aug 1–30.

Find podcasts, videos, blogs, MP3s, free classifieds, personals, contests, sexy ads, and more on The Stranger’s website.

Capitol Land Trust’s 13th Annual

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LAST DAYS

The

Week in Review BY

DAVID SCHMADER

MONDAY, JULY 22 This week of shitty cyclists, kick-ass bishops, and a long-awaited answer to the question “How do you solve a problem like Amanda Bynes?” kicks off with a ridiculously terrible story out of Brazil, where today a young woman tried to enjoy a day at the beach and found herself besieged by life-endangering terrors. Details come from CNN, which identifies our tragically unlucky heroine as Bruna Gobbi, an 18-year-old who was visiting a beach in the city of Recife with her cousin. Trouble first arrived in the form of the ocean, in which Gobbi and her cousin attempted to swim and almost drowned “Lifeguards responded immediately to try to save them,” reports CNN, confirming that Gobbi’s cousin was indeed brought safely to shore. However, in the midst of the rescue, Bruna Gobbi was fatally attacked by a shark . “The local government’s security cameras captured the attack and rescue on video,” reports CNN. “A lifeguard’s Jet Ski–type craft can be seen approaching the stranded swimmers when a sudden flurry of movement creates a splash around Gobbi, followed by a pool of red around her.”

•• Speaking of the fact that whenever God closes a door, He opens a window and sometimes shoves you through it to your death: Tomorrow will bring a similarly tragic story from

BABY-MAKING WANNABE

Many months back, I responded to your ad, a lesbian couple looking for a suitor to help procreate a child for you. I was really just looking to get laid. We hooked up and did the deed twice at first, and many weeks later, no baby.

We went at it again a few more times, and I definitely did my best to blast off all my batter for y’all. It was awesome. Your lady sat in on the final session, and it got super erotic/ trippy. It has provided me with enough fodder for life.

Still, no baby.

I got fixed a few years back, but I couldn’t tell you and pass up such an erotic endeavor. It was the best sex ever, and I definitely thank you. Again. Thanks. I tried.

Maine, where two women will become lost near the Roque Bluffs State Park hiking trails and, after an extended search, be rescued by the Maine Warden Service, which will transport the two women safely back to their car. Unfortunately, the women will then drive their car into a lake and drown. “Officials say multiple crews searched for the women and their vehicle, and eventually the vehicle was located underwater about 175 feet off the Pond Cove boat ramp,” WCSH News will report. “[Police] said the boat launch could easily be mistaken for the road, especially in a period of low visibility.”

TUESDAY, JULY 23 In other news, today brings some decisive forward motion in the regrettable saga of Amanda Bynes, the former child star who’s spent the past year veering between grotesque public dramas (numerous vehicular crime charges, one alleged bongthrowing, countless Twitter freak-outs) and court dates related to her various grotesque public dramas. The questions that trail her like a broccoli fart: How will this end? Can no one intervene? WHERE ARE HER PARENTS??

Today brought some answers, as Amanda Bynes was hospitalized on an involuntary psychiatric hold after allegedly starting a fire in the driveway of a stranger’s home last night in Thousand Oaks, CA. About last night’s decisive fire: “When sheriff’s deputies arrived, they questioned Amanda about what she was doing, and why she was doing it,” reports TMZ. “Based on her answers, they determined she needed to be hospitalized on a 5150 hold.” By week’s end, Bynes’s parents will file for conservatorship of their 27-year-old daughter, who remains hospitalized. Best of luck to all.

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO BELIEVED ME!”

•• Speaking of troubled celebrities, today also brings news on another, worse one: Lance Armstrong, the chronically truth-averse, drugenhanced athlete who today slimed his way to a new level of repugnance by claiming he shouldn’t be held responsible for sponsorship funds he accepted from the US Postal Service (who dumped Armstrong after he admitted to his doping) because the US Postal Service shouldn’t have believed his lies about not doping in the first place. “Allegations that he had used performance-enhancing drugs had received news coverage,” reports the Wall Street Journal . “But the officials ‘did nothing,’ [Armstrong’s] filing says. Armstrong was denying his use of performance-enhancing drugs during this period.” Condolences to Lance Armstrong, who, now that he is cancer-free, is made entirely of garbage.

WEDNESDAY, JULY 24 Meanwhile in San Francisco, the week continues with an awful legal first, as a 37-year-old man became the first person to plead guilty to vehicular manslaughter by bike. Details come from the Associated Press, which identifies our guilty cyclist as Chris Bucchere, a software engineer who’d already run three red lights when he plowed his bike into Sutchi Hui, a 71-year-old pedestrian attempting to cross the street in San Francisco’s Castro district. “I was already way too committed to stop,” as Bucchere wrote in a blog post after the accident. “I couldn’t see

Boycott Russia

Vodka’s Just the Beginning…

Over the past week, supporters of equal rights for gays have made it clear they want no part in financing contemporary Russia, where LGBT citizens and their allies continue to be subjected to stomach-churning harassment, humiliation, and physical torture. But is dumping Russian vodka enough? What about other Russian products? Here’s a handy guide to help you plan and properly execute your Russian boycott.

RUSSIAN DRESSING

Relax! This creamy, ketchupy delight was created not in Russia, but in New Hampshire! DO NOT BOYCOTT.

RUSSIAN ROULETTE

Those who consider themselves pro–gay equality must give up this potentially deadly game of chance, which, according to legend, was indeed cooked up in Russia. BOYCOTT! (Unless you’re an actual homophobic Russian, in which case you should play all the time.)

THE RUSSIAN MAFIA

Do you make a weekly payoff to the Russian mob? Stop it! That money’s fueling hate. BOYCOTT!

PIROSHKY

If you happen to get your piroshky directly from Russia, BOYCOTT! Then head immediately to Piroshky Piroshky (1908 Pike Place, DO NOT BOYCOTT!) and gorge yourself on hate-free deliciousness.

FABERGÉ EGGS

Yes, these hail from Russia’s “Imperialist Czar” era of the late 19th century, but still. They’re gross, and if you consider yourself a humane citizen, you must give them up. BOYCOTT!

ACTUAL RUSSIANS

Fun fact: Russians who no longer live in Russia most likely hate that shithole more than you ever will! So DO NOT BOYCOTT!

Support the shit out of your local Russians! Go see former Russian Wes Hurley’s Waxie Moon in Fallen Jewel at Central Cinema! Go eat former Russian Tania Harrison’s vegetarian delights at Cyber-Dog near the Convention Center! And we’re not fucking kidding about gorging yourself at Piroshky Piroshky!

a line through the crowd and I couldn’t stop, so I laid it down and just plowed through the crowded crosswalk in the least-populated place I could find.” Four days after being struck by Bucchere, Sutchi Hui died of his injuries. Having pleaded guilty to vehicular manslaughter, Bucchere now faces three years’ probation and 1,000 hours of community service. Also: “Hui’s family has filed a civil suit against Bucchere,” reports the Guardian

THURSDAY, JULY 25 Speaking of fatal collisions, the week continues in Spain, where the entire populace is freaking out after the derailment of a high-speed train killed 78 people and injured at least 130 others. As the Times UK reports, immediately after being pulled from the wreckage of yesterday’s fiery crash in Galicia, train driver Francisco José Garzón Amo told his rescuers, “I have fucked it up. I want to die.” Garzón Amo’s desire to be dead will only grow as the week progresses, bringing reports of his previous Facebook bragging about driving his train at excessive speeds and the allegation that he was on the phone at the time of the crash. By the end of the week, Garzón Amo will be charged with 78 counts of criminally negligent manslaughter

FRIDAY, JULY 26 In better news, the week continues with Desmond Tutu , the Nobel

Peace Prize–winning South African archbishop who today made headlines by saying he’d rather go to hell than enter a homophobic heaven . “I would not worship a God who is homophobic and that is how deeply I feel about this,” said 81-yearold Archbishop Tutu at the launch of the UN-backed Free and Equal campaign in Cape Town. “I am as passionate about this campaign as I ever was about apartheid. For me, it is at the same level.”

Thank you, retired archbishop Tutu.

SATURDAY, JULY 27 Nothing happened today (unless you count the packed-out Capitol Hill Block Party).

SUNDAY, JULY 28 Ditto.

Send hot tips to lastdays@thestranger.com and follow me on Twitter @davidschmader.

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“I’D RATHER GO TO HELL”

“SHIT HAPPENS”

PAUL COSTER

Flip Flops

Mayoral Challengers Fall All Over Themselves in Fierce Battle to Label McGinn as “Divisive”

BY GOLDY

Omigod! “Street vacations!” It’s the arcane real estate development procedure that suddenly everybody is talking about! In a Seattle mayor’s race long focused more

on style than substance, it was incumbent mayor Mike McGinn’s recommendation to reject a request to “vacate” and sell a cityowned alley to developers of a proposed West Seattle Whole Foods Market that has inexplicably set the race afire. Citing the downward pressure the nonunion Whole Foods might have on wages and benefits at the six existing supermarkets in the neighborhood, McGinn instructed the Seattle Department of Transportation (SDOT) to advise the city council that selling the alley is “not in the public interest.”

I know. Electrifying, right? Well it is, apparently, if you’re a political opponent or pundit eager to characterize the mayor as “divisive.”

State senator and mayoral front-runner Ed Murray saw an opportunity to go on the attack, issuing a statement that accused McGinn of “dividing people,” and “usurping” and “subverting” the process. Challenger Peter Steinbrueck, a former council member who is struggling to break through our August 6 top-two primary, slammed the mayor’s recommendation as “hypocritical,” “abusive,” and “perhaps illegal,” breathlessly telling Seattle Times columnist Danny Westneat: “They do this in East Coast cities, and it’s properly called ‘graft and corruption.’” And Westneat appeared downright startled at the suggestion that Whole Foods be asked to back up its unsubstantiated wage claims with actual payroll data, characterizing the very notion as “vaguely communistic.”

It’s the biggest mayoral scandal, apparently, since Greg Nickels failed to personally shovel the snow from our driveways! Quelle horreur!

It’s also, a complete and utter load of crap. For not only did both Murray and

More Flop Than Anything

The Mayor’s Plan on Whole Foods Already Looks Dead in the Water

BY ANNA MINARD

O

kay, so as you just read: On July 16, Mayor Mike McGinn announced he’d recommend the denial of an alleyway for a development in West Seattle. McGinn says anchor tenant Whole Foods is the kind of employer whose nonunion wages don’t contribute enough to the “public benefit”

Steinbrueck mischaracterize McGinn’s position, they also appear to have mischaracterized their own. “It’s not a new idea,” a somewhat befuddled McGinn says of the harsh response to his effort to leverage street vacation requests in support of higher wages and benefits. “In fact, Ed Murray proposed doing so himself.”

When developers want to incorporate a city-owned street or alley into a proposed project, they petition the city for a street vacation as part of their design proposal. The city typically receives, and usually approves, about a half-dozen such requests a year, with the city obtaining fair market value for the right-of-way, plus, depending on circumstances, additional public benefits, such as bike lanes, public plazas, and other infrastructure improvements. As part of the review process, the request is evaluated by the city’s transportation department, which then recommends to the city council whether it finds the vacation to be in “the public interest.” The council has final say on the decision; there is no mayoral veto. What is novel about the Whole Foods request is McGinn’s decision to start applying established economic development goals of “living wage jobs”—as defined in the city’s Comprehensive Plan—to SDOT’s “public interest” standards. “The policy has not changed,” insists the mayor. What’s different, he says, is the application of this policy to the evaluation of this and all future street vacation requests. “I don’t think it’s okay to sell to a company that depresses the wages and benefits of workers that are already in the neighborhood,” says McGinn.

And at a June 17 mayoral forum, when a low-wage worker asked that exact question— “As mayor, what would you do to keep low-road

that must be considered when selling city property.

But for all the mayor’s grandstanding, McGinn really doesn’t have much say over so-called street vacations, anyway. Ultimately, “the city council makes every vacation decision,” says Beverly Barnett, a strategic advisor at the city’s transportation department.

It’s the council’s transportation committee that will first consider the project. And that committee is headed by Council Member Tom Rasmussen, who has clashed with the mayor on virtually every major transportation dispute in recent years: building the deep-bore tunnel, widening the 520 bridge, funding the city’s Transit Master Plan.

THAT WAS THEN… THIS IS NOW

JUNE

Supports using street vacations to pressure developers on wages and benefits.

“There are ways to use the land-use code” to keep out stores like Walmart.

Supports trying different ways to pressure developers on wages and benefits.

retailers like Walmart, Whole Foods, and WinCo out of our city to protect union jobs?”— Murray and Steinbrueck seemed to agree. Steinbrueck railed against companies like Walmart, calling them “exploitive, predator nature species,” and strongly arguing in favor of blocking their developments in support of wages and benefits. “I can say that as a landuse expert and architect and planner, there are ways to use the land-use code… to discourage this type of development,” insisted Steinbrueck.

Ed Murray was for it before he was against it.

But Murray wins the prize for specificity: “There are things that big developers or a big entity like Walmart want when they come in, that have a public benefit,” Murray told the pro-union audience. “Sometimes it might be a street vacation or something like that, that we can also have influence in sort of a soft leveraging place, to get the kind of wages that are needed.”

Murray refused The Stranger’s request for an interview. But in a statement issued after a video surfaced that caught

So did McGinn work out issues with the officials who have authority on the project before he took his opposition public? That would be a no.

Although Rasmussen declined an interview, sources working with the city council say that while they’re not surprised—this is classic McGinn—it’s frustrating to have the mayor weigh in publicly when every detail of this project and its benefits has been debated and fine-tuned for months behind the scenes.

Not to mention, the transportation committee won’t feasibly be able to start looking at this project until almost wintertime—by the time it reaches a full council vote, McGinn may have lost the election. If he wanted a real say

JULY

Taking the opposite position, insists Mayor McGinn was wrong to use street vacations to pressure developers on wages and benefits.

“You can’t use the land-use codes to single out one grocery store.”

Remaining consistent, pushes using street vacations to pressure developers on wages and benefits.

Murray in his flip-flop, the campaign attempted to clarify Murray’s critique: “To be clear, Ed is not opposed to a substantive discussion with the Council about changing the criteria by which these street vacations are judged.”

But since Murray is the one who went on the attack to make this a major controversy of the mayor’s race, let’s revisit his claims: First, he specifically suggested that a mayor could use street vacation requests as “leverage” for getting “the kind of wages that are needed.” Then he attacked Mayor McGinn for doing exactly that: “He has usurped the role of the City Council and subverted an impartial process to pursue his own advancement,” Murray had claimed. And now Murray says that he “is not opposed to a substantive discussion” about street vacations.

Flip. Flop. Flip.

Steinbrueck at least is willing to walk back his outrage. He acknowledges that McGinn “has only voiced his opinion,” and insists that he is “not accusing the mayor of graft and corruption.” And while Steinbrueck stands by using land-use codes to block predatory retailers, unlike Murray, he outright rejects similar use of the street vacation process.

Finally—an actual, if tiny, tidbit of a policy dispute in what has otherwise been a virtually substance-free election season.

on this specific project, say people in the know, he would have started his advocacy in spring. Robert Cruickshank, the mayor’s spokesman, says it was deliberate that they bypassed the usual behind-the-scenes work. The mayor is making a “policy statement that… the public should be aware of,” Cruickshank says. In other words, the mayor’s office is attempting to set a new precedent of what constitutes public benefits—good wages and benefits—and they wanted to make that case in public.

But lacking a backroom strategy, McGinn could set a different precedent: that the mayor’s recommendations are meaningless when the city confronts controversial employers like Whole Foods and Walmart.

MURRAY

STEINBRUECK

McGINN

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OCity Regulations to Protect Low-Wage Workers Are Going Largely Unenforced

BY CIENNA MADRID AND ANNA MINARD

n July 11, fast-food worker and single mother of three Juanita Porter alleged in front of Seattle City Council members and a packed council chamber that her employer, Taco Bell, steals her wages—despite the fact that these same council members passed legislation two years ago making it a crime for employers to shortchange their workers on wages, tips, or overtime.

“They tried to tell me I didn’t work 71 hours, [that] the computer kept me clocked in when I wasn’t there,” Porter said. “I clock in manually, so I don’t see how that’s possible… I earned that money.”

Porter wasn’t alone. Nor is the wage-theft law the only progressive policy that seems to go unenforced lately.

policy or legal requirements.”

The city council has approved other progressive laws in the last few years: One would endow all employees in Seattle with paid sick time off, another make it illegal to ask women to stop breastfeeding in public, and yet another ban employers from asking job applicants about their criminal history, to name a few. But while the city council is happy to pass them, it seems little enforcement backs them up.

For example, a July report released by the University of Washington shows that more than two-thirds of Seattle businesses “were noncompliant or in only partial compliance” with the city’s paid sick leave ordinance when it went into effect last September. The law, which applies to more than 11,000 employers, was designed to discourage employees from working while sick by not monetarily penalizing them for missing work. But more than a quarter of the 1,400 employers surveyed “offer neither paid sick leave nor undesignated paid time off to any employee.” Furthermore, the study found

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On the steps of City Hall two weeks later, a former Taco Bell employee, 21-year-old Caroline Durocher, talked about the hundreds of dollars in wages she lost when, she claims, her manager clocked out staff an hour after closing, even when they were still working. For anywhere from a half-hour to three hours a night, she said, she was “scrubbing floors, doing dishes, cleaning bathrooms”—for free. Durocher said she filed a wage-theft claim with the police department. She says she’s still waiting for follow-up from police on her case.

But despite receiving a few dozen reports of wage theft, the Seattle City Attorney’s Office has never used the law to prosecute an employer. “At this point in time, we have not filed any wage theft cases,” assistant city attorney Craig Sims said last Thursday, because the cases referred were “not factually sufficient.”

In April 2011, the city made it a gross misdemeanor, punishable by loss of a city business license, for Seattle employers to pay less than they were contracted to pay. It was designed to address a national problem: 64 percent of low-wage workers experience wage theft each week, according to a 2008 study by the Center for Urban Economic Development, the National Employment Law Project, and UCLA’s Institute for Research on Labor and Employment. For those workers in bluecollar fields like construction, manufacturing, fast-food work, and even home health care, the theft can eliminate about 15 percent of their annual income.

that “among employers who know about the Ordinance and do not currently offer paid leave, only four in ten plan to change their policies.”

“When I tried to use my paid sick leave, I was told by my boss that I was confused and the law didn’t apply to me, and I still had to work,” says a Starbucks barista who asked to remain anonymous. (Starbucks did not respond to a request for comment by press time.) Since the law took effect, Seattle workers have lodged 135 paid sick leave complaints with the city against 69 businesses—including Starbucks, the Downtown Seattle Association, and Amazon.

Despite receiving a few dozen reports of wage theft, the Seattle City Attorney’s Office has never used the law to prosecute an employer.

The Seattle Office for Civil Rights (OCR) reports that most complaints (including those against Starbucks, the Downtown Seattle Association, and Amazon) have been settled. OCR director Julie Nelson says that in a majority of cases, employers modified their policies to embrace the ordinance, while others were already following the rules. Currently, charges are only being considered against one business.

For the company’s part, Taco Bell spokesman Rob Poetsch says in a statement that the fast-food giant and its franchisees must follow all applicable laws, “and we have zero tolerance for actions that don’t meet our

“The goal is compliance; we don’t operate with a gotcha mentality,” explains Nelson. The problem, city officials concede, is that the complaint process is confusing. For example, complaints concerning wage theft must be lodged with the Seattle Police Department, while paid sick leave and the city’s new ex-offender job legislation, which is slated to go into effect November 1, are investigated by the OCR. Complaint-based systems are arguably unequal, since some populations—such as people in poverty or with language barriers—tend not to report crimes due to a history of discrimination and mistrust of law enforcement, lack of

CAROLINE DUROCHER Alleges wage theft.

CITY OF SEATTLE

familiarity with the complaint system, or fear of retaliation.

“If you rely on a complaint-based system, it puts an inordinate burden on the individual,” explains Council Member Nick Licata. “They will always be concerned that they’ll be punished or retaliated against by their employer—even though retaliation is illegal.”

SPD spokesman Sergeant Sean Whitcomb acknowledges the victims of these sorts of crimes are often “vulnerable populations.”

“You don’t just pass this law off and say, ‘Yup, we’re good,’ and expect everyone to come forward.” That said, the issue of wage theft is “a big deal to us,” says Whitcomb, who adds that each complaint is referred to burglary detectives for follow-up. “To say that it’s not a priority is incorrect,” he adds.

Licata says that the city should consider creating a department that promotes enforcement. “I think there is a need to consolidate these programs under one division that would have sufficient funding to do outreach and do some spot checks,” he explains. “You don’t have to do many, but a few spot checks would get their attention.”

Shitty Council

City Council Votes to Let Homeless Camps Run Amok

BY ANNA MINARD

The Seattle City Council rejected a bill Monday to legalize and regulate homeless encampments. The bill’s sponsor, Council Member Nick Licata, says the measure was designed to make encampments safer—encampments like Nickelsville, which has been plagued by crime and neighborhood acrimony—by keeping them policed and connected with social services.

“We know that there are thousands of people who can’t get into shelters every night,” Licata said on the day before his measure lost in a 5–4 vote. The measure would have allowed encampments, under certain conditions, to be permitted in nonresidential areas for up to a year. While Council Members Mike O’Brien, Sally Bagshaw, and Bruce Harrell joined Licata to vote in favor, the council’s moderate-to-conservative majority ostensibly nixed the bill

on grounds that encampments fail to solve homelessness. They repeated familiar, sometimes illogical arguments that the city should spend its money on long-term housing instead (regulating encampments doesn’t actually siphon money from housing funds). Council Member Jean Godden said, “People deserve better.” Tim Burgess said cities are retreating from encampments as a solution, and Tom Rasmussen claimed, without a trace of irony, “We do care, and we’re doing all that we can to help those who are homeless.”

But Tim Harris, director of Real Change, calls those arguments specious, saying, “It is just sad that the majority of the council can’t wrap their head around the idea that encampments are a harm-reduction strategy and they save lives.” The bill would have required permitted camps to be run by experienced organizations; to follow certain

The losing side wanted the camp regulated and policed.

maintenance, health, and safety requirements; to be near transit lines; and to have insurance if they’re on city property, among other regulations. Harris adds, “There is really no excuse for them to not pass this other than just cowardice.”

Still, Council Member Richard Conlin complained about the problems with Nickelsville, ignoring the fact that many of those problems—sanitation, campers reluctant to call police, the unusual location in West Seattle—seem to stem from its very illegality.

Supporters had tried to delay the vote until September, when the city would see the results of $500,000 they allocated to move Nickelsville residents into longer-term housing. (They’ve directed the mayor to evict the camp from its current site in September.)

“It would have been nice had we been able to… see if the $500,000 had worked,” Harrell lamented.

“These folks still exist,” said O’Brien, when it was clear the bill would fail. “They will be sleeping somewhere.” Just, for now, under bridges and in greenways, not in organized, policed encampments.

The Stranger Election Control Board

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COUNCIL DISTRICT NO. 1

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COUNCIL DISTRICT NO. 9

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PORT OF SEATTLE

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COUNCIL POSITION NO. 2

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Council Plans to Further Restrict Pot Gardens

Port Wants to Ban Them in Many Industrial Areas

BY BEN LIVINGSTON

On August 12, the Seattle City Council intends to vote on a bill that would further restrict legal pot grows in Seattle, and critics say that would make a bad problem worse.

The marijuana initiative passed by voters last fall already banned legal pot businesses almost everywhere in Seattle, due to regulations that prohibit them near schools, transit centers, and parks. The few spaces that remain when pot businesses open next year, according to a map issued by the city’s planning office in January, are scattered patches in far-flung neighborhoods and a large swath of industrial land in Sodo.

But in passing this pot bill, the city council would cut out more than half of the area where growing should be legal under state law and a previous bill draft.

“It’s very shortsighted,” says Alex Cooley, a medical cannabis cultivator who recently obtained a permit specifically for a marijuana production warehouse in the industrially zoned Sodo neighborhood. “We need to allow for as much geographic space as possible for this new use because of the difficulty finding properties.” Cooley says the move will discourage medical pot producers from permitting their grows and will push legal cultivators out of town.

The law would create a new type of property use, called “indoor agricultural operation,” and allow pot grows up to 50,000 square feet—which is quite large—up from the 10,000 feet proposed in a previous draft of the ordinance. But thanks to recent complaints from the Port of Seattle, the latest draft of the bill bans production of cannabis in a zone called Industrial General 1, which makes up 46.2 percent of the city’s industrial areas (much of which is in the Sodo area).

“Industrial General 1 represents that portion of the city that is the highest value to the port and associated businesses,” says Brennon Staley from the Department of Planning and Development, the lead planner working on the city’s pot zoning proposal. “We at the city are concerned that if too much of that port area is displaced by other uses, it could make it difficult for the port to operate in general.”

The port-placating change reduces Seattle’s proposed pot-growing land by more than 50 percent, according to my analysis. A legal cannabis cultivator in Seattle would have approximately 1,070 properties to consider in Sodo, Georgetown, South Park, Interbay, and Ballard.

Some say the fear of pot gardens significantly increasing land values in portdominated zones seems far-fetched. “It’s not that we’re taking port property, or we’re going to steal buildings from port landlords,” says Cooley. “As growers, we’re taking out of the discard pile when it comes to buildings we can get.”

Nature's Medical Group

The Staff of The Stranger on the Weirdest Work We’ve Ever Done (Not Counting Working at The Stranger)

I Was a MALL EASTER BUNNY

By Paul Constant

Iwas an Easter Bunny at the Citadel Mall in Colorado Springs for about a month and a half. For six dollars an hour, I was required to wear a full-body Easter Bunny costume and sit in a wicker throne in the Citadel’s food court. Children would sit on my lap for pictures. Sometimes, during the slow periods, my assistants would guide me by the hand around the mall to wave at children and lure them back to my lap.

The suit—full-body tan fur, with an egg-festooned vest and matching bow tie, and a giant, hard plastic head sitting awkwardly atop my shoulders—was hot, but at least it kept the smell inside. I basically gave up on hygiene during my time as a bunny. I always wore the same gray T-shirt and cutoff jeans under the suit, and I stopped trying to shower the smell off because the second the suit went on, the reek would cling to my skin like it never left. Occasionally, my manager would take the suit home and flock the fur with baby powder when it became matted with baby-fluids, but the only way to clean the head before I passed it off to the other

bunny involved spraying an aerosol disinfectant inside; if anything, the disinfectant smelled worse than my own stale breath.

And the tail! The suit’s poofy cotton tail jabbed into my ass every time I sat down, and it ground into my skin every time a new child was sloughed onto me. Eventually a raw, bloody welt the size of a 50-cent piece

Teenagers

punched and kicked me and shouted cruel names

that I couldn’t hear

through the bunny head.

blossomed on either side of my ass crack. Sitting down caused a sharp, raw jolt to zap up the length of my spine. I had to sleep on my stomach.

Soon after I took the job, the only other full-time Easter Bunny, a 16-year-old high school dropout, had to quit. (She got pregnant.) My eight-hour shifts became 12-hour shifts, and I started working seven days a week.

The repetition drove me mad. My assistants would plop a child in my lap. I’d ask what her name was. She’d tell me. (Britnee!) I’d ask what she wanted for Easter. She’d tell me. (A tricycle with Barbie on it!) I’d look over at the parents, who’d nod approvingly. (Maybe this was a regional thing, or maybe the customs had changed since I was a kid, but to my surprise, most of the children who visited me got presents on Easter morning, like it was Christmas redux.) I’d say that I would see what I could do. My assistants would snap the picture. The next child would be dumped in my lap and immediately begin shrieking in fear. I’d try to console them from behind the screen of the bunny mouth, my voice no doubt distant, coming as it was from the cavernous depths of my helmet. The child would be removed. Another Britnee would land in my lap. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Teenagers punched and kicked me and shouted cruel names that I couldn’t hear through the bunny head.

It wasn’t all torment: Once, there was a fashion show at the mall, and my keepers brought me into the dressing room, where a bunch of models in their underwear fondled my crotch and made jokes about my Easter basket. Even during the drudgery of putting people on my lap, I got groped a lot; drunk mothers and young

Hotel maid

DQ cone dipper Mall Easter Bunny

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Every day, I had to lay out a few planks of plywood on the crossbeams, crawl out several yards above the chasm, carry a bucket of thinned whitewash and a paintbrush out onto the plywood with me, and then lie on my back to paint the ceiling.

women loved to sit and massage me in my tenderest bunny parts and squeeze the boner that developed. I wondered what they’d think if they could see the young man they were fondling under the suit: Filthy, ass-smelling, my skin pale and clammy, in asymmetrically cut jean shorts, a huge oozing sore on my ass. It was all worth it for the time when Hunter S. Thompson was walking around the Citadel Mall. My friends and I had seen him in town that week—this was the spring of 1996—and there he was, for some reason, making a beeline through the food court to the parking lot outside. I was on one of my irregular walks, and I stuck out my paw for him to shake. He pushed me away. I like to think that he was tripping balls, and that I appeared in his vision like a looming demon, but probably he just didn’t want to be seen with a mall Easter Bunny. I loved him more for it.

The time passed in a gauzy blur. When I slept, I dreamed that I was looking out on the world through the inside of the bunny head. My ass felt as though it would never heal. I lost my grip on reality; sometimes, when a child was taken from my lap, I couldn’t remember whether I had engaged in normal patter or if I told him that his mother was a whore. Finally, on the last Saturday before Easter, I was saying my good-byes to my manager. She thanked me for all my good work and asked me what I was going to do with myself. I wasn’t sure. She told me that Christmas, on balance, wasn’t very far off. I didn’t have a naturally white beard, so I couldn’t play the Big Man, but she said hopefully, “We’re always looking for good elves!”

I left Colorado Springs a month later and never returned.

I Was a HOUSE PAINTER

By Dominic Holden

Ihad dreadlocks at the time, so I had to wrap my hair in an old T-shirt every day before work. Otherwise, my dreads— which were admittedly pretty gross—would fill up with paint, making them way grosser.

A company of three, our painting business was known for meticulous work. It’s hard not to be meticulous when you smoke that much weed at 7 a.m. Things become very, very methodical. Plodding, even. But once we got known around town, we’d get paid fantastic hourly wages finishing the interiors of new houses that had to be painted in a way that captured the architects’ aesthetic vision.

Aesthetic vision is subjective. And often impractical. One wet December, we began a job at a new house in the Mount Baker neighborhood, in which a vaulted ceiling soared three stories above a concrete-floored living room. This ceiling was to be painted with

a faded whitewash so that the wood grain showed through, while the beams in between were to remain raw brown wood. A paint roller or sprayer would not do the job—the ceiling had to be painted carefully with a brush. This required an incredible feat, and the person selected to accomplish this feat was me.

Every day, I had to lay out a few planks of plywood on the crossbeams, crawl out several yards above the chasm, carry a bucket of thinned whitewash and a paintbrush out onto the plywood with me, and then lie on my back to paint the ceiling. The plywood plank was held in place solely by gravity (no screws, no harness), and once positioned on my back, I’d dip my brush upside down into the thin paint and then swipe my brush on the ceiling. In case you hadn’t considered it before (and why would you?), paintbrushes don’t work well upside down. Particularly with paint about as thin as water. Rather than saturating the tip, the paint pooled in the base of the brush, and then in creeks that began running down the handle, dripping onto my arms and elbows and face. Driiiiiiip. Drip, drip, drip. Drip. Drip. After a week lying upside down three stories above concrete, tempting certain death, and swallowing paint, the job was done. Just as the architect had wanted, the ceiling was slightly lighter than the beams. He walked in, looked up, and said, “You know, I was wrong. It should be lighter. Let’s put on another coat.”

I Was a NIGHT-WATCH

SECURITY GUARD

By David Schmader

No, not even that: I was the night watch whose job was to watch the night-watch security guard. It was June 1991, I’d just graduated college, and I was living with my parents in St. Louis while I worked to save enough money to move to Seattle. The job was a full-time position with a home security firm, and it required me to sit in a fluorescent-lit office from 10 at night till 6 in the morning, five nights a week. My primary task: making sure the guy in charge of responding to the alarm calls didn’t fall asleep. The firm had learned from experience that leaving one man alone in an office all night was too risky, so I was brought in. Occasionally, I was given a stack of reports to file. But mostly, I just had to make sure the other guy stayed awake. This other guy had had his job since before the second-man mandate came down, so he was used to working alone, and he made it clear that the only time I should speak to him was if he fell asleep. In other words, my main task was keeping myself awake. I accomplished this through reckless caffeine consumption and immersive study projects. The first installment of

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Bob Dylan’s Bootleg Series had just come out, gathering four hours of music onto three CDs that I listened to on headphones, start to finish, every single night I worked. The remaining hours I filled in reading Madame Bovary, which I got through four and a half times before I’d scraped together enough money to flee. I never had occasion to talk to the other guy.

I Was a DAIRY QUEEN BLIZZARD MAKER

By Emily Nokes

Before I understood anything about schedules and uniforms, I understood one thing: I had to get a job so that I could buy better jeans than the single pair my mom evaluated as being “still in good shape.” Good-shape jeans were NOT the low-rise hip-huggers in extra-light denim I so desperately needed.

I turned in an application (which must have just included my name?) to the closest business to my house—a corner Dairy Queen. I’d been there a million times throughout my 16 years, and I considered myself an ice-cream expert. How hard could it be? I was hired by the high-anxiety, extremely tan husband and wife team who owned the franchise, but then informed that my shifts would take place at the other Dairy Queen, the smaller, summeronly location clear across town from where I lived.

At first, the gig seemed okay, but once I tried every Blizzard option, made sundaes that were mostly marshmallow sauce, and attempted baking handfuls of the cookie-dough topping meant for Blizzards in the toaster oven, the job lost its charm. In fact, it fully sucked. My 18-year-old manager was a heavily made-up beast with a bad perm who lazed it up during our shifts together, only to kick it into “stressed-out and super hardworking” mode whenever the owners showed up. Tan Husband lost his temper when the machines hadn’t been polished (polished!) at the end of a shift, and Tan Wife would nearly burst into angry tears if the Dilly Bars had not been properly stacked in the stupid freezer.

Onto the person I was working with! I don’t even remember anything about my coworker that evening, other than that I think she was a bit “bad”—tongue piercing, cigarettes, that kind of thing. Suddenly, topping spoons were used to launch Oreo and pineapple chunks; sloppy strawberry goop landed in our hair. We were shrieking, slipping around on the greasy butterscotch’d floor, having the time of our lives at work for once.

I suppose it wasn’t the food fight as much as it was the decision not to clean it up. I mean, summer-only DQ was CLOSING, and there would be a deep, professional clean before the dormancy anyway. Sixteen-year-old me had it figured out.

I suppose it wasn’t the food

Speaking of Dilly Bars, there were a lot of cute boys cruising around with their learner’s permits that summer, and when they requested a couple freezer treats, I didn’t think twice about it. I hated those boring Dillies, and if I was allowed a few per shift, then someone could have mine. Especially if that someone got to cruise around in his mom’s Dodge Neon all summer.

Meanwhile, I grew less interested in DQ by the minute. Everyone was catty, the customers were cranky, and polishing gunky Blizzard machines was the most futile task ever. Work, I felt, might not be for me. The new school year was rapidly approaching, but at the hourly rate of early-’00s Montana minimum wage, I’d barely succeeded in saving any hot-jeans bucks after factoring in the gas it took to get to work in my Dad’s embarrassing Jeep.

FINALLY, summer was ending, and therefore so was the summer-only DQ. The night of my last shift, I was so restless. Parts of the store were already put away for the next year—most of the freezers were unplugged and empty, we were running low on everything. It was time to party.

It must have started with the dying whipped-cream container that spewed cream dribbles like a white sparkler. Into the air!

I received the call the next day. Tan Wife informed me that I was fired. Since I hadn’t planned that far ahead, I didn’t realize they assumed I’d be back next summer. Ha! After a lecture about how she’d been “so wrong” about me, I replied with something equivalent to a verbal shrug and hung up, feeling relieved. Later that evening, I was hanging out at a dance class when my MOM burst through the gymnasium doors. “You’re coming with me, NOW.” Apparently, Tan Wife had called her about the firing, and now she was irate. More irate than I thought possible. I tried to explain—we left a giant mess, we were sorry, it was closing anyway, it’s a messy job, big misunderstanding. After the world’s longest-seeming silent treatment, she finally hissed, “Stealing, Emily?” I was completely confused. Huh? Stealing? I hadn’t even been taught how to make change! I had no idea how the register even opened! I was the Blizzard grunt whose only job was to make ice-cream treats and apparently clean stuff. I pleaded for explanation. How much money was missing? When did it happen? Who else was working? My mom was given no other details, just that I’d been stealing. I imagined life in prison. I panicked. When we got home, I called the bosses. For the first time in my life, I yelled (and swore!) at an adult I was not related to. At first I just yelped, “What the fuck? What? What the hell?” I demanded to know what Tan Wife thought she was doing (a) calling my mother in the first place, and (b) lying to her? After I hurled my pent-up ice-cream rage into the phone, her condescending voice coolly explained that Lazy Perm had tattled on me, and that “Giving away Dilly Bars is like stealing.”

I Was a SPORTS

REPORTER

WHO KNEW NOTHING ABOUT

SPORTS

By Brendan Kiley

Working the sports desk for the Seattle Post-Intelligencer one college summer wasn’t the worst job for me—rather, I was the worst for it. Most of my family members loved playing and watching sports, but I was not a natural athlete. (My mother and sister were yell-at-the-TV types when the Mariners were on; I’m probably one of the few American third-graders who routinely struck out at T-ball.) But I’d been working like a fiend at the Daily, the University of Washington’s college newspaper, for two years—it paid a decent college-job wage if you filed enough stories—writing about arts, news, and science. When the Daily’s comely, Amazonian sports editor, who I had a minor crush on,

suggested I take a summer job at the P-I, I was sold.

The P-I editor, Glenn Drosendahl, seemed like a gentle and intelligent man and had a graying, well-manicured mustache. My job interview mostly consisted of him asking if I was studying journalism, me squirming in my seat before sheepishly admitting I was an anthropology major, and him—to my surprise—beaming. “Good!” he said (more or less— I’m paraphrasing). “No real journalists major in journalism! If you want to be a reporter, major in anything else: history, biology, literature. Study something useful while you have the chance. You can figure out newspapers as you go.”

And so I found myself working the evening shift at the P-I sports desk circa 1998, when manager Lou Piniella was dragging the Mariners up from the depths and sports fans across Seattle were actually excited for a change. My comrades were mostly pear-shaped people who watched the games on several overhead TV screens and ate lots of hamburgers while they wrote, edited, and cursed. My first task was to tabulate box scores—the “agate”—which involved me looking at columns of game statistics as they rolled in that night and using mathematical alchemy to turn them into tomorrow’s study guides for nerds and bookies.

The thing was, I didn’t know an ERA from an RBI and was ashamed to admit it to a roomful of Seattle’s most knowledgeable baseball fans. Luckily, I was stationed at the back of the room. On one of my first nights at the job, during an exciting moment of the baseball game when nobody was paying attention to me, I grabbed a phone and ducked under my desk. I called my dad—I knew he’d be watching at home. “Dad,” I whispered urgently, “I’m at work. Quick, what’s an ERA?” He told me to get a calculator, some paper, and a pencil, and he’d walk me through the statistical mysteries of baseball. I turned in my agate more or less on time that night, and my summer job was saved.

I spent the rest of those months more interested in the anthropology of the sports desk than the sports themselves—the gentlegiant disposition of columnist Art Thiel, the world-weary and wisecracking subeditors, the frantic and high-strung sports writers known for locker-room altercations with athletes who were, that summer, Seattle’s heroes. I remember the hamburgers. And, above all, the cursing.

I Was a FARMHAND

By Katie Allison

In college, most people have social lives; I had a horse. As it turns out, horses are absurdly expensive, and her rent was consistently higher than my own. So I spent my weekends working at the barn, whittling down the cost by $10 every hour. Mostly, I cleaned up shit.

An average horse poops around 50 pounds per day. I’ll repeat myself. An average horse POOPS 50 POUNDS PER DAY. It’s weirdly incredible. Given that my barn had 15 horses, approximately 750 pounds of dense, flycovered shit had to be removed daily. My only tools were a fine-tined plastic pitchfork and a very large wheelbarrow.

Of all the early mornings I spent enjoying this glamorous work, one really stands out. It was a Sunday morning in January, and ap-

proximately six hours prior, I had been playing some sort of topless drinking game. My brain felt like a vomit-soaked sponge full of nails.

In classic Northwest fashion, it had poured rain for days, and overnight, the saturated world froze solid. Mud, churned up into mountainous chaos by many hooves, solidified into a treacherous hellscape of wheelbarrow- and ankle-snagging ruts.

With grim determination, I wrestled my wheelbarrow into the first paddock. I was going to get this done, god damn it, so I could go home and die in peace. But as I attempted to scoop up the first pile, I realized the obvious: The shit was frozen, too. Into the ground.

I tried to work through it, I really did. I jammed my pitchfork’s plastic tines into a crack and tried to get enough leverage to separate poop from dirt. Naturally, it got stuck. As I struggled feebly, nauseated, to free it, the frozen grass that had snared it snapped, and with a twang, the plastic tines flung a few bits of frozen shitshrapnel into my face. The bulk of the pile stayed glued to the ground.

I just started crying. I may have thrown up in a bush.

I no longer own a horse.

I Was a FOAM SELLER

By Bethany Jean Clement

That’s what we sold: foam. It was the summer after college, and my expensive liberal arts education was not proving useful. The foam store was in the far reaches of North Seattle, on a busy, featureless highway; the businesslike woman who ran it was a friend of a friend of my parents, and she needed help, and thus I found myself in the muffled world of foam.

Foam is all around you, more than you know. People would bring in their couch cushions, and we would replace the old, squishy, broken-down foam, wrapping the new foam slabs in cotton batting to get a rounded effect. We sold foam bolsters and foam fold-up beds and foam mattresses—foam makes a durable and comfortable mattress, if you buy a higher grade, and we could also special order the all-natural latex kind. I only recently have forgotten the measurements, in inches, of all the standard bed sizes. We did boat upholstery, too; I learned how to use a very fast and somewhat terrifying industrial sewing machine, and I made surprisingly shipshape cushions to go between rich people and their yachts. I thought about the drinks they would drink and the water they would watch while they sat on my work.

More than once, a man brought a gun, or plural guns, into the store. Gun cases are lined with foam. My boss would tell the man firmly that we did not allow guns in the shop—the case, yes, and we would be happy to outfit it. The guns, no.

Outside of work, I thought I was in love with a boy with beautiful long hair that I was, in the current parlance, hooking up with. He had no such illusions about me. We played pool at the Eastlake Zoo and went nightswimming in the Montlake Cut, and I lived with very good friends, and we all had a lot of fun, but my central emotion was halfhearted despair: My life was failing to get properly under way. I wrote a misshapen short story about my feelings. If I could reach back An

through time to the younger me, I would shake her. Enjoy that longhaired boy, I would say, and night-swimming, and a job where you might sew through your finger or see a gun. Things are going to improve, and far more terrible things are going to happen.

I Was a BRICK MAKER

By Charles Mudede

In the winter of 1988, I worked in a brick factory in Barking, a neighborhood in East London. It was my first job; it was a terrible and even dangerous job. I’d wake up in the dark (I lived in the Docklands at the time), catch a number of trains to Barking, emerge from the tube, walk across a gothic graveyard, cross ghostly train tracks, enter the industrial district, walk down a mean road, make a left, and enter a factory that came right out of the novels of Charles Dickens. The business was owned by an Irishman, who spoke English with the speed of a drum ’n’ bass beat (160 bpm). What the 10 of us did in that black and metal box was cut blocks into bricks, stack the bricks onto crates, cover the stacks in big plastic bags, shrink the plastic bags with a blowtorch, and load the tightly wrapped bricks on a lorry.

The factory was cold and smelled of raw stone. To keep warm in the morning, we burned whatever would burn in a metal barrel. But it seemed nothing but the heat blasting from the blowtorch could unfreeze my fingers. I, like most of the other workers, was always slow and sore. Indeed, the efficiency and speed of the operation entirely depended on one man, a drunkard, who was born to only do two things in life: cut bricks and drink beer. He would stumble into the factory at around 8 a.m., completely wasted, and somehow sober up at the roar of the dangerous saw, cut bricks with the precision and agility of a demon, meet his quota not long after lunch, get an advance from the accountant (a short but prim Pakistani), and return to the bar. I don’t think he ever ate (he was thin and most of his teeth were missing), nor had a home (he wore the same worn jeans and army coat every day), nor could read nor talk. Not once in the four months I worked at the factory did I understand a single word that came out of the tooth graveyard that was his mouth.

I Was a HOTEL MAID

By Jen Graves

Iremember—during the summer I was a hotel maid at the Susse Chalet in East Greenbush, New York—going out to my car parked near the woods behind the hotel and stashing stray, abandoned wine coolers in my trunk before anyone could catch me. They were still in their six-pack boxes, but usually only one or two were left. Nobody drinks a whole pack of wine coolers. I also found condoms in the beds and condoms in the little trash cans, and I unceremoniously picked them up and dumped them into the garbage bag slung onto the end of my cart. They were not that interesting to me, nor that disgusting. Thanks to my mother’s zero-tolerance policy for kid whining, and also to the pets we had, there really isn’t anything I find disgusting to clean. So even though you’d think being a hotel maid is a horrible job, I didn’t think of it that way. There was really nothing horrible about it. I couldn’t fail, for one—I knew exactly how to succeed at my job: Make it clean. If I’d had to do it for a lifetime, I’m sure I would have felt differently, but the way it was, this was an honest job and a quiet job, and I daydreamed

the entire time I worked, when I didn’t have one eye on a soap opera. I’d knock, go into the room, switch on All My Children, clean the room, leave, knock, go into the next room, switch on All My Children, and so on. My favorite rooms were the ones where somebody was staying for an extended period of time. I was their housekeeper; I knew them. Or I knew how they placed their things. I am slightly obsessive about the placement of things and would notice when something had changed. I missed those people terribly when they left. I would never see it coming. From their arrangements, I’d try to guess how long they would be my clients, but I would never know when I would knock, open the door, and see that everything I’d memorized would have vanished.

The Susse Chalet chain is no more. On Wikipedia, it says they became Fairfield Inns. The 24-hour Howard Johnson’s next to my Susse Chalet closed, too. A Cracker Barrel moved in. I hate Cracker Barrel. Only now do I realize that “Susse” probably meant “sweet,” as in the German, rather than Swiss. I have no idea, given that I really do pay attention to words, why I thought it was a Swiss chalet. It was, I think, dark brown like a roadside place in the Alps, but that’s no excuse.

I’ll tell you how much I didn’t in fact hate the janitorial job you’d think I would have

There really isn’t anything I find disgusting to clean. So even though you’d think being a hotel maid is a horrible job, I didn’t think of it that way.

hated. Once, a few years later, when I had a summer job as a camp counselor in New Hampshire, I was driving to the camp, when my car broke down and I was stranded in White River Junction, Vermont. It is a very small town, small even for Vermont. A mechanic said he would need all day to fix the car. I knew nobody and had several hours to kill. I felt like a runaway. Seeking comfort, I guess, I found myself walking into the local hotel, which looked a lot like my Susse Chalet, riding the elevator down to the basement where I knew the maid station would be, and asking them if they needed volunteer help for the day. They, of course, looked at me like I was bananas. I just wanted to get inside those rooms. I still feel that way about hotels.

My actual horrible jobs came slightly later in life, when as a member of the Stanford synchronized swimming team, my teammates and I had to clean up the football stadium and basketball arena after the men played their games. The floors were sticky and steep, and the trash was boring and public. Not long after that, to raise money for the synchronized swimming team—this was before a handful of women’s teams newly achieved varsity status thanks to Title IX—we also had to drive out into the middle of nowhere in Silicon Valley one night for the purpose of performing inside a bar that had a giant fish tank, like the one with the mermaids floating around above the heads of Robert De Niro and Billy Crystal in Analyze This. We synchronized swimmers were the fish for a private party. The partiers ate snacks and I don’t think looked directly at us once. It was a little hard to see out from in the water. I thought about the football players and basketball players and wondered what they had to do to sell themselves.

theSTRANGER SUGGESTS

Night of Genius: Film FILM/GENIUS

The three finalists for the 2013 Genius Award in film are writer/director Zach Weintraub, writer/director Scott Blake, and cinematographer Benjamin Kasulke. Tonight at the Frye, you can behold the genius-level work of all three on the big screen in an hour-long showcase also featuring onstage Q&As with the finalists conducted by yours truly. Before the screening showcase: cocktails and time for private investigation of the Frye. See you there. (Frye Art Museum, 704 Terry Ave, strangertickets.com, $10, 5:30–8 pm, 21+) DAVID SCHMADER

Lacey Jane Henson BOOKS

The Furnace Reading Series brings outstanding authors together with the weird aural hallucinations that pop up on Hollow Earth Radio from time to time, just to see what happens. The resulting performance is part radio play, part tone poem. Tonight’s Furnace author, Lacey Jane Henson, is the kind of writer who can imbue tiny moments with tremendous crescendos. In “A Memory,” a glass of milk spilled on a mourner’s sweater at a wake becomes a matter for reflection on life and death: “We build whole cities to forget that underneath our feet, worms inch through earth.” (Hollow Earth Radio, 2018A E Union St, hollowearthradio.org, 7 pm, free) PAUL CONSTANT

‘Metropolis’

I admire Giorgio Moroder’s super-cheesy ’80s-synthpop score to Fritz Lang’s silent film Metropolis so much because it works really well with the movie’s predictable, simple story about love and urban class struggle. We must remember that Metropolis was made for a mass audience; it was to the 1920s what Star Wars was to the 1970s. How will GRID, an experimental music collective directed by Jen Gilleran, score this low-art masterpiece of science-fiction cinema? Will its music speak to the popular/dumb content? Or will it speak to its status as a historical document? If the latter, expect the music to be very ghostly and heady. (Henry Art Gallery, 15th Ave NE and 41st St, henryart.org, 7 pm, $10) CHARLES MUDEDE

White Fence

Deborah Lawrence ART

Seattle artist Deborah Lawrence’s glass ornament bearing the words “IMPEACH BUSH” once made it onto the White House Christmas tree until it was removed by Laura Bush herself Now the rabble-rousing leftist collagist with the sardonic tone of voice and vibrating visuals is showing new pieces, mostly 12 inches to a side or smaller. Like Martha Rosler, she sets clueless 1950s housewives against backgrounds floating in guns and violence. She jokes and punches, on subjects ranging from Guantanamo to geographical narcissism, bad art to buried history, and her favorite pacifists. Under their layer of finely applied varnish, the surfaces are as smooth as they are bold. (Joe Bar, 810 E Roy St, joebarcafe.com, 7:30 am–9:30 pm, free, through Aug 4) JEN GRAVES

Pickathon

Shaggy-haired misfits with healthy appetites for hallucinogens will always be with us, so we’ll never want for low-fidelity, ramshackle, psychedelic garage rock. Among the most interesting practitioners of this type of music is White Fence (Tim Presley). The San Francisco guitarist/ vocalist surely has enjoyed a madcap laugh or three over Syd Barrett’s fragilely pretty post-Floyd output. White Fence’s songs flaunt their subtle, disorienting tricks in two to four minutes, always leaving you jonesing for more of his delicately bent sonic puzzles. (Neumos, 925 E Pike St, neumos.com, 8 pm, $10 adv, 21+) DAVE SEGAL

MUSIC

Let’s get out of town for Pickathon! Not only is the lineup varied—Feist, Parquet Courts, Shabazz Palaces, Ty Segall, Kurt Vile & the Violators, and Sharon Van Etten are just a few of the 45 artists—but if you miss one of your favorites, you’re in luck! Every band plays at least twice: once on a main stage, and then again in some funkier location (I hear tell of a “Galaxy Barn”). And they’re serious about sustainability—Pickathon has done away with plastic and single-use dishes and utensils, plus their solar array generates enough electricity over the year to offset 100 percent of the energy used by craft and food vendors. Groovy, man. (Pendarvis Farm, 16581 SE Hagen Rd, Happy Valley, Oregon, pickathon.com, $130–$260, all ages, Aug 2–4) EMILY NOKES

Hoogs + Skoog BOOKS

Earlier this summer, Ed Skoog threw a party to celebrate the release of his new book. It was glorious. Tonight, the other half of the dynamic poetry duo I call the Oog Twins debuts her new book, and she’s brought Skoog along to celebrate. Rebecca Hoogs’s Self-Storage is a marvelous representation of her poetry: thoughtful and dotted with brilliant traps (she describes herself as “bridenew” and “staged for life” in one intentionally overexuberant love poem). When these two poets get together, sublime moments explode like popcorn. (Elliott Bay Book Company, 1521 10th Ave, elliottbaybook .com, 7 pm, free) PAUL CONSTANT

Is there anything better to eat on a hot day than chilled Dungeness crab? No, there is not. (Blue crab proponents: We must agree to disagree.) Quick, while it’s nice out: Go to Bar Sajor in Pioneer Square for socks-knocking-off crab, served with a garlic mayonnaise that you will want to dip the rest of your life into. Alternately (or additionally!), Taylor Shellfish’s old-school-type shop has excellent crab to eat there or take out (and wine and beer, too). And I must agree with Slog superhero Fnarf, who says, “DO NOT GO TO THE CRAB POT on the waterfront.” (Bar Sajor, 323 Occidental Ave S, barsajor.com; Taylor Shellfish, 1521 Melrose Ave, taylormelrose.com) BETHANY JEAN CLEMENT

Benjamin Kasulke

Sharon Van Etten

Rebecca Hoogs

LOOSE LIPS

LADY SUSAN VERNON

• Elliott Bay Book Company owner Peter Aaron recently held a staff meeting to announce that he’s moving to New York City on August 1 to live with his longtime girlfriend. In an interview with The Stranger, Aaron confirmed that he’ll continue to be closely involved in the day-to-day operations of the bookstore, including book buying and financial decision making, and he plans to come back to Seattle at least once a month, and more often during busy seasons to help around the store. Does this mean that Aaron is looking to sell Elliott Bay? “No way,” he says emphatically.

• Two weeks ago, the nation’s nerds assembled at San Diego Comic-Con to celebrate the year gone by and look forward to the year ahead. SDCC is home to the Eisner Awards, the comic-book Oscars. Local comics team David Lasky and Frank M. Young won an Eisner in the Best RealityBased Work category for their musical biography The Carter Family: Don’t Forget This Song, beating out formidable comics including Stranger Genius Ellen Forney whose memoir Marbles was nominated in the same category. (Forney didn’t go home empty-handed; the day before, she won the Inkpot Award, given to “individuals for their contributions to the worlds of comics, science fiction/fantasy, film, television, animation, and fandom services.”) Congratulations to Forney, Lasky, and Young. You made Seattle look good at Nerd Central.

• Soon, Jane Austen will be spent. Last week, the Bank of England finally agreed to feature her on its 10-pound note, responding to protests about removing Elizabeth Fry from banknotes (the only other woman on British paper money, besides the Queen). Fry’s still being phased out, to be replaced by Winston Churchill (snooze). Leading the protests was feminist blogger Caroline Criado-Perez, who received up to 50 rape and death threats an hour via Twitter—and Twitter wanted her to fill out a complaint for every one. (Um, punishing the victim? Caroline, if there were such a thing as Stranger money, we’d put you on it.) And guess what? Only one woman has appeared on paper money in the U.S.: Martha Washington, in 1886, 1891, and 1896. We’ve got slave-owners represented, though, so there’s that.

• Congratulations to Seattle’s Jinkx Monsoon, whose musical cabaret show The Vaudevillians morphed from a would-be one-night NYC showcase into a sold-out extended run at the Laurie Beechman Theater, continuing through August 29. Among the forces that made The Vaudevillians “off-Broadway’s hottest ticket”: passionate tweets of support from Joan Rivers

• Walter De Maria, the artist who created The Lightning Field way out in the middle of nowhere in New Mexico (his motto should have been “Leading Art People Astray for 30 Years”) died Thursday at age 77 after a stroke. De Maria’s other major enduring work is The New York Earth Room on 141 Wooster Street in New York, a whitewalled spot full of dark and dirt-smelling dirt. Former Stranger theater and film editor Annie Wagner tweeted: “In college, NY for the 1st time, was stressed by all the honking. Dirt helped.” Proposed epigraph for De Maria’s tombstone: “Dirt helps.”

ARTS

ART

It’s

Not What You See, It’s How

The Unstable Horizons of Brian Lane and the Frye

BY JEN GRAVES

“D o you want to guess?” Cory Verellen asks. I’m quiet, lingering in the pregnant moment when if you don’t answer whether you want to guess, the person might just blurt out the answer and spare you having to think about it. Verellen sits through the temporary silence—so I’m going to keep silent, too. In this review, I won’t disclose the subject matter of Brian Lane’s many abstract-looking, vivid color photographs showing at Rare Medium, Verellen’s Capitol Hill gallery. “Paint?” I finally guess. “That’s the closest anyone has gotten,” he says. That’s the only clue I’ll give. There are three parts to the show: a ledge at shin height running the length of two walls, holding a row of vertical 4-by-6-inch photos you’re invited to pick up and rearrange any way you like, “to create a new horizon line, orientation, coupling, or sequence”; a dozen horizontal prints staggered on one wall, each 9 by 13 inches and framed; and, filling the other wall, one pristine, 26-by-40-inch framed photograph.

out of. The pictures are a perfect balance of odd and pretty, their subjects vague, like a cross between the pictures in Macro-fauxology, Susan Robb’s series of perky-colored landscapes made of Play-Doh and spit and food and hair, and more dour and indeterminate abstract color-field paintings. Lane calls his pictures “dreamscapes,” but they capture a real place, somewhere local that Lane has been documenting for years. (Ask the gallery or e-mail me for the secret, just look first. You’ll be glad you did. If you can’t go, the photographs are well represented on the gallery’s website: raremediumseattle.com.)

REVIEW

Brian Lane: Synesthesia Rare Medium Gallery Through Aug 4

Horizon Frye Art Museum Through Sept 1

The form of the pictures is simple, magnifying variations. Each picture is divided by a horizon line, variously fuzzy or defined. In one, there are some bubbly drops rising from the ground—are they actually rising from the ground? Which way is really up? Over there, is that the moon? And here, are those teeny, tiny hills of colored powder? Because you could swear they’re the Olympic Mountains seen from a blurring super-distance. Is what I’m looking at very small or very large?

On the facing wall, there’s a single, giant video projection. It was made in 2003 by living artist Paul Pfeiffer (the paintings are by dead artists), and it’s called Morning After the Deluge. A sunrise and sunset come together in the center of an unhinged sky, unhinged because Pfeiffer adjusted the view frame by frame to create the alignment, shifting the seen universe for the sake of creating something that is simple to the eye but extremely perplexing to the mind. It takes many minutes of viewing the 20-minute video loop—I ended up lying on the museum bench on my side—to get your mind around how Pfeiffer made it. In those minutes, you’re seeing yourself seeing, and that has to be art’s greatest gift to humanity that’s also a good time.

BOOKS

An Unreliable Witness

Lane is using macro lenses, so each image is a close-up of something. But you can use a macro lens to take a picture of another photograph; its mere use doesn’t mean your subject is small, despite the fact that molecular-scientist friends of Verellen keep stopping by the gallery and asking what petri dish these came

The gamesmanship of looking is Lane’s real subject, just as it’s the pastime in a coincidentally related, also-Rashomonic show called Horizon at the Frye Art Museum. Horizon is a playroom. It’s 14 paintings, all different sizes in their gilt frames, hung along a wall so close they’re almost touching—lined up to form a single, contiguous horizon line running across Russian farmlands, Dutch seas, German pastures. Thrown into stark relief are the bare, limited tools available for shaping a view—artist’s tools: scale, shape, shade, color.

Which way is up? Over there, is that the moon?

Rebecca Hoogs Sees Everything

BY PAUL CONSTANT

RPREVIEW

Rebecca Hoogs, Ed Skoog Mon Aug 5, Elliott Bay Book Company, 7 pm, free

ebecca Hoogs is an observer. Reading the poems in her new collection, SelfStorage (Stephen F. Austin State University Press, $16), you start to picture her as a pair of enormous eyes floating around and soaking every little detail in. She stores those details in tiny, clearly marked boxes and then excavates them as needed, to be used in just the right poem at just the right time. In her poem “Commute,” she’s sitting in traffic, trying to keep herself from staring into other

Floating eyeballs…below Eggy zeroes…25 Balls in undies…26

WHERE WAS THIS PHOTO TAKEN? We’re not telling.

people’s cars and failing miserably. Here’s the first half of it:

The evening’s amber alert lights up. Modern sunset, another abduction, and fuck, traffic is bad. The girl in the next lane texts while driving, her mouth like the knotted pucker of a helium balloon. Everything electric blows

eventually: lightbulbs, crushes, what have you.

Even dynamite has fizzled to mean super

You’ve been in this car; you’ve felt this dull-edged panic attack, a cross between a kind of prehistoric ennui and an orange fireball of apocalyptic rage. And Hoogs has seen you there.

Self-Storage is smartly broken into three distinct sections. The book opens with a spray of short, funny poems like “Commute,” which also has the line “I commute but am not moved.” If you attend more than three readings a year in Seattle, you’ve probably seen Hoogs read one or two of these before.

“Another Plot Cliché,” one of her funniest, most performance-friendly poems, begins:

My dear, you are the high-speed car chase and I,

I am the sheet of glass being carefully carried across the street by two employees of a plate glass company, two generic men who have parked on the wrong side of the street because plot demands that they make the perilous journey across traffic.

The poem ends, predictably, with a shattering, but Hoogs transforms the moment into a euphoric (yet still angry) burst of freedom. Other poems in the first section compare the French word for zero (due to its “eggy form,” they call it l’ouef) to love, or imagine the sex lives of a pair of newlyweds who managed to stay celibate until marriage (“even the words we’re enjoying/the toaster seem scorched onto the thank-you note,/ seem frenzied with innuendo”), or watches herself living life as a duller, lesser version of herself, a “so-so blurb on the back of a book.”

The second section of Self-Storage is an eight-page poem called “The Long Spell,” a poem that ties together bee behavior, the fate of Napoleon’s horse, hay bales, atomic science, sightseeing in Italy, and the history of the periodic table into an autobiographical confession about memory and the guilt of not feeling the emotions you used to feel so distinctly, and becoming a whole new person in the same old skin. After the rat-a-tat pace of the first section, “The Long Spell” is a meal, a complex quilt of trivia and memoir that demands and rewards rereading.

The third and final section of Self-Storage returns to the format of the first, a series of shorter poems, but the reader’s trip through the book has changed the perception of these poems somehow, deepened them. They echo the sadness and the half-formed personhood (sometimes literally—one poem is told from the perspective of a fetus: “Like roe, I haven’t got a thick skin yet./I’m still a little see-through, not much/more than a deposit, a bit of dirt/at the mouth of a river”). The format of Self-Storage echoes its themes: Hoogs sees everything, and she keeps it all locked away in her head to reexamine years later. But she discovers that the time in between, the act of reassessing, is always different than that first moment of

observation. You can never see something for the first time twice.

Theater Review Revue

Dancing Boys at Can Can and Racial Tension at Intiman

At the beginning of the Can Can Cabaret’s newish gig, Bachelorette Show:

the

REVIEW

Bachelorette Show: A Night of Celebration for Birthdays, Boys, and Brides to Be Can Can Cabaret Through Sept 5

A Night of Celebration for Birthdays, Boys, and Brides to Be, a barrel-chested man calling himself “Vladeemeer!” and wearing high-waisted pants, suspenders, and a giant ushanka (the big-ass Russian hat with earflaps) shouts, “Velcome! Velcome!” enticing a nearly all-female crowd to roaring claps and shrieking catcalls. I’m not usually excited by this sort of thing. When given the choice between spending a night canning beets or stuffing dollar bills into the waistband of a gyrating man-person, I’d bet my pressure cooker that my answer would be the former. But that was before I realized men in Crocs and kitchen scrubs could look so goddamn good.

As Vladimir belts out introductions and praise, a group of very, very fine-bodied men dressed as line cooks saunters out one by one onto the small Can Can stage. The kitchen scrubs start to come off, but the Crocs stay on, and on the night I attended, as sets of abs and the tightest butts I’ve seen in recent memory shook down the aisle, man-parts jiggling underneath tight pastel skivvies, the audience screamed, “TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS! DICK! DICK! DICK!” They did not take off their pants. And there was no dick. Well, no visible dick. They keep it classy at the Can Can—as classy as one can while sporting a fake beard and pink ruffled underpants.

The performers are a good mix of new and experienced: Vlad, the MC, is played by Can Can Castaways dancer Jonny Boy. Keon, another Castaways member, looks like an African god in tight, cartoon-covered panties. Kris, freshly married to Castaways founder Rainbow Fletcher, looks and dances like Justin Timberlake. Benjamin, referred to in the show as “the Mexican” and “the one with the mullet,” recently began performing with the Castaways—and makes mullets look good. Amos, a sexy, bearded ginger with washboard abs, a cherubic smile, and an uncanny ability to booty-shake, is why the gods made gingers. The whole kitchen-boy theme isn’t just a gimmick—as Amos tells it, he and

the others work in the Can Can kitchen and gave Jonny Boy so much shit about being better dancers than the regular troupe that Jonny said, “Fine!” and created a show for the kitchen staff.

The men do justice to Jonny’s production: It’s a fun, simple show smoothly driven by a very honest chemistry between the audience and the performers. It has silliness, of course, such as the nearly naked boot scooting to “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,” during which my rocket-scientist sister turned to me wide-eyed and said: “This is the fulfillment of a lifelong fantasy for me.” But silly is what Bachelorette Show must be to live up to its name. It’s a celebration of gorgeous men and fun, honest, vodka-soaked expressions of lust. We all like the sexy. The Can Can just helps you talk it out. Like therapists—really, really hot therapists.

MELODY DATZ

Though she wrote Trouble in Mind in 1955, Alice Childress’s play about backstage racial turbulence on Broadway feels startlingly contemporary—so much so that my companion to the theater (a newly minted PhD and no dummy) was shocked to hear it was written more than half a century ago. It’s difficult to decide whether that’s a testament to Childress’s power as a writer, a depressing indication of how far we haven’t come since then, or both.

REVIEW Trouble in Mind

Intiman Theater at Cornish Playhouse at Seattle Center Through Sept 15

Tracy Michelle Hughes plays Wiletta, a middle-aged African American actor who’s agreed to star in a new “colored show,” written and directed by white people, about a lynching. Trouble is a wonderfully nasty satire of the backstage politics of any theater endeavor—the vanity, the banter, the obsequiousness of financially desperate actors to a bullying director—but its ballast is in Hughes’s polyphonic performance as an actor who loves her job, but slowly realizes that she cannot bring herself to play another white misconception of a Southern black woman. In a dynamite monologue toward the end, when she’s lost all patience with everyone (except the gentle and ancient Irish janitor), she falls in and out of “character roles” she’s played throughout her life and eviscerates each one in turn: “Dear little baby of the folks I work for,” she coos to an imaginary white infant, “I got a present for you… MY WHOLE DAMN LIFE!”

G. Valmont Thomas also shines as Sheldon, an older and eager-to-please African American actor who, he reveals late in the show, is the only one who’s actually seen a lynching. Tim Gouran expertly plays the harried and pompous white director who thinks he’s equality-minded, but whose manner is laced with white-male condescension. The comedy and pathos dodge back and forth like a shuttle, thanks to deft direction from Valerie Curtis-Newton. If you see one thing in this summer’s theater festival at Intiman, see Trouble in Mind. BRENDAN KILEY

BRUCE DUGDALE

BACHELORETTE SHOW The kitchen staff at the Can Can gave so much shit about being better dancers than the regular troupe that they got their own show.

FRANCINE SEDERS GALLERY Joan Backes: Installations (typically fort-like) and drawings (typically bark-like). With paintings by Margaret Watson in the upstairs gallery. Free. Tues-Sat. Through Sept 8. Reception Sun Aug 4, 2-4 pm. 6701 Greenwood Ave N, 782-0355.

GAGE ACADEMY OF ART BLACKgreyWHITE : A group show where the common thread is finding common threads. All the works are in, yep, black, grey, and white, but representing typically polarized viewpoints. Includes Cable Griffith and Robert Hardgrave. With a conversation Fri Aug 2 at 7 pm with curator Julia Hensley and John Boylan. Free. Reception Fri Aug 2, 6-8 pm. Aug 2- Sept 6. 1501 10th Ave E 526-2787.

HEDREEN GALLERY, SEATTLE UNIVERSITY

Devotion : A group show examining devotees of all stripes. Secular, religious, whatever! Curated by the inimitable Rebecca Brown. Free. Reception Fri Aug 8, 7 pm. Tues-Sat. Through Aug 31. 901 12th Ave, 296-2244.

KOBO AT HIGO Kikuko Dewa was a fifth-generation Japanese weaver, and this short exhibition of her textile work is a tribute to her long life, which ended in 2010. She inspired and was inspired by young artists including Degenerate Art Ensemble and Byron Au Yong, and she envisioned “future beauty” as much as the designers in the big fashion show at Seattle Art Museum. Meet this woman. Reception Thurs Aug 1, 5-8 pm. Aug 1-17. 604 S Jackson St, 381-3000.

LINDA HODGES GALLERY Anne Petty : In-between moments and awkward poses rendered in daubby oil paintings. Free. Tues-Sat. Through Aug 31. 316 First Ave S, 624-3034.

MIA GALLERY

The photographs of Fabrice Monteiro (based in Dakar) and Jim Naughten (working in Southern Africa) show Africans responding to the forces of colonialization through clothing, brightly. Reception Thurs Aug 1, 5-8 pm. Tues-Sun. Through Aug 30. 1203A 2nd Ave 467-4927.

PAPER HAMMER Work by N39 : This New Mexican “creationist” (AKA Gen Hayashida) modifies found objects and sends them to the gallery through the mail. No box, no bubble wrap, lots of stamps.

Free. Reception Thurs Aug 1, 5-7 pm. Mon-Sat. Through Sept 29. 1400 Second Ave 682-3820.

PROLE DRIFT

SOFT RAINS: SEASON returns to the gallery to exhibit Nicola Ginzel, Louise Lawler, Mike Simi, and Ian Toms and their imaginings of our “tenuous future.” Free. Reception Thurs Aug 1, 6-9 pm. Fri-Sat. Through Aug 31. 523 South Main St

PUNCH GALLERY

Shit Just Got Real : Jessica Bonin and James Reisen move into an abandoned barn and make things from all the cool stuff they find in there. Free.

Reception Thurs August 1, 5-8 pm. Thurs-Sat. Through Aug 31. 119 Prefontaine Pl S , 621-1945.

ROOM 104

Steve Craft : new paintings assembled under the title Is You Is Or Is You Ain’t You is, or no?

Jeff Scott: New Works on Tyvek: Scott likes to depict automobilerelated infrastructure and things that have been shot with a gun.

Free. Wed-Sat. Through Sept 14. 306 S Washington St, #104, 953-8104.

SOIL

Interpersonal: Danielle Comeaux, Joana Stillwell, and Ilysia Van Deren put their friendship on display. Claire Johnson: New paintings by the grand dame of donut painters. Free. Reception Thurs August 1, 6-8 pm. WedSat. Through Aug 31. 112 Third Ave S 264-8061.

TRAVER GALLERY

Teeny rooms by Rick Araluce, also a scenic designer for Seattle Opera, leave you haunted and fascinated, while glass screens by Dick Weiss are transparent even where they’re not—it’s all on the surface. With glass sculptures by John Kiley.

Reception Thurs Aug 1, 5-8 pm. Tues-Sun. Through Sept 1. 110 Union St #200, 587-6501.

Continuing Exhibitions

GREG KUCERA GALLERY

SuttonBeresCuller: The Genius Award-winning art collaborative/ band of troublemakers present perma-sculptures. Free.

Reception Thurs Aug 1, 6-8 pm. Tues-Sat. Through Aug 17. 212 Third Ave S, 624-0770.

JAMES HARRIS GALLERY

Steve Davis: Back to the Garden: Following his portrait series on incarcerated youth and institutionalized mentally ill people, Davis turns his camera on self-identified “modern ‘hippies.’” Free. Wed-Sat. Through Aug 3. 604 Second Ave, 903-6220.

JOE BAR

Deborah Lawrence: All Tomorrow’s Parties : culture critique in collage form. Free. Through Aug 6. 810 E Roy St 324-0407.

RARE MEDIUM

The Distance is Near : See review, page 24. Free. Wed-Sun. Through Sept 8. 1321 E Pine, 913-7538.

Events

SEATTLE EROTIC ART FESTIVAL

This is the 11th year of one of the biggest erotic art festivals in the nation. It involves visual art, performance, music, dancing, interactive sculptures (always delightfully awkward!), and a highlight every year is simply gawking at the costumes of the attendees. (This year there’s also an erotic film-shorts component, at the Grand Illusion.) You’ll see so much flesh that you might look down at your own and wonder what else you can do with it that you haven’t thought of already—that’d be ideal. The art is uneven, of course, but there’s lots of it, and it’s fascinating to consider what happens when It’s fun to see innuendo becomes foreground. Backwards days in puritanical America! Showbox Sodo, 1700 First Ave S, 2744525. seattleerotic.org. $15. Fri Aug 2, 6 pm-2 am; Sat Aug 3, 2 pm-2 am; Sun Aug 4, 12-4 pm.

SUMMERFEST Join the PUNCH Gallery as it gets all up in summer with three days of studio tours, beer, music, plenty of art, AND RIVER FLOATING. Festivities begin at Gallery One in Ellensburg, with

the rest of the weekend playing out in Thorp. Bring sunscreen and RSVP online if you plan on doing the float. And you do. Thorp, Washington. punchgallery.org/summerfest/. Festival is free, river float is $20. Fri Aug 2, 5-11 pm. Sat Aug 3, 8 ammidnight. Sun Aug 4, 9:30 am. visualart@thestranger.com

READINGS

Wed 7/31

TONY JUNIPER

What Has Nature Ever Done for Us? examines the “ecosystem services” that nature provides for us in a book that explains why the planet does not deserve a long, lingering death by pollution. Elliott Bay Book Company, 1521 10th Ave, 624-6600. Free. 7 pm.

WILLIAM KENOWER

The author of Write Within Yourself: An Author’s Companion will be in attendance with a writer’s community called Old Growth Northwest. University Book Store, 4326 University Way NE, 634-3400. Free. 7 pm.

Thurs 8/1

CAITLIN ROTHER

This is a signing for a true crime book about a rapist and murderer named John Gardner. The book is titled Lost Girls Seattle Mystery Bookshop 117 Cherry St, 587-5737. Free. noon.

JAMISON GREEN

The author, who press materials refer to as “one of the more visible and influential trans men in the United States,” will read from and discuss his autobiography Becoming a Visible Man Seattle Public Library, Capitol Hill Branch , 425 Harvard Ave. E, 684-4715. Free. 6:30 pm.

BROM Brom, who has one name, is a fantasy artist. His new book is titled The Art of Brom. It’s a book by Brom, for Brom, about Brom. In conclusion, Brom. University Book Store 4326 University Way NE, 634-3400. Free. 7 pm.

BRUCE BARCOTT

The former Seattle Weekly writer reads from The Measure of a Mountain, which is a book about trying to understand Mount Rainier. Central Library, 1000 Fourth Ave. Free. 7 pm.

CATHLEEN SCHINE

Fin & Lady is a novel about siblings who are orphaned. The boy is named Fin and the girl is named Lady. Hopefully, nobody in the audience will ask Schine where she got the idea for the title of the book. Elliott Bay Book Company 1521 10th Ave, 624-6600. Free. 7 pm.

LACEY JANE HENSON See Stranger Suggests, page 23. Hollow Earth Radio , 2018A E Union St, 905-1250. Free. 7 pm.

Mon 8/5

JOSH KRIESBERG Horatio’s One Wish: A Tale of One Heroic Hedgehog, Two Loyal Hamsters, and a Missing River Otter is a book for children, but bet you could write a totally different book with that title if you translated it through Urban Dictionary. University Book Store 4326 University Way NE, 634-3400. Free. 7 pm.

EDDIE YUEN Yuen is the author of Catastrophism: The Apocalyptic Politics of Collapse and Rebirth, which aims to find some sort of a pattern underlying this awful thing we call a civilization. Left Bank Books 92 Pike St, 6220195. Free. 7:30 pm.

Tues 8/6

DAVID GILBERT A reclusive author appears at the funeral of a famous man in & Sons, a novel that has been described as “Franzenish.” Elliott Bay Book Company 1521 10th Ave, 624-6600. Free. 7 pm.

KAT RICHARDSON The eighth book in local author Richardson’s Greywalker urban fantasy series is titled Possession University Book Store 4326 University Way NE,

634-3400. Free. 7 pm. readings@thestranger.com

THEATER

Opening and Current Runs

THE CLOCKWORK

PROFESSOR

“A world-premiere steampunk play about a nerdy professor, his one-handed assistant/ housekeeper, his lowlife and swashbuckling sidekick, and their fight against a corrupt government puppet master, The Clockwork Professor is earnest and good-natured and even a little subversive. (There are rebel bands of dissidents who anonymously smash things up and get hunted by secret police! Just like in real life!) But it may not have enough juice to reach across the aisle and pull in theater nerds who aren’t also nerds for Dr. Who, Cherie Priest, or the new incarnation of Sherlock Holmes movies with Robert Downey, Jr. and Jude Law. (You know how the comic-shop owner in The Simpsons is very particular about his enunciation, putting special emphasis on consonants that appear at the ends of words? Some of the actors talk like that.) But suspect there are enough nerd-nerds out there who are also theater-nerds to keep Clockwork Professor afloat—and it wrote itself an ending that strongly suggests a sequel.” (Brendan Kiley) Pork

Filled Productions at Theater Off Jackson 409 Seventh Ave S, brownpapertickets.com. $10$15. Thurs-Sat at 8 pm. Through Aug. 3.

INTIMAN SUMMER THEATER FESTIVAL

See review, page 26. Cornish Playhouse at Seattle Center, 201 Mercer St. intiman.org. $20$50 for single tickets, $70-$250 for festival passes. Tues-Sun at various times. See website for details. Through Sept 15. PICNIC

“The best part about Picnic playing for one more week, is a nubile leading man who bares his chest (and abs and obliques and lats) through the first act.

The medium-est part is William Inge’s hokey 1953 script, in which whiskey plays a demon that turns a school teacher into a wastrel but still features amusing archetypes: the unattractive-but-hilarious sister, the agog neighbor. Then there’s the ‘acting’: flatly delivered dialogue that sounds like dueling air-horn drills and performers shifting from foot to foot in a manner that humans only do when trapped on stage. It’s hard to say what went wrong here—many folks involved are local theater vets— but the finished product verges on high-school productions of Our Town. Better luck next time, gang.” (Dominic Holden) ReAct Theater at Hugo House, 1634 11th Ave, 364-3283. reacttheatre.org. $8-$16. Fri at 8 pm, Sat at 2 and 8 pm. Through Aug 3.

PRECIOUS LITTLE

A linguistics professor who is studying the last known speaker of a nearly extinct language is burdened with new information about her unborn child. She seeks solace from a gorilla at the zoo, played by a calm woman in a Coco Chanel suit. Annex Theater, 1100 E Pike St, www. annextheatre.org. $5-$20. ThursSat at 8 pm. Through Aug. 31.

Dance

BACHELORETTE SHOW:

A NIGHT OF CELEBRATION FOR BIRTHDAYS, BOYS, AND BRIDES TO BE

See review, page 26. Can Can, 93 Pike St, Suite 307, 6520832. cancan.strangertickets. com. $15. Thurs at 9:30 pm. Through Sept 5.

DANCE INNOVATORS IN PERFORMANCE

Velocity Dance Center presents a group performance featuring the work of Salt Horse, Jill Sigman, and others. Broadway Performance Hall 1625 Broadway, 325-8773. velocitydancecenter.org. $12. Thurs Aug 1 at 8 pm.

theater@thestranger.com

WORN OUT

MARTI JONJAK

SIMON DOONAN’S TAWDRY PAST

WETHINKCAPITOLHILLCOULDUSEMORE

Magic: the Gathering Mondays and Fridays from 6 p m to midnight.

COMICS & GAMES 113 Broadway E, Seattle

Simon Doonan—the hot-shit window dresser, style commentator, writer, media personality, and creative ambassador at large to Barneys New York—recently cohosted a private breakfast at the downtown Seattle store. Up close, he is everything you’d think a great bon vivant would be, with his direct yet jokey manner, his bored voice, his slight build, his perfect ensemble. The latter involved a navy blazer, dark-wash jeans, three-stripe Adidas-style sneakers, and Simon’s signature floralprint button-up shirt. While the look was

outwardly casual, it managed to radiate a certain tidy luxuriousness

So what happened? Not much, really. Simon looked on, drank orange juice, and made small talk until it came time to showcase a collection of new and thoroughly expensive accessories and apparel. Some mannequins got hoisted, store lights

WEDDING CRASHER

BY SARAH GALVIN

SPIKE HUNTINGTON AND NICK CHANDLER-KLEIN READ THE BOOK OF LOVE

Spike Huntington and Nick Chandler-Klein

July 20, 2013, at Freeway Park

Spike Huntington and Nick Chandler-Klein were married in Freeway Park, on the sort of flawless July day when it seems like it will stay light out forever. The couple read the vows they wrote for each other at the fountain on Sixth and Seneca. Surrounded by trees and flowers, the angular cement fountain resembled a waterfall. Nick and Spike’s parents recited lyrics of the song “Origin of Love” from Hedwig and the Angry Inch, and then the couple stepped on a glass together in the Jewish tradition. This was met with cheers of “Mazel tov!”

The wedding guests rode to Melrose Market Studios in a wood-paneled shuttle like a very low-flying private jet. Dinner included roasted rainbow carrots with pistachios, which were so popular it wouldn’t have been shocking to see people putting them in their pockets. There was a “Nick” cocktail and a “Spike” cocktail (an excellent gin and tonic; a vodka cran) with stripy paper straws that one person compared to Beetlejuice’s legs. Spike’s college friends showed me pictures of the tugboat where they were staying, which featured a lady on the deck in a sequined yacht-captain costume, minus pants.

bounced off products’ sparkling details, and Simon and Barneys New York fashion director Tomoko Ogura flung around loads of ad-copy phrases too vague to hold meaning, including something about how apparel should balance stylishness with functionality. Though you wouldn’t know it from this encounter, Simon’s past projects have embodied the grotesque, the funny, the gaudy, and the sleazy, and his book Confessions of a Window Dresser is crammed with delightful sentences about these displays. Detailing his early ’90s celebrity-caricature series, Simon writes: “My addiction to Vegas, strip clubs, and cheap suburban-disco aesthetic had been building like a gigantic boil. The boil burst and the glittery pus coursed into these windows.”

For a time, whenever Simon’s work contrasted with Barneys’ refined image, the media attention rolled on in. So Simon stocked windows with live ducks, colostomy bags, dismembered dolls, taxidermied cats, life-size pine trees built from stacks of wigs, sweatshirts embellished with glitter portraits of Dolly Parton, and thrift-store mattresses: “We ripped them and disemboweled them to make them more funky but also to hide disturbing stains.” Another setup was meant to contain a wreath formed from Depends incontinence pads, but the finished item “looked like an unattractive, lumpy life preserver” and had to be discarded.

Farther into Simon’s past, for Maxfield in 1982, one especially controversial display staged a toddler being abducted by a coyote. It’s stuffed, and its sharp teeth tug the mannequin-baby’s shirt, a black tee with Maxfield in white script across the chest. Meanwhile, her back turned, the mannequin-mother hoses her Astroturf lawn. She wears a swank black jumpsuit and black leather belt.

Spike and Nick’s first dance was to “The Book of Love” by the Magnetic Fields. Nick is about five foot five, and Spike is six foot five at least. There was something especially poignant about watching them look into each other’s eyes across that distance. They turned in slow circles, holding each other. Everyone cried. The couple danced with their mothers to a Jonathan Richman song, and then with each other while their moms and dads danced. It appeared that more than one member of Nick’s family

had taken waltz classes. This drew everybody else onto the floor, and I was soon dancing to Whitney Houston with several euphoric librarians and a guy wearing a tie as a headband. The newlyweds were surrounded by the people who loved them, all of whom were clearly ready to celebrate their love long into the night.

Invite us to your wedding at weddingcrasher@thestranger.com!

SUZI PRATT / GETTY IMAGES WIREIMAGE

BON VIVANT And disemboweler.

CHOW

Eight Reasons to Love Gastropod

The Tiny Place in Sodo That Is About to Be a Big Deal

BY BETHANY JEAN CLEMENT

ONE: “Gastropod” means “stomach-foot.” To name your restaurant Gastropod is great in at least three ways: It recognizes that we are all just stomachs with feet attached, walking

around looking for the next thing to eat; it makes fun of the terrible term “gastro-pub”; and it gives an embrace to the underclass of the snails, slugs, and limpets. The logo of the new Sodo restaurant Gastropod is a cute (but not too cute) drawing of a snail.

Cafe, Tilikum Place Cafe, and Elemental. He’ll joke around a little bit, after a while, if he has a moment, but he is a man of gravitas. It is enormously reassuring.

Gastropod 3201 First Ave S, 403-1228 gastropodsodo.com

TWO: By way of beginning to address the best thing about Gastropod—its really great food—let me tell you about the watermelon gazpacho I had there recently. It was a hot evening, and I had transported my stomach to Gastropod by way of bicycle, and watermelon gazpacho served with roasted corn salsa ($6) sounded good. It tasted like magic—cooling and savory-sweet, mimicking its tomato-based cousin but besting it by far. The yellow kernels and sweet-sharp-oniony taste of the corn salsa brought out the gorgeous color and flavor of the watermelon. “How did you make this savory?” we asked chef Travis Kukull. He said, simply, “Sea salt.” Alchemy!

THREE: Travis Kukull’s resting expression is one of furrowed brow. When he asks you how your food is—which he usually does for every single dish—it is a serious question. He has worked at Brooklyn’s Stone Park

its back. The staff keeps track of orders by writing them on Post-it notes.

FIVE: The decor of Gastropod is nearly nonexistent: a print of an owl cocking its head, a print from Hedwig and the Angry Inch, a brass porthole, a shelf of cookbooks. There is a TV, which is not necessarily turned on. The cash register is a miniature treasure chest stuffed with a wad of money. It feels like a clubhouse—the kids’ kind. Someone cared enough to turn the wainscoting sideways and use rough-hewn trees as trim around the door. Be sure to wander the building, for you will find a trove of amazing neon signs.

SIX: Gastropod’s menu is also small—the better for you to eat almost everything. A typical day’s offerings include one or two $3 plates, a handful of $6 ones, one for $9, one for $12, and a couple topping out at $15. The menu might change almost entirely from one week to the next, which is great, except that the duck-fat-roasted potatoes for $3 that Kukull was carefully stacking up last time might not be there this time, and you’ll be full of rue that you missed them. If you see something like rabbit-liver mousse profiteroles served with lemony French sorrel and sweet maple syrup ($6), you’d better get it. Gastropod’s okonomiyaki ($12) seems to be a constant, but you’ll want to get that every time you go, too: It’s a fluffier, thicker version of the eggy, savory Japanese pancake, with fresher cabbage and (one day, at least) topped with a thick layer of spicy poke made with beautiful ruby-red cubes of Washington albacore.

SEVEN: Gastropod is the least brewpubby brewpub ever. It doesn’t have the bro-down feeling or the tedious food of a brewpub; it does have well-priced, weird, often great beer, mainly from its partner Epic Ales, but also from a handful of other Pacific Northwest breweries. Epic’s Partytime tastes like lemons and fun; the Tart Miso, made with actual miso, tastes like champagne and grapefruit. Kukull will help you choose what to drink with what you order, and six-ounce beers are only $2, so you can switch each time. Epic’s Of The Earth—made with three kinds of mushrooms, including morels—was so good with the morel-and-chanterelle flatbread, I’m not even going to finish this sentence.

FOUR: Gastropod is tiny. The place is two small rooms. The kitchen has three butane-powered burners, one induction one, and a convection oven. Sit at the counter, and Kukull will just hand your dishes across to you as he finishes them. Sometimes, like the namesake snail, the service slows, but you can see why—as he makes another phenomenal morel-and-chanterelle flatbread ($9) like the one you just ate for the couple sitting across the way, or briefly tells his colleague how to put together the panzanella salad to go with the fresh, lusciously fatty Neah Bay marble king salmon ($15), which also comes with a creamy-rich fava bean puree, also fresh and luscious, but in a different way. And like the namesake snail, the restaurant feels like a special little creature, focused on its food, carrying its tiny house on

Gastropod’s staff keeps track of orders by writing them on Post-it notes.

EIGHT: Gastropod is full of geeks. Maybe it’s the innate geekery of people who love beer, or the geekiness of Epic Ale’s founder, Cody Morris, or some sort of geographical geek vortex, but the people here really geek out. Two minutes after I noticed lots of glasses and a guy wearing a tie that had a circuit-board pattern, two people started discoursing on Star Trek. Moments later, two other people were dorking out about turntables and associated audio equipment. One of the servers quickly got in-depth with a patron about Irish music in general, and Irish harp music in particular. The clientele seems to keep its beer geekery fairly under control, but the food nerds are another story. If you ask Kukull what, exactly, sambal is, vis-à-vis the (awesome) sambal green beans ($3), you may discover there is an undercover expert on Indonesian cooking seated next to you. He might complain several times that his sambal green beans are not spicy enough, but, actually, they are perfect.

Comment on stomach-feet at THESTRANGER.COM/CHOW

CHEF TRAVIS KUKULL One reason to love Gastropod.

BETH CROOK

BY CHARLES MUDEDE

THE ARCHITECTURE OF WHITE WINE

The cafe in the Frye Art Museum is one of Olson Kundig Architects’ local masterpieces. The glass, the tranquil interaction between inside and outside, the natural light, the pond, the sunny (or rainy) courtyard, the cold concrete walls, the solid ramp, the rhythm of the pillars, the skyreflecting towers in the distance, the green bushes here, the brown reeds there, the formal arrangement of the brown and silver furniture—what all of this adds up to is a cafe that feels not so much like an actual place in the world of things and animals, but an idea frozen in the lucid mind of an architect. Indeed, this is one of the best places in town for a modernist like myself to drink white wine. Red wine does not work with this architecture because it blocks out, rather than contributes to, the ambience of natural light. What you want to feel and see is the light of the city, the light of the cafe’s spaces, and the light in the orb of the wine. (The cafe sells three white wines: a sauvignon blanc, Nobilo, from New Zealand; an organic chardonnay, Bonterra, from California; and another chardonnay, Georges Duboeuf Macon-Villages, from Burgundy, France.)

The cafe’s food, however, is not exactly in harmony with the architecture. It’s not that it’s bad per se, but that it tastes like the kind of food you’d expect to be served at an upscale conference. It’s healthy and hearty, but it is not memorable. While eating the soup of the day (on my day, it was carrot soup), or the curry chicken salad sandwich, or the small Greek salad, one can’t help but feel that they should be wearing a name tag and discussing with members of one’s profession this or that aspect of an expo we are all attending. But the reason I wrote this column was not to discuss the food at the cafe, or the space of the cafe, but a very small part of the museum’s current exhibit, BUSTER SIMPSON // SURVEYOR, which is huge and excellent. This small part is a wire-mesh model that looks very much like the towering monument Vladimir Tatlin envisioned in 1919 for the Third International in Saint Petersburg. And why am I bringing this model to your attention? Because if you stare at it long enough, as I did after three glasses of wine, you begin to see something, an echo, that may or may have not been intended: A section of Simpson’s Seattle George Monument sculpture in Freeway Park is the top of Tatlin’s Tower turned upside down. To make some meaning of out this realization would require a few more drinks.

Gallery Cafe Frye Art Museum, 704 Terry Ave, 432-8210

THE MODEL Like Tatlin’s Tower.

CHARLES MUDEDE

and get $1 off everything at the Canterbury on Wednesdays (before it closes down sometime later this year, SIGH). Canterbury Ale and Eats, 534 15th Ave E, 322-3130.

CELEBRITY GRILLING WITH LORENZO ROMAR

“Mix and mingle with the University of Washington men’s basketball coach Lorenzo Romar... Lorenzo will join chef Ayhan Barlas to grill on the deck overlooking Lake Union.” Fifty percent (!) of the night’s sales will be donated to the Lorenzo Romar Foundation, dedicated to the prevention of domestic violence, educational assistance for disadvantaged youth, and more. Daniel’s Broiler , 809 Fairview Place N, 621-8262. danielsbroiler. com. 5-7 pm.

Sun 8/4

MPC FAMILY PICNIC

Featuring a (whole! Roasted!) cow, the most excellent DJ Riz, the alsoexcellent Brent Amaker and the Rodeo, a bunch of mezcal, and “everything… fun and tasty” from the people of the (yes) excellent Madison Park Conservatory, this is probably going to be one hell of a picnic. Local Roots Farm, 11707 262nd Ave NE. madisonparkconservatory.com. $95, $40 (kids under 12), free (kids under 5). Noon.

BLUEGRASS, BEER, AND BRATS

It’s Bluegrass pickin’ from the Shed Boys, brats on the grill, and Populuxe beers for sale, all benefiting a great cause: Community Lunch, which serves free, nutritious meals to homeless and low-income folks on Capitol Hill. Populuxe Brewing , 826 NW 49th St. $20 suggested donation. 4-7 pm.

MEANS WE RECOMMEND IT. SEND EVENT INFO TO: chow@thestranger.com

Find the full calendar online.

THE BEST THINGS HAPPEN TO SLICED BREAD AT MADISON KITCHEN

Lunchbox Laboratory

Jim Goodall Owner, Madison Kitchen 4122 E Madison St, 557-4640

Perhaps because of Madison Kitchen’s proximity to the beach, or because they serve ants on a log, on a Thursday morning, most of the Madison Park sandwich shop’s clientele are under 7. Owner Jim Goodall says Madison Kitchen has been a hit with neighborhood families. Some come in several times a day. There is now a “krautwich” button on the cash register for one regular who always gets a Reuben with no pastrami and double sauerkraut.

As tempting as ants on a log may be, I recommend the roasted eggplant sandwich. Don’t be daunted by its messiness—its structural problems are caused by a basil aioli that I’d have spread all over myself if I’d been there after-hours. Pureed carrots gave the tomato soup that accompanied the half-sandwich a pleasantly earthy flavor. And Madison Kitchen’s quinoa tabbouleh was appealing even to me, to whom quinoa normally tastes like shredded newspaper

For beach picnics, Jim suggests the turkey, cheddar, and cranberry “Madison Street Special.” There are a variety of equally portable pastries, like macaroons and almond apricot scones. In addition to being an expert sandwich-maker, Jim is a social worker, specializing in organ transplants. His favorite lunch is currently Madison Kitchen’s salad trio, but he admits he’s been known to eat Domino’s pizza. SARAH GALVIN

Craft Distillery Tours

MUSIC

In Love with Girls and Afraid of Spiders

An Interview with Masked Intruder

BY MEGAN SELING

They’re girl-crazy! They’re criminals! They’re Masked Intruder, the best thing to happen to pop-punk since the lead singer of the Ataris had an onstage meltdown and tore apart a drum set!

While the Madison, Wisconsin, quartet might’ve started off as a bit of a gimmick— four dudes wearing different-colored ski masks, never revealing their true identity while bragging about running from the cops and playing catchy pop songs about chasing the women they love—Masked Intruder have become one of my legitimately favorite bands. On their self-titled full-length (released last summer and then rereleased on Fat Wreck Chords earlier this year), the band gives a fresh perspective on the testosteronesoaked genre, showing that it’s not always cool when dudes obsess over women. They mock pop-punk while also successfully participating in it.

European tour, released a great new music video…

Masked Intruder

w/Elway, Sam Russo, Smokejumper

Yeah, thanks, it’s been pretty fuckin’ cool. Europe was great—it’s pretty weird over there. Some of the people don’t speak English and everything, but people are really enthusiastic at shows, and there’s quite a scene for punk rock. There are very few cops over there, compared to America, so that was pretty cool.

Thurs Aug 1, El Corazón, 8 pm, $10 adv/$12 DOS, all ages

Has having a higher profile made it harder to get away with your crime-riddled lifestyle?

Not yet. Luckily, I don’t think a lot of cops listen to punk rock or follow punknews.org or nothin’. If we ever tour with Katy Perry, that would make me worry. But it’d be worth it.

WHAT'S CRAPPENING?

• Capitol Hill Block Party happened last weekend, and boy was it a crowded buffet of sounds, sights, foods, drinks, elbows, multicolored bracelets that required a calculus degree to understand, crying, puking, and of course, ass shaking. Let’s review, shall we?

• Day one of the CHBP featured an appearance from Mayor Mike McGinn, who’s currently up for reelection. A woman was preparing to get her picture snapped with McGinn when another woman walked up and (apparently not realizing she was talking to the mayor of Seattle) said: “That’s a totally boring pic. You need to be sexier, dude!” McGinn’s response? “I’m the mayor. I don’t do sexy.” True to his word, the photo was not sexy. Phew.

In the song “Heart Shaped Guitar,” they combine their two favorite hobbies—women and crime—by breaking into a house to serenade the love of their life. Instead of the woman swooning, as many men seem to assume a woman would do in such a situation, Maura Weaver of the band Mixtapes provides the not-so-stoked (and much more realistic) female perspective, singing lines like, “Why are you standing there at 3 a.m. out in my front yard?/Singing stupid love songs on a heart-shaped guitar/And I don’t want to hear it ’cause I don’t even care/The police are on their way, so just stay right there.”

I recently spoke with singer/guitarist Intruder Blue about the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Katy Perry, and why he can’t get a date—to get the full effect, read everything he says in the voice of Squiggy from Laverne & Shirley

Congratulations on the recent success! You signed to Fat Wreck Chords, went on a

How’s touring going in the summer, with the masks and the heat?

It can be very uncomfortable. The trick is to just stay hydrated. The first thing you think is that you gotta drink a bunch of water, and you start getting bummed out, but then you remember that there’s water in beer! But yeah, it gets pretty hot, especially when there’s not a lot of ventilation. Every once in a while, you play an art space or something, and it can get pretty grueling, but show business, you know? You’ve gotta do it. Plus, we look pretty snazzy. We look kind of like reverse Ninja Turtles or somethin’.

Turtles. We would do that, but we are two things: (1) not very good at karate or whatever, and (2) also not giant turtles.

Since a lot of your songs are about unrequited love, what’s going to happen to Masked Intruder when you get the girl? Can the band exist with a happy ending? I’m just thinking of songwriters in the past who were really great when they were really sad, and then once their life started to turn around, they weren’t so good.

That’s a total pie in the sky. It seems unrealistic to me.

Have you ever thought of going on a show like The Bachelorette, being a contestant on there? Maybe you’d get a date.

Yeah, that would be pretty amazing, but those dudes are all pretty ripped, you know? Maybe I gotta work out a little bit more. Which, if one of us goes away for a while again, you know, in the pen, and comes out in good prison shape, we could put in an application. You think they’d let us on a show like that?

You know, they’re always looking for variety. I don’t see why you wouldn’t have a shot. You could get spray-on abs. We should probably do an audition tape. That’s a good idea.

The worst that could happen is they won’t be into it.

Yeah, that’s what everyone says. “The worst that could happen is rejection.” Well, yeah, that’s terrifying.

“If we ever tour with Katy Perry, that would make me worry.”

Do you guys ever do any Ninja Turtle cosplay on tour?

We have never pretended to be the Ninja

Is rejection the scariest thing to you?

Well, yeah, isn’t it scary to everybody?

It’s scary, but I don’t know if it’s the scariest thing.

No, that’s true, spiders are pretty scary. I’m not, like, scared of spiders if I just see one in a movie… actually, that can be scary too. If there was a spider in my shoes I’d get the heebie-jeebies like crazy!

What if there was a spider in your mask? I don’t even want to think about that.

Comment on women and crime at THESTRANGER.COM/MUSIC

• At the end of a very great Intelligence set on Friday, Lars Finberg, armed with his guitar, climbed to the top of the Vera Stage, impressing (and scaring the shit out of) the unsuspecting crowd.

• New Orleans bounce queen Big Freedia delighted the Saturday Block Partiers with her booty-shakin’, wiggle-wobblin’, shortshorts-wearin’ backup dancers, whose backsides gyrated in ways we assumed were anatomically impossible

(Overheard: “It’s just a muscle group I’ve never accessed.”) During the hit track “Azz Everywhere,” Freedia called volunteers from the audience for onstage twerking… everyone did a surprisingly good job—especially members of Rose Windows (whose riveting main-stage performance was right before Big Freedia).

• During local rapper Jarv Dee’s performance on Sunday, he was joined by fellow Moor Gang members (including Gift Uh Gab and Nacho Picasso), as well as a live band, which included a guitar player who looked exactly like a young John Mayer

• If Block Party wasn’t your thing, the next best place to go on Sunday was Chop Suey’s free Around the Block Party. We caught a most excellent Wimps set that overflowed with insanely good new songs and had bassist Matt Nyce continuously faking out the audience by almost stage diving. We also caught hospital-gown-wearing trio Child Birth’s impressive set, which included such songs as “I Only Fucked You as a Joke” and “How Do Women Do It?”.

• After the Flaming Lips’ Disney-fied psychedelia ended, Seattle noisemakers MTNS set up on the sidewalk in front of the Comet to blast the folks who had crowded around them with earsplitting cacophonic joy.

• As Block Party came to a close on Sunday night, a very drunk man made a beeline toward a group of strangers. He announced that he had to work at 6:30 a.m., and then grabbed a woman’s hand, put it near his butt, and asked, “Can I fart in it?” She pulled her hand away and said no. He then paused and looked away, stating, “I already did.” He then offered to buy everyone drinks at Neumos before suddenly running away at top speed into the night.

MASKED INTRUDER Mocking pop-punk while successfully participating in it.

BY VIRGINIA TECH NIRVANA VIDEO

KATIE HOVLAND

MEGAN SELING

COCOROSIE’S EARTH-SKY LULLABIES

Since 2003, the Brooklyn/France-based provocatesses CocoRosie have been executing gangster-nymph vaudevilles of helium. This past May, the duo released their fifth album, Tales of a Grass Widow. Sisters Bianca and Sierra Casady fuse genres in 12 songs: freak-art, electro-operatic, folk-rap. It’s an estrogen-charged outré vision where emotive compositions mix epics and beatboxing into elfin, beat-strung lullabies. Pianos are stoically composed, and a sheen of synth and beats is laced intricately via Icelandic producer Valgeir Sigurðsson (Björk, Feist). There’s really no chicanery with CocoRosie—these women have formed their own unique, intelligent mold, and live, their show is potent. The Casady sisters are strong-willed, pro-female leads who are unafraid to let their themes grate against society’s maledominated grain. They very much stand for equality of the sexes, and are there as voices to point out injustices toward women (and Mother Earth). CocoRosie will be in Seattle (at Neumos) on October 25. Bianca spoke from Munich, Germany.

How’s Munich? Is it manic in Munich? I’ve always wanted to ask someone that. It’s rainy and cold for summer. I’m hazing from the bumpy drive. Not so manic.

How was working with Valgeir Sigurðsson on Tales of a Grass Widow? Where did you all record? This is the second time we’ve worked with him on a record. Going back to his studio in Iceland six years later—during the same time of year— was pretty surreal. Actually, the idea to go there to finish the record was completely spontaneous. We did a lot of work on the album prior to going to work with Valgeir, but as always in the studio, some new songs emerged. “Far Away” was born there—it actually came from a snowy walk watching the northern lights at night.

Your lyrics seem effortless and directly tapped into/out of your subconscious. How do you spark that? Who are your favorite lyricists? I write most of the time, with, of course, some dry spells. I try to carry a typewriter around because it really helps. I go through phases where I can’t write by hand, and I never really do creative writing with the computer. I like Tom Waits’s lyrics, and [pauses] I’m scrapping my mind, Old Dirty Bastard. Antony Hegarty for the windy-spiritual depths. I grew up listening to Tori Amos. I think her sensuality and sense of taboo influenced me.

Anything you’ve read lately that’s moved or grabbed you? Neither of us are big readers. I got my hands on a book called Unorthodox not too long ago. It’s a memoir from a young woman who left the Hasidic cult she grew up in. It made me so

angry. As in many sky-god religions, women are made to feel deeply dirty and ashamed of their menstruation. These religions have hijacked women’s power of creation.

You’re beginning a print publication called Girls Against God. What went into its formation? What do you want to do with it? It all started with the title Girls Against God. The concept of a male god is the root of so many of our troubles and misconceptions about women and men. For me, the imbalance of the sexes across the globe stems from the idea that god is our creator and god is a male. I started talking with artists about the issue, which led to talking about other issues, and I decided to make a “real” newspaper. So GAG will be a tabloid-style paper about politics with a feminist focus, mostly through the voices and visions of artists.

Have you been reincarnated? Have you lived previous lives? I don’t know— as none of us do, I suppose—if I’ve had other lifetimes or not, but I regularly feel a kinship with the image of a cross-eyed Chinese man [laughs]. And I have a thing for Chinese music too—it feels deep and out of the blue at the same time.

In your song “After the Afterlife,” the words are, Moth wings crumble by a day-lit fire, ash of dead wood pile / Higher, pyre for false gods, blazing mires. Moths and flame are interesting—they’re attracted to the light, but if they get too close, they ignite. Attraction can be damaging. Is that what you’re getting at? These lyrics are pretty abstract, and poetic-emotional. We call it essence writing. It doesn’t make logical sense, but that doesn’t imply that it’s meaningless at all. The song is about death and ritual and madness and afterlife and after that.

In the video, who’s the person in the white animal/yeti suit? Abominable-yeti person. Abominable is a hard word to say. The underwater shots are so good. The whole thing was basically a free-for-all. We just picked up the animal suit on the way to the airport [laughs]. We wanted to have a wild adventure time and capture it on video, and we pretty much did.

Tell me a band I need to listen to. Who’s doing it for you right now? I can’t hardly think of the last thing we listened to, but I have to say I am loving Moondog. It’s enough to satiate me for a long time.

CocoRosie did music for a production of Peter Pan with avant director Robert Wilson and the Berliner Ensemble. Is Wilson really avant? Was everyone in tights? Tights are avant. It was amazing and challenging and all new. Robert Wilson is legendary. That was the greatest treat. He’s wild in his ways, I’m telling you! Theater is something I want to do more and more of. We did the music for the piece—it’s pretty much a full-on musical with lots of songs. We had to write songs for the actors to sing. It was all new.

For CocoRosie, you incorporate toys and sound-making gizmo things into your live show. What toys are you going with lately? You know, lots of my best noisemaking toys have actually been stolen offstage. I let this natural and gradual decline of my toy collection lead me where it is now, which is, no toys at this time. More and more flutes [laughs].

RODRIGO JARDON

CocoRosie

MY PHILOSOPHY

MIKE STUD, THEESATISFACTION, KEYBOARD KID, DEF DEE

So where are we today? Any further? It feels like technology is speeding up but society is gearing up, to put some of us in the jail, or beneath it. I won’t go easy, or quiet. Moving on: I’ve touched upon what is, for me personally, one of the most troubling trends in rap—the rise of the frat-bro Hollister-rap wave. Wax, G-Eazy, Hoodie Allen all are high-ranking purveyors—even though Hoodie took the time to personally drop me an e-mail, and he’s a very nice young man—but I don’t think the Rohypnolhop wave has a better exemplar than a rapper coming to the Crocodile on Wednesday, July 31, a rapper who’s name is Mike Stud Mike fucking Stud, yo. Say that name out loud three times, look down, and realize that you’re wearing two polo shirts simultaneously, with both collars tickling your fucking earlobes. Most rappers in this vein give off that smarmy letterman jacket, team-captain swag, but none more than Mike Stud, an actual once-promising college baseball player (for Duke University no less). Now, even I—a guy who gives less than a half-squirt about sports in general—know that Duke is the biggest douche factory in the game this side of Massengill. (No shame or shade toward feminine hygiene products meant, either, if that’s your thing.) I seriously cannot, not even a bit, with this guy’s music, Jesus fucking Christ—as if White People™ weren’t already living directly atop my very last surviving nerve as it is. Just kidding, I love everybody. Except Mike Stud Kick your feet, bro.

Please go see some good shows, not this forever-chillaxed party boy bullshit. Nothing wrong with raging—but most of all, rage against the dying of the light. A great time awaits you at Nectar on Saturday, August 3, as THEESatisfaction headline a show with NYC’s reunited queer party-rap sisters supreme Yo! Majesty (can we please get a surprise appearance from their buds Champagne Champagne for “Cali Bud”?), along with a killer bill consisting of Moor Gangstress Gift Uh Gab, JusMoni & WD4D, and OCnotes. Equal parts edgy, weird, awesome, and raw. What exactly is fucking with that? Not satisfied? Try an evening with the aqueous/plasmatic sounds of Seattle’s premier BasedWorld ambassador Keyboard Kid—along with Denver’s preeminent dopehound goth-hopsters BLKHRTS, and lyricist/activist Julie C of Alpha P—at the Crocodile’s Back Bar on Monday, August 5. MMG—no, not the one founded by the ex-pig-playing-coke-dealer, but DC’s topnotch Mello Music Group—just released 33 and a Third, the new album from Seattle-based producer deluxe Def Dee, who I’ve been rocking with tough since his heavy Gravity LP with the MC now called La. It’s dust-gritty, fresh-neverfrozen-in-time boom-bap, and a killer top-tobottom listen with shots of the raw from a gang of cats ranging from Oddissee to One Be Lo, as well as local shiners La Grynch Chev, and Mic Phenom. Stitched together from vaulted MMG cuts as well as new verses, remixes, and inserts, Dee’s newest is ringing bells all over the place—so you damn sure better give him his props at home.

HIPHOP YA DON'T STOP

BY LARRY MIZELL JR.

Keyboard Kid

UP&COMING

Lose your favorite pair of dad jeans every night this week!

For the full music calendar, see page 43 or visit thestranger.com/music For ticket on-sale announcements, follow twitter.com/seashows

Wednesday 7/31

Psychedelephant, Jared James Nichols, Verdant Mile

(Sunset Tavern) Sometimes, around here, we pick a band to preview simply because of its name. Hence this blurb about Psychedelephant. Their handle combines three of my favorite things: “psych,” “ed,” and “elephant.” They describe themselves as a “psychedelic funk rock group,” but from this veteran of the psych wars’ perspective, Psychedelephant are not very psychedelic. Nor are they all that funky. But they do rock, occasionally. There’s something of SoCal bands the Growlers and Crystal Antlers’ woozy, dramatic swirl in Psychedelephant’s sound, but those who crave serious psychedelic funk should look elsewhere (you can’t go wrong with Funkadelic, for one). DAVE SEGAL

Les Nubians

(Triple Door) The early- to mid-’90s was the moment American hiphop recognized its global dimension. Guru, the rapper for Gang Starr, was a central figure in this recognition—he not only recognized Paris’s MC Solaar (“Le Bien, Le Mal”), but also Les Nubians (“Who’s There”), two Parisian sisters (real sisters, that is) who are originally from Chad. The duo (Hélène and Célia Faussart) was to French hiphop what Erykah Badu was to American hiphop— an earth-friendly, Afrocenteric, nu-jazz, neo-soul, inner-city street poet who is anticapitalist in a global, feminist mode. Les Nubians’ voices will seduce like a purple cloud of incense. CHARLES MUDEDE

Thursday 8/1

Sean Nicholas Savage, iji, Cock & Swan

(Heartland) See Underage, page 49.

Hockey, Saint Motel, SWIMM

(Neumos) Two Man Advantage, the Zambonis, Hanson Brothers—those are hockey bands. They’ve got songs about everything from the penalty box to the fifth hole; hockey is in every lyric and every chord. As for the electronically inclined indie-rock duo from Portland, Oregon, though, the appreciation for the sport stops at their name. And, while I guess they’re fine as a band—a little bland for my tastes, and the intro of “Explorer” sounds a whole lot like “Please Don’t Go Girl” by New Kids on the Block—it is kind of insulting to name your band after one of the toughest, most passionate, and greatest sports that has ever existed, and then sound like that. They should call themselves Croquet. MEGAN SELING

Lesbian, Grayceon, Bali Girls, Lb.!

(Chop Suey) Let’s take a look at some of the bands Lb.! (Pound) list on their Facebook page as favorites: Botch, Sun O))), the Locust, Cattle Decapitation, Weedeater… aka anything that’s sonically brutal, in various forms. So as you might imagine, Lb.! take cues from their idols and do their best to fuck with your head and ears in equal measure. Just as the song gets going, Lb.! pull it back. Just as you catch your breath, they kick you in the stomach. Our resident metal expert Kevin Diers says Lb.! “play with the aggression

of grindcore and the groove of doom/sludge, all the while mixing in mind-fuckingly awesome time-signature changes.” So, basically, take every band Lb.! have ever loved, put their records in a blender, plug the blender into an amplifier, hit “crush ice,” and headbang until your nose bleeds. MEGAN SELING

Night Nurse, Occult SS, Ratbite (Highline) Occult SS’s Teeth in the Dark EP brings to mind some of the great 7-inch EPs of the ’90s crust scene—State of Fear’s Wallow in Squalor, From Ashes Rise’s Fragments of a Fallen Sky, and Talk Is Poison’s Straight to Hell, just to name a few. While the album is generally the most respected format in the broader rock realm, the EP was the ideal format for crust’s compacted blasts of punk urgency and furious metal flourishes. After all, those bands rarely played sets longer than 20 minutes—why would they need to fill a record with more than half an hour’s worth of material? And true to form, Occult SS’s live show is a short sharp shock of blazing d-beat, doomsday power chords, and guttural howls. BRIAN COOK

Friday 8/2

KRAKT: MissVixen, DJ Saigon, Kristina Childs (Electric Tea Garden) See Data Breaker, page 47.

Julio Bashmore, Samo Sound Boy, Pezzner (Q Nightclub) See Data Breaker, page 47.

Pickathon: Feist, Parquet Courts, Shabazz Palaces, Ty Segall, Kurt Vile & the Violators, and more (Pendarvis Farm) See Stranger Suggests, page 23.

Foxygen (Neumos) A duo that calls Brooklyn and Olympia, Washington, home, Foxygen create seemingly effortless offbeat pop that’s a bit too sugary and catchy to be called psychedelic, but you can just tell core members Sam France and Jonathan Rado think “I Am the Walrus” and “Tomorrow Never Knows” are the best Beatles songs. Foxygen are the sort of popular band

I’m supposed to dismiss because I’m allegedly some kind of incorrigible elitist, but I have (a little) time for Foxygen’s rococo, sublimely goofy pop that splits the difference between Todd Rundgren and Sparks at their mad ’70s peaks. Plus, titling a song “Shuggie” gets you easy access into heaven. DAVE SEGAL

Heiress, Caligula, Argonaut, Eternal Bad (Chop Suey) Prestigious women titles were popular monikers for metal bands toward the end of the last decade. The two most obvious examples, Priestess and Baroness, achieved popularity by taking the modern mid-tempo metal template and injecting classic-rock influences and pop sensibility into the formula. Heiress, however, are having none of that. While their recent full-length, Early Frost, has all the heft of their similarly suffixed kin, the Seattle quintet swaps the Thin Lizzy and Judas Priest hattips for more dissonant nods to bands like Dazzling Killmen and Threadbare. Additionally, their forays into melody veer away from the minor-key choruses of other “ess”-men and opt instead for harrowingly somber instrumental passages. If Priestess and Baroness are descendants of Queen, Heiress are the product of Jane Doe BRIAN COOK

Ladies Club: Shenandoah Davis, Julia Massey, Kaylee Cole, Alex Niedzialkowski (Columbia City Theater) While once-a-year showcases like Ladyfest/Titwrench/C.L.I.T. Fest exist around the country, barriers in gender equality continue to be wack, and it’s ever-imperative to cultivate a scene for female artists’ peers and allies. In this new showcase, dubbed “Ladies Club,” local singer/songwriter/institution Shenandoah Davis has curated a dazzling lineup, featuring a handful of Seattle’s outstanding female-identified singer/ songwriters. Columbia City Theater is the perfect scene for stripped-down performances, and these seven acts will each present 20-minute sets. The egalitarian/headliner-free show embraces the idea that attendees are expected to watch all or most of the acts contained within a two-and-a-half-hour period. A second installment of Ladies Club is slated for November, and there’s talk of it being an ongo-

ing quarterly series. Let’s hope it’s just another step in sweeping patriarchy in music to the far back row of every club. BREE MCKENNA

Saturday 8/3

Black Hat, Good Willsmith, White Boy Scream (Cairo) See Data Breaker, page 47.

Pickathon: Feist, Parquet Courts, Shabazz Palaces, Ty Segall, Kurt Vile & the Violators, and more (Pendarvis Farm) See Friday.

Sebadoh, Octa#grape

(Barboza) Touring in support of their first new album in 14 years—the forthcoming-in-September Defend Yourself—Lou Barlow and Jason Loewenstein’s mighty Sebadoh cram themselves into ittybitty Barboza to create what should be an amazing racket. The official preview track from the album— “I Will”—is an adamantly lo-fi mewl-and-scream combo that sounds exactly like you want, Barlow’s ever-sensitive vocals colliding with an avalanche of distortion. Opening the show: San Diego scuzzrockers Octa#grape. DAVID SCHMADER

THEESatisfaction, Yo! Majesty, Gift Uh Gab, JusMoni x WD4D (Nectar) This stacked Saturday-night lineup features multiple local heavy hitters, from THEESatisfaction’s soulful “psychedelic space-rap/jazz” to Gift Uh Gab’s undeniable mic-shredding rap skills to JusMoni x WD4D’s future-bass/R&B atmospherics, to OCnotes’s renaissance-man production and turntable finesse. But Florida’s Yo! Majesty—a duo consisting of rappers/singers Shunda K and Jwl B (whom local rap fans have heard singing on Champagne Champagne’s breezy classic “Cali Bud”) who have songs titled “Booty Klap” and “Kryptonite Pussy”—should really set things off with their turnt-up, pro-female brand of electronic party rap. This show’s not for those who are trying to spend the evening standing still. MIKE RAMOS See also My Philosophy, page 41.

Mickey Hart Band, Tea Leaf Trio (Showbox at the Market) Mickey Hart will always be most cherished as one of the Grateful Dead’s drummers during their peak years. And that’s cool. He can live off the positive vibes his beats helped to trigger in millions of people over the decades. But Hart’s never been content to stagnate or get mired in Deadhead nostalgia. He pushes on with his explorations of different ethnicities’ styles of drumming and channels his rhythmic sorcery toward healing people afflicted with Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s diseases. His latest album, 2012’s vibrant Mysterium Tremendum, pits an exotic, undulating rhythmic undertow with uplifting melodies and spiritual vocals by Crystal Monee Hall and Joe Bagale. This could be the feel-good show of the summer. DAVE SEGAL

Sunday 8/4

Odd Owl, the Gloria Darlings, Susy Sun (Crocodile) See Underage, page 49.

Pickathon: Feist, Parquet Courts, Shabazz Palaces, Ty Segall, Kurt Vile & the Violators, and more (Pendarvis Farm) See Friday.

White Fence, Jessica Pratt

(Neumos) My first thoughts on hearing White Fence— a project of the prolific Tim Presley—was that it reminded me of an old Big Star practice session (heavy on the near-country riffs and high Chilton vocals) and a Seeds bootleg (heavy on blown-out psychedelia and weirdly sweet melodies), both recorded onto two different cassettes, and then played simultaneously after being melted, stepped on, and distorted with magnets (with fascinating results). There’s a lot going on—competing rhythm tracks speed up and slow down unpredictably, the lyrics float in and out of intelligibility under hiss and echo. Get a copy of 2013’s Cyclops Reap and hear something new with every listen. Also on the bill is the quiet and easy folk of Jessica Pratt, whose single self-titled album was recorded in 2007 but only recently gained recognition

when Presley started his own record label to put out her intimate, mostly acoustic debut. EMILY NOKES

See also Stranger Suggests, page 23.

California Dreamin’, Audacity, Summer Twins, Primitive Hearts, the Wild Ones, Bummer City, Big Eyes, Week of Wonders, Bad Tats (Highline) Though mainly known for their cassette catalog, Burger Records is one of the ruling tastemakers in the contemporary garage-rock scene. With tapes by nationally revered acts like Black Lips, Brian Jonestown Massacre, and Ty Segall in their discography, it’s no wonder that the Orange County label has such a solid standing. But its strongest suit is its support for young up-and-comers. Fullerton garage rockers Audacity are barely of drinking age, but they already have two albums and a slew of other releases under their belts courtesy of Burger. And it’s

not without good reason: Audacity make some of the most clever, jubilant, hook-laden power pop out there at the moment. It’s not a shock that current garage-rock royalty King Tuff picked them for his backing band. BRIAN COOK

Monday 8/5

Keyboard Kid, BLKHRTS

(Crocodile) BLKHRTS are three rappers from Denver who (1) apparently hate vowels (album titles include SX DRGS VLNC MNY & DTH and BLK S BTFL), (2) have raspy-ass voices and boisterous deliveries like long-lost members of Onyx or M.O.P., and (3) sample A LOT of rock songs for their beats. But the sample choices—Iggy Pop, Pentagram, that pre–Joy Division Warsaw album—are what distinguish their music from the online crowd of “goth-rap” alsorans. It’s likely as much of a train wreck to some as it is innovative to others, but it should make for a rowdy live set. Local producer Keyboard Kid, a master at sculpting atypical samples in uncharacteristic ways himself, will headline. MIKE RAMOS See also My Philosophy, page 41.

Walking Papers

(Easy Street Records) It’s Monday night, and you find yourself in West Seattle with a powerful hankering for the meatiest and potato-iest of meat-and-potatoes blues rock. Just your luck, you lucky SOB—Walking Papers are doing a free show at Easy Street Records. If you think White Stripes and Black Keys are too far out, you will slip into Walking Papers’ tried-and-true earthiness as if they were a favorite pair of dad jeans. Composed of old Seattle rock royalty (former Screaming Trees/Tuatara drummer Barrett Martin, Missionary Position members Jeff Angell and Benjamin Anderson, and former Guns N’ Roses bassist Duff McKagan), Walking Papers are this city’s very own Bad Company. Attention must be paid. DAVE SEGAL

Tuesday 8/6

Kurt Vile & the Violators (Showbox at the Market) See Underage, page 49.

BILL EVANS’ SOULGRASS

Feat. special geusts

STEVE KIMOCK and JEFF PEVAR

TUE, JUL 30 - THU, AUG 1

Multiple Grammy-Award Winning saxophonist blending soul, jazz and Americana joined by guitar Masters

JOHN PIZZARELLI QUARTET

with BUCKY PIZZARELLI

FRI, AUG 2 - SUN, AUG 4

Guitar legends blend pop, jazz, and swing, setting the standard for stylish modern jazz

NICHOLAS PAYTON XXX

TUE, AUG 6 - WED, AUG 7

Payton’s clarion trumpet, as well as his genredefying solos, stood at the center of the music making... No descriptive label or category could be affixed to Payton’s solos, which were as brashly original as they were technically imposing. –Howard Reich, Chicago Tribune

MONTY ALEXANDER, JOHN CLAYTON & JEFF HAMILTON

THU, AUG 8 - SUN, AUG 11

Jazz trio extraordinaire – Reunion in Seattle!

THE COOKERS

TUE, AUG 13 - WED, AUG 14

91.3 KBCS welcomes - Heavy hitting, pyrotechnic, post-bop jazz super group with a mid-60’s spirit

2033 6th Ave. | 206.441.9729 all ages | free parking full schedule at jazzalley.com

Nectar, The Stranger, KEXP, and SolidSound Present:

Tuesday (Jazz / Funk) FAREED HAQUE’S MATHGAMES

Rippin Chicken

8.7 Wednesday (Reggae / Ska) THROUGH THE ROOTS The Approach Valley Green $6adv. $8 Door, 8pm,

THURSDAY AUGUST 1ST JK POP! DJ BISHIE + DJ HOJO + DJ FIREDRILL + ATASHA MANILA

FRIDAY AUGUST 2ND CONTE

SATURDAY AUGUST 3RD

SUNDAY AUGUST 4TH GARY MINKLER JOHN STEPHAN + WALT SINGLEMAN + BILL BAGLEY + GREGG KEPLINGER

WEDNESDAY AUGUST 7TH KEN STRINGFELLOW backed by THE MALDIVES SONS OF WARREN OATES

THURSDAY AUGUST 8TH MY DAD BRUCE + IRUKANDJI PHYSICS OF FUSION THE BAD TENANTS

COMING SOON 7/31 True Holland • 8/9 Jamie Commons • 8/14 Grum • 8/15 Filastine • 8/16 Cloud Control • 8/17 Real Don Music • 8/18 Filligar • 8/20 Majical Cloudz • 8/21 Luck One • 8/22 Scout Niblett • 8/23 Eef Barzelay • 8/28 Sudden Vacation ft. D33J • 9/6

Bleeding Rainbow • 9/7 Ewert and The Two Dragons • 9/11 Cosmic Psychos • 9/12 NO • 9/13 Gibraltar

9/14 Diarrhea Planet + The So So Glos 9/15 Julia Holter • 9/17 Woods + The Fresh and Onlys • 9/19 Porcelain Raft 9/20 Kate Boy • 9/21 Hanni El Khatib • 9/22 Youryoungbody • 9/23 Jackson Scott • 9/25

ELECTRONICALLY WARPED CHANTS

Chicken, 10 pm, free

SEAMONSTER LOUNGE Vunt Foom, 10 pm, free SKYLARK CAFE & CLUB Open Mic: Guests a STUDIO SEVEN Into Eternity, Abnormal Thought Patterns, Devils of Loudon, guests, 7 pm, $11/$13 SUNSET TAVERN Psychedelephant, Jared James Nichols, Verdant Mile, 8 pm, $6

TRACTOR TAVERN Griffin House, Megan Slankard, $15/$18

TRIPLE DOOR Les Nubians, 10 pm, $30/$32

TULA’S Clipper Anderson’s Ballad of the Sad Young Men, 7:30 pm, $15

THE EAGLE VJDJ Andy J ELECTRIC TEA GARDEN Passage: Jayms Nylon, Joey Webb, guests

HAVANA SoulShift: Peter Evans, Devlin Jenkins, Richard Everhard, $1

LAST SUPPER CLUB Vibe

Wednesday: Jame$Ervin, DT, Contagious

LAVA LOUNGE Mod Fuck Explosion: DJ Deutscher Meister

MOE BAR The Hump: DJ Darwin, DJ Swervewon, guests, 10:30 pm, free

NEIGHBOURS Undergrad: Guest DJs, 18+, $5/$8

PONY Bloodlust: DJs Gin & Tonic

JAZZ ALLEY Bill Evans, 7:30 pm, $10

THE KRAKEN BAR & LOUNGE Absinthe Rose, Junkyard Amy Lee, Jefferson Death Star, $5

LUCID Matthias Sturm NEW ORLEANS Legacy Band, Clarence Acox OHANA Live Island Music

OWL N’ THISTLE Billy Joe Huels

PINK DOOR Casey MacGill & the Blue 4 Trio, 8 pm

Q NIGHTCLUB All Bands on Deck: Thomas Gray, free SEAMONSTER Rippin

a VERA PROJECT The Ghost Inside, Xibalba, Reign Supreme, Relentless, guests, 6:30 pm, $11

VITO’S RESTAURANT & LOUNGE Brendan O’Donnell

Trio, free a WOODLAND PARK ZOO NORTH MEADOW Indigo Girls, 6 pm, $28

DJ

BALTIC ROOM Reverb: DJ Rome, Rozzville, Zooty B, Antartic

CHA CHA LOUNGE DJ Hank Rock, Cutz Like a Knife, free CONTOUR Rotation: Rotation Tryouts: Guests, guests, 10 pm, $5

SEE SOUND LOUNGE Fade: DJ Chinkyeye, DJ Christyle, 10 pm

THURS 8/1

LIVE 2 BIT SALOON From Detroit Michigan, Against the Grain, Shakin’ Michael J, guests

AQUA BY EL GAUCHO Ben Fleck, 6 pm

BLUE MOON TAVERN

Brian Kenny Fresno, Shitty Dudes, $5 CAN CAN Vince Mira

CHOP SUEY Lesbian , Grayceon, Bali Girls, LB.!, 8

MY AUNT ROACH AND HER MICHIGAN MOONSHINE

While everyone in Seattle was watching bands at the Capitol Hill Block Party, I was watching my 65-year-old aunt Roach perform a live set on the front porch of a deer camp, out in the woods in Nowheresville, Northern Michigan. Songs ranged from “Bubble Butt” by Major Lazer to “Born This Way” by Lady Gaga. Aunt Roach is available for your party, wedding reception, and/or bat mitzvah. Her tour rider includes a bag of ice, half a dozen lemons, and one Mason jar. She’ll bring her own jug o’ ’shine. KELLY O

pm, $8/$10

COLUMBIA CITY THEATER Exohxo , Gibraltar, Cloud Person , 8 pm, $7/$8

COMET Spinning Whips, We Say Bang, Old Bottle Black $7

a CROCODILE Lightning

Dust, Louise Burns, 8 pm, $10

DISTRICT LOUNGE Cassia

DeMayo Quintet, 8 pm, free

a EL CORAZON Truth

Under Attack, Saving Sunsets, Chin Up Rocky, guests, 7 pm, $8/$12; Masked Intruder, Elway, Sam Rousso Soundsystem , Smokejumper, 8 pm, $10/$12

a GUAYMAS CANTINA

Oleaje Flamenco, 8 pm, free

HARD ROCK CAFE Chad Knight, 5 pm, free; Down Goes Frazier, Garage Heroes, Crosswave, 8 pm, $5

HIGH DIVE Buffalo Stagecoach, Ethan Freckleton Band, Choking Mona Lisa , 8 pm, $7

HIGHLINE Night Nurse, Occult SS, Ratbite

HIGHWAY 99 Brian Lee & the Orbiters, 8 pm, $7

JAZZ ALLEY Bill Evans, 7:30 pm, $10

LUCID The Hang: Don Berman, Caffeine, 9:30 pm, free

NECTAR Big Time,

OC Notes, Jesus Chris, Wizdumb, guests, 8 pm, $5

NEUMOS Hockey, Saint Motel, SWIMM, 8 pm, $13.50

PINK DOOR Bric-a-Brac, 8 pm

RE-BAR Grudge Rock: Warning: Danger!, Rat City

Ruckus

THE ROYAL ROOM Marco Benevento, 8 pm, $12/$15

SCARLET TREE How Now Brown Cow , 9:30 pm, free

SHOWBOX AT THE MARKET Pepper, $25/$30

SKYLARK CAFE & CLUB

Direct Divide, 8 pm, $6

THE STEPPING STONE PUB

Open Mic: Guests

SUNSET TAVERN I Draw Slow, guests, $8

THERAPY LOUNGE The Hoot Hoots , Har-Di-Har, Tangerine, $5

TRACTOR TAVERN The Mother Hips, $15

a TRIPLE DOOR The Songs of Neko Case: Shelby Earl, Zach Fleury, 8 pm, $12/$15

TULA’S Diana Page, 7:30 pm, $10

VITO’S RESTAURANT & LOUNGE Casey MacGill, 5:30 pm, free; Steve Messick Quartet, 9 pm, free

THE WHITE RABBIT

Marmalade, $6

DJ

BALLROOM DJ Rob, free

BARBOZA JK POP!: DJ

Bishie, DJ HoJo, $3

CAPITOL CLUB Citrus: DJ Skiddle

CONTOUR Bottom Heavy:

Covert Ops, guests, 10 pm, free

THE EAGLE Nasty: DJ King of Pants, Nark

HAVANA Sophisticated Mama: DJ Sad Bastard, DJ Nitty Gritty

LAST SUPPER CLUB Open

House: Guests

LAVA LOUNGE Rock DJs: Guests

LO-FI Noctum Caro: Guests

MOE BAR Chuch: Phospho, Mars One, Sosal, free

NEIGHBOURS Jet Set

Thursdays: Guest DJs

NEIGHBOURS UNDERGROUND The Lowdown: DJ Lightray, $3

OHANA Chill: DJ MS

SEE SOUND LOUNGE

Damn Son: DJ Flave, Sativa Sound System, Jameson Just, Tony Goods, $5 after

WEDNESDAY

KELLY O

THURSDAY

1

AUGUST

2

AUGUST

LIGHTNING DUST Louise Burns Tall Smoke All Ages FRIDAY

BRANDON DANIEL & THE CHICS 7” RELEASE PARTY Sugar Sugar Sugar, Mad Caps 21+

& The Crocodile Present RAIN CITY ROCK CAMP: SUMMER CAMP SHOWCASE All Ages

CODY BEEBE & THE CROOKS + THE GOOD HURT (FAREWELL PARTY!) NoRey, Sammy Witness & The Reassignment All Ages

GOOD MEN AND THOROUGH (ALBUM RELEASE) Metameric, Honeybear All Ages

SMITH WESTERNS Wampire The Hoot Hoots All Ages

10:30 pm

THERAPY LOUNGE DUH.:

DJ Omar, guests

TRINITY Space Thursdays:

Rise Over Run, DJ Christyle, Johnny Fever, DJ Nicon, Sean Majors, B Geezy, guests, free FRI

8/2

LIVE AQUA BY EL GAUCHO Ben Fleck, 6 pm

BARBOZA Jack Conte, 7 pm, $10

BLUE MOON TAVERN Psych Country Revue: Guests, 9:30 pm, $6

CAFE RACER Finn Doxie, free CHATEAU STE. MICHELLE

Lyle Lovett & His Large Band, 7 pm, $47.50/$77.50

CHOP SUEY Heiress, Caligula, Argonaut, Eternal Bad, 8 pm, $6/$8

COLUMBIA CITY

THEATER Shenandoah Davis , Julia Massey, Kaylee Cole, Alex Niedzialkowski, guests, 8 pm, $10/$12

COMET Detective, Bad Motivators, Cumstain, Pookie & the Poodlez, $8

CONOR BYRNE Bucharest Drinking Team, guests

DARRELL’S TAVERN The Rat City Brass, $8

a EL CORAZON The Dangerous Summer, Tommy and the High Pilots, guests, 7:30 pm, $12/$14, the Overseer, guests, 8:30 pm,

$8/$10

a GORGE AMPHITHEATRE Watershed Festival: Toby Keith, Brad Paisley, Chase Rice, Drake White, Terri Clark, Blackberry Smoke, Thompson Square, Luke Bryan, Maggie Rose, Shooter Jennings, guests, $149

a HEARTLAND Ivan Arteaga, Chemical Clock, Motian Quartet, 8 pm, free

HIGH DIVE Slow Bunny, Screens, Surrealized, Books on Fate, $8

HIGHLINE Slough Feg, Krystos, Blood of Kings, Curse of the North , $10

HIGHWAY 99 Dudley Taft, 8 pm, $14

JAZZ ALLEY John Pizzarelli Quartet, 9:30 pm, $28.50

KELL’S Oliver Mullholland, free

LITTLE RED HEN Tony Bridges Band, $5

LUCID Trio Subtonic

NECTAR Andy Frasco, Heels to the Hardwood, the Blue Tracks, 7 pm, $5

NEUMOS Foxygen, 8 pm, $13

PARAGON Levi Said, free Q NIGHTCLUB Julio Bashmore, Samo Soundboy

RAVIOLI STATION

TRAINWRECK Dizzy, guests

RENDEZVOUS Tea Cozies , Charms , Gang Cult, $7

a THE ROYAL ROOM Piano Royale, 5:30 pm, Arete Quartet, 8:30 pm

SEAMONSTER Funky 2

Death, 10 pm, free

SHOWARE CENTER Ladies Night 6: Ginuwine, Jon B, Case, Adina Howard, guests, 8 pm, $25-$75

SKYLARK CAFE & CLUB Post Adolescence , Verbal Tip, 8 pm, $7

SLIM’S LAST CHANCE Mach Society, Amadon, Mom’s Rocket

SUNSET TAVERN Dale Watson, 9:30 pm, $15

TRACTOR TAVERN the Felice Brothers, 9:30 pm, $15

TRIPLE DOOR Heart by Heart, 8 pm, $25/$30/$35

TULA’S Jeff Johnson Quartet, 7:30 pm, $15

VITO’S RESTAURANT & LOUNGE Monty Banks, free

THE WHITE RABBIT The Georgetown All-Stars , Radio Raheem , Kissing Potion , $6

DJ

95 SLIDE DJ Fever One

BALLROOM DJ Tamm of KISS fm

BALMAR Body Movin’ Fridays: DJ Ben Meadow, free

BALTIC ROOM Bump Fridays: Guest DJs

BARBOZA Just Got Paid: 100proof, $5 after 11:30 pm

CAPITOL CLUB Blackout!: DJ Potatoes O’Brien, DJ Homonegro, 10 pm, free CONTOUR Afterhours, 2 am

CUFF C&W Dancing: DJ Harmonix, DJ Stacey, 7 pm;

BY DAVE SEGAL

TGIF: Guest DJs, 11 pm, $5

ELECTRIC TEA GARDEN

KRAKT: Miss Vixen, Saigon, Kristina Childs

FUEL DJ Headache, guests

HAVANA Rotating DJs:

DV One, Soul One, Curtis, Nostalgia B, Sean Cee, $5

LAST SUPPER CLUB

Madness: Guests

LAVA LOUNGE DJ David James

NEIGHBOURS

UNDERGROUND Caliente

Celebra: DJ Polo, Efren

OHANA Back to the Day: DJ Estylz

PONY Beefcake: Beefcake:

DJ Jack, Freddy King of Pants: DJ Jack, King of Pants

SCARLET TREE Oh So Fresh Fridays: Deejay Tone, DJ

Buttnaked, guests

SEE SOUND LOUNGE Crush: Guest DJs, free

TRINITY Tyler, DJ Phase, DJ Nug, guests, $10

THE WOODS Deep/Funky/ Disco/House: Guest DJs

SAT

8/3

LIVE

2 BIT SALOON Bigfoot

Accelerator, Toe Tag, New Iron Front , guests

AQUA BY EL GAUCHO Ben Fleck, 6 pm

BARBOZA Sebadoh: Sebadoh, Octa#Grape, 7 pm, $15

FRIDAY 8/2

KRAKT’S COCK BLOCK EDITION: ESTROGENIC TEKNO HEAT

KRAKT, the hell-raising techno night that happens every other first Friday, sidesteps the usual male-dominated lineup for an all-women bill. KRAKT organizer Kristina Childs has been ruling on the decks in a variety of styles for so long, one could be forgiven for taking her for granted. But her way-above-average taste and technical skills command deep respect. Portland’s MissVixen (aka Tracy Why) has been running an all-female-DJ house/ techno night called Cock Block for the last two years while also holding a residency at SubSensory’s Static monthly. Immerse yourself in Vixen’s many hours of mixes on her Soundcloud and you’ll come away impressed by her seamless transitions and keen selections of strange, minimal techno that still drives the dance floor into a lather. With DJ Saigon Electric Tea Garden, 10 pm–4 am, $10, 21+.

JULIO BASHMORE SKEWS UP YE OLDE HOUSE MUSIC

Whoa, this is the best Q booking in a minute. Julio Bashmore (Bristol, England, producer/DJ Mathew Walker) is one of ye olde house music’s most dynamic and interesting producers—and a catalytic figure in UK garage circles, as well. In releases for great labels like Dirtybird,

3024, and Futureboogie, Bashmore puts subtle hitches in his rhythms to keep you literally on your toes and introduces all sorts of skewed textures and odd dynamics into his tracks to inspire you to make your movements as weird as possible. With Samo Sound Boy and Pezzner Q Nightclub, 9 pm–3 am, $15, 21+.

SATURDAY 8/3

BLACK HAT, GOOD WILLSMITH, WHITE BOY SCREAM

Some of the city’s best electronic events happen at the tiny all-ages boutique Cairo Here’s another one. You’ve probably seen me rave about Black Hat (Seattle producer Nelson Bean) in these pages before. If you’re just tuning in, Black Hat finds novel ways to mesh abstract techno industrial music (the really smart kind), and noise into exhilarating compositions that sound like power stations melting down, rhythmically. Chicago trio Good Willsmith erect compelling, staticky atmospheres with guitar, bass, synth, voice, and electronics. It’s seriously cinematic in scope, desolately drifting into the eerie ether White Boy Scream is a memorable name for a solo project (especially one by a woman—Micaela Tobin of Thousand Statues), and this Seattle musician’s cryptic musique concrete–ish pieces, augmented by electronically warped chants, cast an unsettling spell, like a less drama-queeny Diamanda Galás. Cairo, 8 pm, $5, all ages.

WEDNESDAY JULY 31 | 6:30 PM

THE GHOST INSIDE, XIBALABA

$11 ($10 W. CLUB CARD)

TUESDAY AUGUST 13 | 7:30 PM

SENOR FIN, LADY THE BEARD $8

SATURDAY AUGUST 17 | 7:30 PM

ERIK BLOOD, WESTERN HAUNTS (ALBUM RELEASE PARTY)

$11 ($10 W. CLUB CARD)

TUESDAY AUGUST 20 | 7:30 PM

AT WASHINGTON HALL

NO AGE,DEVIN GARY & ROSS

SUN FOOT, NAOMI PUNK

$10 ADV.

FRIDAY AUGUST 23 | 8:00 PM

LITTLE COMETS, PLUS GUESTS

$11 ($10 W. CLUB CARD) ADV.

SATURDAY AUGUST 24 | 7:30 PM

WAXWING REUNION SHOW

$13 ($12 W. CLUB CARD) ADV.

SUNDAY AUGUST 25 | 7:30 PM

PLOW UNITED, SMOKEJUMPER

$11 ($10 W. CLUB CARD)

MONDAY AUGUST 26 | 7:30 PM

WHIRR, NOTHING

$8 ADVANCE $10 DOORS

Good Willsmith

BLUE MOON TAVERN Year of the Serpent , Steelscape, Petrified Forest, 9:30 pm, $6

CAFE RACER The Mondegreens, Song Sparrow Research , free

a CAIRO Black Hat, Good Willsmith, White Boy Scream

COLUMBIA CITY

THEATER Hobosexual , Black Pussy, Hounds of the Wild Hunt, 8 pm, $7/$8

COMET Heavy Glow, the Heyfields, Aether Kid 4 pm, $5; Jazz Night: D’Vonne Lewis and Limited Edition, Gravity, Over-dos, 8 pm, $5

CONOR BYRNE Jeff Fielder, Michael Stegner, Keith Lowe

DARRELL’S TAVERN The Dirty Stayouts, Gallows Swing, the Snap, $7

a FUSION CAFE Darto, Mary Christ , Porcelain God, Gentle Pioneer, 8 pm, $5

a GORGE AMPHITHEATRE

Watershed Festival: Toby Keith, Brad Paisley, Chase Rice, Drake White, Terri Clark, Blackberry Smoke, Thompson Square, Luke Bryan, Maggie Rose, Shooter Jennings, guests, $149

HARD ROCK CAFE

Terranova, guests, $10/$13

HIGH DIVE Good For You, $8

HIGHLINE Opposition

Rising, Dreadful Children, Absinthe Rose, Vile Display Of Humanity , $7

HIGHWAY 99 Mark Dufresne Band, 8 pm, $13

JAZZ ALLEY John Pizzarelli Quartet, 9:30 pm, $28.50

KELL’S Oliver Mullholland, free THE KRAKEN BAR & LOUNGE Odyssey, LB.!, Czar, $5

LITTLE RED HEN Tony Bridges Band, $5

NECTAR

THEESatisfaction, Yo Majesty, Gift Uh Gab, guests, 8 pm, $12

PARAGON Solbird, free QUEEN CITY GRILL Faith Beattie, Bayly, Totusek,

Guity, free

a THE ROYAL ROOM Piano Royale, 6 pm; New West

Guitar Ensemble, Elliott Bay Music Group, 8 pm, $12/$15

SEAMONSTER Role One, 10 pm, free

SHOWBOX AT THE MARKET Mickey Hart Band, Tea Leaf Trio, 8:30 pm, $29.50/$35

SKYLARK CAFE & CLUB

Lark vs. Owl , My Machete, Mean Recess , 8 pm, $7

SLIM’S LAST CHANCE The Gumm, the Life, the Fuzz, the Guardians a STUDIO SEVEN London, Spiderface, White City Graves , Green River Thrillers, Suction, 8 pm, $8

SUNSET TAVERN Pocket Panda, No Rey, Ghosts I’ve Met 10 pm, $8

TRACTOR TAVERN John Brown’s Body, 9:30 pm, $15/$17

TULA’S Greta Matassa Quartet, 7:30 pm, $15

VITO’S RESTAURANT & LOUNGE Ruby Bishop, 6 pm DJ

BALLROOM DJ Warren

BALTIC ROOM Good Saturdays: Guest DJs

BARBOZA Inferno: Guests, 10:30 pm, free before 11:30 pm/$5 after CAPITOL CLUB Get Physical: DJ Edis, DJ Paycheck, 10 pm, free

CONTOUR Europa Night:

Misha Grin, Gil

CUFF Bear Heat: DJ Mattstands

HAVANA Rotating DJs: DV One, Soul One, Curtis, Nostalgia B, Sean Cee, $5

LAST SUPPER CLUB

MVMNT: Guests, free

LAVA LOUNGE DJ Matt

NEIGHBOURS Powermix: DJ Randy Schlager

NEIGHBOURS UNDERGROUND Club

Vogue: DJ Chance, DJ Eternal

Darkness

OHANA Funk House: DJ

SUNDAY 8/4

Bean One RE-BAR Cock & Bull: DJ Freddy King of Pants, $5 SEE SOUND LOUNGE Guest DJs

TRINITY ((SUB)): Guy, VSOP, Jason Lemaitre, guests, $15/free before 10 pm THE WOODS Hiphop/R&B/ Funk/Soul/Disco: Guest DJs

SUN 8/4

LIVE 2 BIT SALOON Thou Shall Kill, Chemical Castration, Barefoot Barnacle, guests, $8

AQUA BY EL GAUCHO Ben Fleck, 6 pm

BARBOZA The Gary Minkler Compilation, guests, 8 pm, $12

BLUE MOON TAVERN Daddy Treetops, Patrick Weathers, 8 pm, free CAFE RACER The Racer

Sessions

CHOP SUEY Elbow

Coulee , Moose Portrait, Werebearcat!, Wes SP8, 8 pm, $6/$8

COMET West Coast Improvement Company, News of the Fire, Dead End Friend, 4 pm, $5; Automotive Steamhorse, MC Type, Kathleen Jenkins, Friendly Gomez, 8 pm, $6

CONOR BYRNE Open Mic: Guests, 8 pm a CROCODILE Odd Owl , Susy Sun, 7 pm, $5

EL CORAZON MC Chris, guests, 8 pm, $13/$15 a GORGE AMPHITHEATRE

Watershed Festival: Toby Keith, Brad Paisley, Chase Rice, Drake White, Terri Clark, Blackberry Smoke, Thompson Square, Luke Bryan, Maggie Rose, Shooter Jennings, guests, $149

HIGH DIVE Black Irish Texas, Frog Flag, the Rainiers, 8 pm, $6

BY JACKSON HATHORN

ODD OWL, THE GLORIA DARLINGS, SUSY SUN

On a recent Kickstarter video for her group Odd Owl, Carmen Caruso remarked that through music she feels like she can truly connect to people. It’s not a startling admission for a musician to make, but on Odd Owl’s handful of EPs, you can literally hear Caruso’s best attempts at communicating with an inhibited outside world. The San Francisco group makes cozy and sage dancepop music, sounding like Aimee Mann if she cut a record inside a miniature pinball machine, while Caruso’s vocals effortlessly bounce around tales of relationship paralysis. My favorite songs of theirs include ones about comforting a brokenhearted psychic (“you should have seen this one coming”) and telling someone off with a brisk “I need more than I’m proud of, and I want more than you can give.” Even the dead aren’t spared her anomie radar in a song called “Standards in Heaven.” Local bluegrass duo the Gloria Darlings and elegant pianopop songwriter Susy Sun round out tonight’s bill. Crocodile, 7 pm, $7.

TUESDAY 8/6

KURT VILE & THE VIOLATORS

After playing a 21-and-up show in early May, Kurt Vile is back in Seattle with an all-ages date. Wakin on a Pretty Daze, Vile’s newest record, is a kingly and selfassured collection of songs that spreads easy like peanut butter, showcasing the Philly musician at the top of his leisurely psych-rock game. This album is

HIGHLINE California

Dreamin’, Audacity, Summer Twins, guests, 7 pm, $10

JAI THAI BROADWAY Rock

Bottom Soundsystem, free

JAZZ ALLEY John Pizzarelli

Quartet, 7:30 pm, $28.50

KELL’S Liam Gallagher

LITTLE RED HEN Open Mic

Acoustic Jam with Bodacious

Billy, 4 pm; Davanos, 8 pm, $3

a MARYMOOR PARK Pink Martini, 6 pm, $45-$75

NEUMOS White Fence,

Jessica Pratt, MUZZ, 8 pm, $10

PIES & PINTS Sunday Night

Folk Review: Guests, free

THE ROYAL ROOM

Zimbabwean Music Night: Ruzivo, guests, 7:30 pm

SEAMONSTER Pocket Time

Slice, 10 pm, free

a SKYLARK CAFE & CLUB

Los Gentlemen, No Not Really, 4 pm, $5

a STUDIO SEVEN Requiem for a Whiplash, Enemy Combatants, guests, 7 pm, $8/$10

TULA’S Jim Cutler Jazz Orchestra, 8 pm, $8

VITO’S RESTAURANT & LOUNGE Ruby Bishop, 6 pm; the Ron Weinstein Trio, 9:30 pm

DJ

BALTIC ROOM Mass: Guest DJs

CAPITOL CLUB Island Style: DJ Bookem, DJ Fentar

CONTOUR Broken Grooves:

DJ Venus, Rob Cravens, guests, free

THE EAGLE T-Bar/T-Dance: Up Above, Fistfight, free a FULL TILT ICE CREAM

Vinyl Appreciation Night: Guest DJs, 7 pm

LAVA LOUNGE No Come Down: Jimi Crash

MOE BAR Chocolate Sundays: Sosa, MarsONE, Phosho, free

a MYRTLE EDWARDS PARK

Chillography: Phidelity, Coral, Subaqueous, guests, Sun,

ideal for melted afternoons when the sun never seems to set, and the Violators are masters at translating Vile’s studio wizardry to a live setting. Showbox at the Market, 8 pm, $21.50

THE LONE BELLOW

On the website for this year’s Bumbershoot, the Lone Bellow are tagged as “Americana,” “Family-friendly,” “Monday,” and “Music,” which is a great inadvertent description of this shaggy Brooklyn band. Lone Bellow’s rootsy and harmonious stompers might recall Mumford & Sons or Local Natives on the spectrum of polished acoustic rock, but their music also shows an equal indebtedness to crankier acts like Old Crow Medicine Show. Before their upcoming performance at Seattle’s premier Labor Day weekend music festival, catch them tonight during a free in-store at Sonic Boom Records. Sonic Boom, 7 pm, free.

BRANDON VESTAL

Brandon Vestal was the winner of the Hollywood Comedy Festival, crowned “Best of the West” at the Detroit Comedy Festival, a finalist at the World Series of Comedy in Las Vegas, and featured at the Asheville Comedy Festival two years running. He has appeared on NBC’s Last Comic Standing, Man Up Stand Up, and Comedy Time TV. And soon to come is his new CD on the prestigious Uproar Entertainment label to be recorded at Seattle Comedy Underground in August 2013.

The Gloria Darlings

MOSHE KASHER

WWW.FACEBOOK.COM/TAKEWARNINGPRESENTS

TWITTER @TAKEWARNINGSEA

FRIDAY AUGUST 9TH @ THE MIX *LATE SHOW*

(MEMBERS OF SLEEPYTIME GORILLA MUSEUM) FAUN FABLES 21+ ONLY - 10:30 PM TICKETS @ WWW.TICKETFLY.COM

FRIDAY AUGUST 16TH @ THE SUNSET PETER BRADLEY ADAMS (OF EASTMOUNTAINSOUTH) KATE LYNNE LOGAN 21+ ONLY - 9:00 PM TICKETS @ STRANGERTICKETS.COM

FRI AUG 16TH @ SHOWBOX MARKET MONETA (NEW SINGLE / MUSIC VIDEO RELEASE)

VAN EPS, ORISON, SKY PILOT, ALABASTER ALL AGES (BAR W/ ID) - 7:00 PM TICKETS @ WWW.SHOWBOXONLINE.COM *JUST ANNOUNCED!* SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 21ST @ EL CORAZON HUNTER VALENTINE, GIRL IN A COMA

KRISSY KRISSY ALL AGES (BAR W/ ID) - 8:00 PM

8/26 WHIRR (MEMBERS OF DEAFHEAVEN) @ VERA PROJECT, 8/26 RIVERBOAT GAMBLERS @ EL CORAZON, 9/7 CRUSHED OUT @ THE SUNSET, 9/14 PARACHUTE @ VERA PROJECT, 9/26 TEENAGE BOTTLEROCKET / THE QUEERS @ EL CORAZON, 9/29 CANCER BATS @ EL CORAZON

GLOW THE HEYFIELDS, AETHER KID $5 JAZZ NIGHT!

D’VONNE LEWIS & LIMITED EDITION

GRAVITY, OVER-DOS $5 9PM

MATINEE: WEST COAST IMPROVEMENT COMPANY, NEWS OF THE FIRE, AND DEAD END FRIEND $5

AUTOMOTIVE STEAMHORSE

MC TYPE, KATHLEEN JENKINS, FRIENDLY GOMEZ $6 THE MILFORD HIGGINS

FEARLESS LEADER, DEAR MISTER MANAGER, MINOR PLAINS $6 MYSTERY SHIP WILD HONEY, ENTMOOT EAGLES AND ALIENS BUTLER, HIGHLIGHT BOMB, AND SWINGSET SHOWDOWN $6 SNOWDRIFT GOLDEN GARDENS, JUPE JUPE, BLUE LIGHT CURTAIN, $7

Aug 4, noon, free NEIGHBOURS Noche Latina: Guest DJs

PONY TeaDance: DJ El Toro, Freddy King of Pants, 4 pm

Q NIGHTCLUB Revival:

Riz Rollins, Chris Tower, 3 pm, free

RE-BAR Flammable: DJ Wesley Holmes, 9 pm SEE SOUND LOUNGE Salsa: DJ Nick

THE STEPPING STONE PUB

Vinyl Night: You bring your records, they play them

MON 8/5

LIVE

AQUA BY EL GAUCHO Jerry Frank

BLUE MOON TAVERN Andy Coe Band, free COASTAL KITCHEN Pork Chop Trio, 9:30 pm, free COMET The Milford Higgins, Fearless Leader, Dear Mister Manager, Minor Plains, $6

a CROCODILE Keyboard Kid, BLKHRTS, 8 pm, $5

a EASY STREET

RECORDS (WEST SEATTLE)

Walking Papers, 7 pm, free a EL CORAZON Rat Path, Fuckedfrombirth, guests, 8:30 pm, $6/$8

KELL’S Liam Gallagher

MAC’S TRIANGLE PUB Jazz and Blues Night: Guests, free MOLLY MAGUIRES Open Mic: Hosted by Tom Rooney, free NEUMOS Rhye, 8 pm, $20

NEW ORLEANS The New Orleans Quintet, 6:30 pm

SEAMONSTER Monday Night Open Mic: 10 pm

a STUDIO SEVEN Misery

Signals, the Color Morale, guests, 6 pm, $13/$15

SUNSET TAVERN You May Die in the Desert, Commissure, Au Revoir, X Suns, 8 pm, $6

TRIPLE DOOR

Musicquarium: Free Funk Union, free TULA’S Jazz Underground, 7:30 pm, $8

THE WHITE RABBIT

Michael Shrieve’s Spellbinder, $6

DJ

BALTIC ROOM Jam Jam: Zion’s Gate Sound, $5 BARBOZA Minted: Icon Mondays: Sean Majors,

guests, free, DJ Swervewon, 100proof, Sean Cee, Blueyedsoul, free

CAPITOL CLUB The Jet Set: DJ Swervewon, 100 Proof

COMPANY BAR Rock and Roll Chess Night: DJ

Plantkiller, 8 pm, free

CONOR BYRNE Get the Spins: Guest DJs, free HAVANA Manic Mondays: DJ Jay Battle, free

THE HIDEOUT Introcut, guests, free

LAVA LOUNGE Psych/Blues: Bobby Malvestuto LO-FI Jam Jam: Zion’s Gate, Sound Selecta, Element, Mista Chatman , $5 THE MIX Bring Your Own Vinyl Night: Guests, 6 pm MOE BAR Minted Mondays: DJ Swervewon, 100proof, Sean Cee, Blueyedsoul, free NEIGHBOURS

UNDERGROUND SIN: DJ Keanu, 18+, free OHANA DJ Hideki PONY Dirty Deeds: Guest DJs Q NIGHTCLUB Reflect, 8 pm, free

TUES 8/6

LIVE AQUA BY EL GAUCHO Ben Fleck, 6 pm

CHOP SUEY Chris Brokaw, S, the Bore Tide , Andy Fitts , 8 pm, $6/$8 COMET Mystery Ship, Wild Honey, Entmoot, $6

CONOR BYRNE Ol’ Time

Social: the Tallboys , 9 pm a EL CORAZON Purple, guests, 8 pm, $8/$10

ELECTRIC TEA GARDEN

Monktail Creative Music Concern, DJ Shonuph, free a HEARTLAND Dragons, Dude York, So Pitted, Medium Soda, 8 pm

HIGH DIVE Pal Philips, Vandella, Yo Jimbo, 8 pm, $6 JAZZ ALLEY Nicholas Payton, $24.50

KELL’S Liam Gallagher LITTLE RED HEN Jerkels

MAC’S TRIANGLE PUB Open Mic: free a MARYMOOR PARK Sublime with Rome, Iration, 5:30 pm, $39.50

THE MIX Jazz Night: Don Mock, Steve Kim, Jacques Willis, 8 pm NECTAR Mathgames, Rippin Chicken, 7 pm, $5

At

first glance, this poster by Matthew Couto seems like your average stoner land/mindscape. Upon closer inspection, it strangely reminds me of Beavis and Butt-head. I hope this was unintentional. AARON HUFFMAN

Mystery Ship w/Wild Honey, Entmoot Tues Aug 6, Comet

THE OULD TRIANGLE

Open Mic: Guests, 8 pm, free

OUTWEST Wine and Jazz Night: Tutu Jazz Quartet, free OWL N’ THISTLE Jazz Improv Night: Guests

THE ROYAL ROOM XL5

SEAMONSTER McTuff Trio, 10 pm, free a SHOWBOX AT THE MARKET Kurt Vile & the Violators, 8 pm, $21.50 a SONIC BOOM RECORDS (BALLARD) Lone Bellow, 7 pm, free SUNSET TAVERN Hotel Vignette, Mr. Elevator, the Brain Hotel, 8 pm, $6 TIM’S TAVERN Open Mic: Linda Lee, 8 pm TULA’S Jay Thomas Big Band, 7:30 pm, $5

THE WHITE RABBIT Trinidad Trading Post, the Manx, Brenda Xu, $5

BY ADRIAN RYAN

FRIDAY 8/2

COLLIDE-O-SCOPE: OUTSIDE AND WET Is it science? Or dark, soul-sucking witchcraft? Who gives a shit! Somehow, brilliant light/water engineers and/or evil sorcerers have busted out their wickedest tricks to do the impossible—to bring you an evening of Collide-O-Scope in the great outdoors, with the films MAGICALLY PROJECTED ONTO A FUCKING WATERFALL. It happens at the International Fountain or whatever at Seattle Center—you know, where the boys dance naked and expose their tender parts to harmful UV rays after the Pride parade. (I’m fairly sure the Bible takes a pretty dim view of all the above shenanigans. Fuck the Bible. Really. But practice safe sun, gurrlz—it’s important!) The Collide-O-Scope boys did this exact same thing last year to tremendous effect, busting out their most colorful, frenetic, and dazzling film clips and shorts to make the most of

DJ

95 SLIDE Chicken & Waffles: Supreme La Rock, DJ Rev, free BLUE MOON TAVERN Blue Moon Vinyl Revival Tuesdays: DJ Country Mike, A.D.M., guests, 8 pm, free

THE EAGLE Pitstop: DJ Nark HAVANA Word Is Bond: Hoot and Howl, $3 after 11 pm LAVA LOUNGE Metal: Doctor Jonze MERCURY Die: Black Maru, Major Tom, $5 MOE BAR Cool.: DJ Cory Alfano, DJ Cody Votolato, free NECTAR Top Rankin’ Reggae: DJ Element, Chukki, free NEIGHBOURS UNDERGROUND Vicious Dolls: DJ Rachael, 9 pm, $5 OHANA DJ Marc Sense WILDROSE Taco Tuesday: Guest DJs

the unusual, watery venue. The show starts after 9 p.m., as soon as the sun goes down, and I can’t promise that there will be free Red Vines and popcorn this time, as there usually are (experts were simply unable to confirm or deny), but you can bring a nice picnic basket stuffed full of your own Red Vines and popcorn, or whatever the hell else you want, because: AMERICA. Bring a blanket. Come early. Seattle Center International Fountain, 9 pm, free, all ages.

SATURDAY 8/3

COCK & BULL: INSIDE AND HORNY Jeezus Louisezus. We haven’t been to Re-bar in a year of Sundays! Doesn’t it just seem like? We used to go every other damn weekend almost, but gosh, I haven’t had a compelling reason to amble on down in at least two months, I reckon. Tragedy! Well, here’s a nice reprieve: this month’s Cock & Bull. Should you sadly linger in ignorance: Cock & Bull is a sexy, hot’n’-grinding new dance night brought to you by those Collide-O-Scope boys mentioned above. It’s finally gotten its sea legs and is bringing in a crowd of sexy sexersons and notable gay characters. Ade will be in residence, with James and Kerry Darling working the go-go post. Grrrrr. Woof. Wooof Re-bar, 10 pm, $5, 21+.

FILM

The New and Sad Soul of Georgia

Tinatin Gurchiani Interviews Young People for a Movie About Interviewing Young People for a Movie About Interviewing…

BY CHARLES MUDEDE

One of the pleasures of this documentary, which is set in the republic of Georgia and mostly involves interviews with young people (between 15 and 25), is, admittedly, touristic. But this is

good tourism: a tourism with no spectacles, no attractions, no monuments, no starchitecture, no stunning landscapes or magical cityscapes. This is tourism of a country’s soul. And this soul, the Georgian soul of our times, has a specific tone, color, and structure of feeling that’s been shaped and reshaped by historical developments (the collapse of the Soviet Union, a recent war) and economic conditions (the emergence of Georgian capitalism, the crash of 2008).

The Machine Which Makes Everything Disappear dir. Tinatin Gurchiani Northwest Film Forum

The context for the interviews, which number 13 and usually happen in the kind of rooms

you’d expect to find in an abandoned building, is a casting call for a movie about the young people of Georgia. Of course, the casting process turns out to be the movie itself. And what a strange movie it is. After watching the first 10 or so minutes, you begin to feel that the director, Tinatin Gurchiani, has no goal, no program, no agenda, no beginning, no end for the stories that are told by these young people. (Breaking the youthful hegemony is one old man, who knew that the producers were looking for young people but decided to answer the casting call anyway—and it worked! He is in

Execution Is Everything A New Documentary

About Killing, Starring Killers

BY DAVID SCHMADER

Recipient of rapturous early support from godhead documentarians Errol Morris and Werner Herzog (who both signed on as executive producers), Joshua Oppenheimer’s The Act of Killing is a shapeshifting documentary exploring the horrifying history of Indonesia, where government-approved paramilitary organizations exterminated between 500,000 and a million “Communist dissidents” over a single year. The year was 1965, which means when Joshua Oppenheimer took his camera to Indonesia in the early oughts, he found a

the film for a good four minutes.)

The movie seems to throw all its components up in the air—the interviews in the shabby rooms, the heartbreaking conversations at home, the moments on a busy city street, the heavy prayers in a church, the intimate exchanges in dark Soviet-era apartments, the humans mingling with cattle in a busy market, the impenetrable walls of a prison in the middle of a town, the awkward meeting in a rural hall, the dancing and loud techno in a packed nightclub. We watch all of these scenes drift across the screen in much the same way you watch autumn leaves that have been whipped up into the air by a sudden gust of wind.

But by the third part of this film, you begin to feel the strong pull of a unifying meaning. Something is there, but we can’t tell what it is. The young woman who had a baby so that she could become a more responsible and productive person? The boy who admits that he is

These seemingly random stories, confessions, and conversations flow toward a single conclusion.

too sensitive about the lives of animals to be a real farmer? The young man who is willing to fight for his country? The woman who is preparing to confront the mother who abandoned her as a baby? Or is it that old man who never says a word as he lovingly strokes the big head of a cow?

Only in the film’s last five minutes do we finally see the source of this narrative pull and the force that unifies the whole picture. We see that all of these seemingly random stories, confessions, conversations were in fact flowing in one direction toward a single conclusion. And that single point, which is not happy but pragmatically somber, is the philosophy of the new Georgian soul, which finds itself somewhere between the old world of farm animals and grannies who do not understand why the youth like to wear torn jeans, and the globalized world of internet gambling, text messages, and hiphop. Indeed, in one scene we watch a young man drive down a steep rural road while listening to the boom-bap of Georgian hiphop. This is where they are now.

street. The government that supported these killings remains in power, and members of the 1965 execution squads are cultural heroes to this day. Any and all remorse the killers will ever feel will come from their own consciences; yet, with the full support of their nation, it seems unlikely that these men will ever experience a proper dark night of the soul.

good number of former executioners alive and well and happy to talk about their role in “the crushing of the Communists.”

How you feel about watching unrepentant killers boast about their bloodletting will determine how you feel about the first 90 minutes of this film. Seeing an affable grandfather demonstrate the blood-splatter-reducing method of garroting he used to kill hundreds of men, then break into a soft-shoe cha-cha, made me want to vomit. So did another killer’s placid recollection of a day spent fatally stabbing every Chinese person he saw on the

Which brings us to The Act of Killing’s most audacious component. Not content to have killers describe their killings, Oppenheimer invites his subjects to reenact their “greatest hits,” complete with supplementary actors, respectable production values, and bloody special effects. Each of these scenes is deeply upsetting and would be unforgivable if it weren’t for the supplementary fallout. After reenacting the role of one of his victims, our killer grandfather is left visibly, pathetically shaken. In the end, while revisiting the site of his major killings, he’s literally left gagging, unable to stomach what he allowed himself to become. It’s a tiny moment of justice. Then he goes home to his loving family.

THE MACHINE WHICH MAKES EVERYTHING DISAPPEAR Including captions.

The Act of Killing dir. Joshua Oppenheimer Varsity

FILM SHORTS

More reviews and movie times: thestranger.com/film

LIMITED RUN

THE ACT OF KILLING

See review, page 51. Varsity, Fri-Sun 1:30, 4:15, 7:05, 9:35 pm, Mon-Tues 4:15, 7:05, 9:35 pm.

THE AWFUL TRUTH

One of the earliest examples of the screwball comedy, Leo McCarey’s occasionally pokey contraption doesn’t match the rat-a-tat-tat verbal pacing of, say, Howard Hawks’s His Girl Friday, or the romantic delirium verging on outright lunacy of the genre’s towering fountainhead Bringing Up Baby. All it has is wit, charm, and timing that would shame an atomic clock. Oh, and Cary Grant. (ANDREW WRIGHT) Seattle Art Museum, Thurs Aug 1 at 7:30 pm.

BORN TO ROYALTY

Much like the royal baby du jour, all members of the British royal family were once born. This documentary showcases the history of all that hullabaloo and looks at what’s in store for the latest little cherub. Northwest Film Forum, Sun Aug 4 at 5 pm.

THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI

Two towering personalities—a Japanese colonel and his British prisoner—clash when the colonel tries to build a railway bridge (over THE RIVER KWAI) and everyone goes crazy. SIFF Cinema Uptown, Sat-Sun 3:30 pm, Mon 7 pm.

CENTRAL DISTRICT BOXING REVIVAL MOVIE

MATINEE

A screening of the jazzy boxing movie Broken Noses as part of a fundraiser for Cappy’s Boxing Gym in the CD. Central Cinema, Sat Aug 3 at 2:30 pm.

CLUE

This 1985 film, based on the board game and not vice versa, was originally distributed with three different endings. Which one will be shown here? No idea. Harvard Exit, Sat Aug 3 at midnight.

FOOTLOOSE

“Did you ever get busted for boppin’?” Central Cinema, Fri-Sat, Mon 7 pm.

GALAXY QUEST

The goofy Star Trek spoof hits the big inflatable screen at Three Dollar Bill Cinema’s outdoor movie series. Cal Anderson Park, Fri Aug 2 at dusk.

GRABBERS

Monsters that kill and eat anyone who’s not drunk send an Irish village to the pub for the sake of self-preservation in this horror comedy. Grand Illusion, Fri-Sat 9, 11 pm, Sun-Tues 7, 9 pm.

THE GREAT ESCAPE

Fug-sexy icon Steve McQueen motorcycles through this WWII classic about allied POWs who stage a breakout. SIFF Cinema Uptown, Fri-Sun, Tues 7 pm.

HUGO

Martin Scorsese is determined to drop your jaw here—this could be the most beautiful 3-D movie ever, with a gorgeous depth of field. And though Hugo is too long for a kids’ movie (and still several plot threads feel strangely incomplete), this high level of cinematic craftsmanship is always an unmitigated joy to witness. (PAUL CONSTANT) Mural Amphitheater, Sat Aug 3 at dusk.

THE MACHINE WHICH MAKES EVERYTHING DISAPPEAR

See review, page 51. Northwest Film Forum, Fri-Tues 7, 9 pm.

R. KELLY’S TRAPPED IN THE CLOSET SINGALONG

Finally, an R&B opera with something for everyone. A 21+ event. Fremont Outdoor Cinema, Sat Aug 3 at dusk.

THE SEATTLE EROTIC ART FESTIVAL FILM SHOWCASE

See Festive, this page. Grand Illusion, Fri-Sun. For complete schedule and showtimes, see grandillusioncinema.org.

SHINTOHO SCHLOCK: GIRLS, GUNS & GHOSTS

See Festive, this page. Northwest Film Forum, Aug 2-9. For complete schedule and showtimes, see nwfilmforum.org.

SKYFALL

Daniel Craig innately understands that James Bond is a caveman with a fancy gun, martial arts training, and a brilliant tailor, and Skyfall makes a strong case for itself as possibly the best Bond movie ever. (PAUL CONSTANT) Magnuson Park, Thurs Aug 1 at dusk.

SNAKES ON A PLANE

Samuel L. Jackson is in the FBI. He wants a dude to testify against a hot Asian mobster named Eddie Kim. They have to fly to LA for the trial. On a plane. With snaaaaaakes!!! Eddie Kim wants to make sure those snakes fuck shit up on that plane (it’s the only way), so after he’s done practicing martial arts, he pumps the plane full of stinky snake pheromones, and the snakes go totally bonkers. Bonkers for genitals! Snakes on a Plane is not good. (LINDY WEST) Central Cinema, Fri-Mon 9:30 pm.

SPORTS, LEISURE, AND VIDEOTAPE

This 80-minute program, composed of peculiarities and rarities gleaned from the extensive VHS catalogue of Scarecrow Video, focuses on sports, athletics, and, presumably, a variety of different competitions—in all likelihood, a lighthearted, summery spread of frivolity. Scarecrow Video, Sat Aug 3 at 8 pm.

STRANGER CREATURES

A program of fanciful animated shorts about whales, owls, bumblebees, frogs, cats, dogs, et al. Northwest Film Forum, Sat Aug 3 at 4 pm.

A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE

Tennessee Williams’s play about sweaty, irritable, lustful people, brought to life by Marlon Brando and Vivian Leigh, under the direction of Elia Kazan. (Catch it before you see Woody Allen’s Streetcar-inspired Blue Jasmine!) Central Cinema, Thurs Aug 1 at 8 pm.

VIDEO VENGEANCE

All the best actiony sequences from all the weirdest VHS tapes at Scarecrow Video. A 21+ event, on account of the beer being sold. Grand Illusion, Thurs Aug 1 at 8 pm.

NOW PLAYING

BLACKFISH

Orca-lovers beware: This ain’t Free Willy . Gabriela Cowperthwaite’s searing indictment of Sea World’s cruel exploitation of “killer whales” and the inhumane practice of confining these magnificent creatures is heartbreaking and enraging. From Puget Sound’s barbaric history of capturing calves in the 1970s to the abuses that most likely drove bull orca Tilikum to kill two different trainers, this gripping documentary stirs up many of the same emotions the Oscar-winning The Cove did in 2009. While theme-park corporate flunkies blame accidents and deaths on “trainer error,” Cowperthwaite’s doc asks: Just how much suffering is our need for entertainment worth? (JEFF MEYERS)

COCKNEYS VS. ZOMBIES

Just when you think the zombie movie is finally spent as a genre, along comes a shiny little low-budget comedy like Cockneys vs. Zombies to prove you wrong. A pair of East London kids rob a bank to help save their beloved grandpa’s nursing home from evil gentrifying real estate developers, but then the zombie apocalypse gets in the way. Cockneys isn’t as funny as Shaun of the Dead or as awesome as Attack the Block, but it’s got more than enough gory shocks and funny twists on zombie tropes to make for a primo midnight movie experience. (PAUL CONSTANT)

THE CONJURING

The story is based on an experience by real-life 1970s ghost-hunting power couple Ed and Lorraine Warren (exorcists and original investigators of the Amityville house). The film maintains a perfect balance of charmingly retro Satan-hysteria (demonic possession! Witches! Priests! Holy water!) and classic haunted-house trickery (doors

SHINTOHO SCHLOCK AND EROTIC ART

Founded in 1947, Japan’s Shintoho studio made its name as the home of the internationally revered auteurs Akira Kurosawa and YasujirOzu. But in 1955, the studio changed hands and switched its focus from cinematic art to trashy genre pictures, and this week, Northwest Film Forum pays tribute to Shintoho’s highly influential B-grade product with the series Shintoho Schlock: Girls, Guns & Ghosts. On the roster are three double features linked by common themes, including “Sold Into Prostitution,” “Busting Out of Bars,” and “Tainted Love Rises from the Dead.” For full info, see nwfilmforum.org. Meanwhile, over at the Grand Illusion, the Seattle Erotic Art Festival presents its first-ever film showcases. Among the four programs in three days are Cheyenne Picardo’s feature film Remedy; an international short-film showcase (featuring everything from a silent Spanish film to a 2012 Hump! award winner to a documentary about a German dominatrix); and not one but two programs from noted PDX cineast Dennis Nyback: Stag Party Special (compiling five classic stag films from 1910 to 1950) and Ooh La La! A History of Lingerie!, a collection of short films from the early days of cinema involving ladies undressing. For full info, see seattleerotic.org/film. Shintoho Schlock: Girls, Guns & Ghosts runs Aug 2–9 at Northwest Film Forum; for full info see nwfilmforum.org. The Seattle Erotic Art Festival’s Erotic Film Showcases run Aug 2–4 at Grand Illusion; for

slamming! Doors opening themselves! Rocking chairs rocking with no one sitting in them!). This balance, combined with spot-on acting by Vera Farmiga as Lorraine and Lili Taylor as the mother trying to save her family from certain demonic doom, is perfectly reminiscent of greats like Poltergeist, The Omen, and The Exorcist. (KELLY O)

CRYSTAL FAIRY

Seems like it’s been years— Superbad , maybe?—since we’ve seen Michael Cera in a movie with a truly dirty sense of humor. And we’ve never seen the Cera we meet in Crystal Fairy: In this Chilean comedy, Cera plays an asshole American tourist who’s in it for the South American drugs and not much else (he can’t even be bothered to learn Spanish). He picks up a dirty hippie American who calls herself Crystal Fairy (Gaby Hoffman, brilliantly putting the manic pixie dream girl trope under harsh lights and letting the imperfections hang out), and the two head out on a quest to try some hallucinogenic cactus. This is uncomfortable Ugly American comedy at its sharpest. (PAUL CONSTANT)

FRUITVALE STATION

Oscar Grant was the unarmed 22-year-old black man who was shot to death by a transit cop in an Oakland train station—Fruitvale Station—on January 1, 2009. At trial, the officer convinced the jury that he mistook his gun for a Taser. Convicted of involuntary manslaughter, he served 11 months and was home before the year was out. In a way, Grant himself is on trial in Fruitvale Station, humanized compassionately yet unflinchingly on the big screen. But ultimately, you need only ask yourself: Why does this man have to prove he doesn’t deserve to be killed? In our culture, who has to prove themselves and who doesn’t? (JEN GRAVES)

THE TO DO LIST

The year is 1993, and the place is Boise, Idaho, where

uptight valedictorian Brandy Klark (Aubrey Plaza, from Parks and Recreation) is determined to fulfill a sexual checklist before summer ends and her life as an undergrad at Georgetown University begins. The checklist culminates in her ultimate sex goal: boning Rusty, a fellow lifeguard and glorified soul patch with abs. The film’s opening is a little rough. Plaza isn’t quite believable as the Type-A nerd. Writer/ director Maggie Carey uses nostalgia (Trapper Keepers! Scrunchies! Pearl Jam!) as a crutch to draw her audience in and make up for the fact that she steamrolls over plot and character setup. The transitions are abrupt and clunky. Some jokes, like wishing people dead of AIDS in the early ‘90s, fall painfully flat. But those flaws can be forgiven, as Plaza and an amazing supporting cast—including Donald Glover as a student of cunnilingus, Bill Hader as a homeless pool manager, and Rachel Bilson as Brandy’s delightfully cunty older sister—hit their stride with great comedic timing. Soon enough, you don’t care about the limp summer rivalry with another pool, or whether Brady will lose her virginity to Rusty or her sensitive study buddy with the ‘90s bowl cut. It’s enough to sit back, relax into wave after wave of Hillary Clinton and Gloria Steinem jokes, and take pleasure in the fact that for once, you’re not watching a film about another nerdy girl’s quest for true love. Refreshingly, this is just one girl’s quest to fuck and get fucked. (CIENNA MADRID)

THE WOLVERINE

I’m happy to report that The Wolverine is far better than Origins. It’s better than The Last Stand, too. (Weirdly, it’s more of a sequel to The Last Stand than to Origins; if you don’t know going in that Wolverine was forced to kill his beloved Jean Grey in order to save the universe at the end of The Last Stand, you’ll likely be confused by the beginning of the new film.) It’s still not the truly great, gritty Wolverine movie that Jackman’s breakout scenes of savagery in X2 promised a decade ago, but it’s at least a step up from dreck. (PAUL CONSTANT)

IT’S NO

SHARKNADO!

Look. Somebody needs to tell the Discovery Channel’s “Shark Week” (returning this Sunday, August 4) that they are no Sharknado. Yes, I’m sure it burns their wrinkly bits that Syfy’s insanely popular TV movie— about a tornado that scoops up hungry sharks and dumps them right in the middle of fat, juicy Los Angeles—is stealing Shark Week’s thunder… but C’MON! There is absolutely no way that an actual documentary about actual, scientifically realistic sharks can beat a “Sharknado,” because… it’s SHARKS. Eating the ass out of people from inside a TORNADO.

However, it looks like Discovery Channel is going to give it the old college try by debuting 11 new sharktacular specials this coming week—ones they hope will give Sharknado a run for its shark money! (Yeah, yeah, I know… sharks don’t use money. BLOOD IS THEIR CURRENCY.) Anyway, check out these new Shark Week specials:

• Megalodon: The Monster Shark Lives (debuts Sun, Aug 4, 9 pm): Mmmmm, okay, that’s a pretty good title for a shark documentary that doesn’t involve tornadoes. BUT! Even though this is about the controversial theory of a 60-foot prehistoric megalodon shark responsible for a murder spree off the coast of South Africa? Sadly, it’s no Sharknado. Maybe they can add a typhoon? And call it Megalophoon?

• Return of Jaws (debuts Mon, Aug 5, 9 pm), I Escaped Jaws (debuts Tues, Aug 6, 9 pm), and Spawn of Jaws (debuts Tues,

Aug 6, 10 pm): “Rinnng! Rinnng! Rinng! Hello? Return of Jaws, I Escaped Jaws, and Spawn of Jaws? It’s me… ACTUAL JAWS. And even though you’re trying to cast sharks as interesting creatures, rather than thoughtless murder machines… I’m JAWS. And I’m a thoughtless murder machine. Soooo… maybe you can think of a different name to rip off? And don’t say ‘Jawsnado!’ You’ll all be hearing from my lawyer, dicks.”

• Sharkpocalypse (debuts Thurs, Aug 8, 9 pm): Apparently, fatal shark attacks have been on the rise, and this documentary explores the environmental changes that could be pushing hungry sharks closer to shore… which, in turn, could supposedly cause a “Sharkpocalypse”? Look, that’s a pretty good name, but… what does “sharkpocalypse” even mean? Will Shark Jesus come out of the ocean to scoop up all the good sharks into shark heaven, while the four horsesharks of the sharkpocalypse terrorize the sinful sharks left behind? Sorry, guys, because… IT’S STILL NO SHARKNADO. Next!

• Alien Sharks of the Deep (debuts Thurs, Aug 8, 10 pm): NOW WE’RE TALKING… wait. This is about scientists descending into the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean to look for the world’s weirdest sharks—for example, the goblin shark and the giant megamouth shark. But I was thinking it was going to be about scientists who descend into the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean and find SEXY ALIEN MOON DOLL SHARKS! Here’s the breakdown: Attractive sharks with female genitalia have been hiding on the dark side of the moon for centuries. But now they’re going extinct, so they must send down a squadron of sexy alien moon doll sharks to steal sperm from underwater scientists. Omigod, this is the best idea EVER! Get me Syfy on the phone! And while you’re at it… Cinemax!

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| BY ROBYN JORDAN

FREE WILL ASTROLOGY

BY ROB BREZSNY

For the Week of July 31

ARIES (March 21–April 19): To add zest to mealtime, you might choose food that has been seasoned with red chili peppers, cumin, or other piquant flavors. Some chimpanzees have a similar inclination, which is why they like to snack on red fire ants. Judging from the astrological omens, I’m guessing you are currently in a phase when your attraction to spicy things is at a peak—not just for dinner but in other areas of your life, as well. I have a suggestion: Pursue rowdy fun with adventures that have metaphorical resemblances to red chili peppers, but stay away from those that are like red fire ants.

with everything you need to thrive.

LEO (July 23–Aug 22): Sergei Diaghilev was a Russian ballet impresario who founded Ballets Russes, one of the 20th century’s great ballet companies. At one point in his career, he met French playwright Jean Cocteau. Diaghilev dared Cocteau to write a piece for a future Ballets Russes production. “Astonish me!” he said. It took seven years, but Cocteau met the challenge. He created Parade a ballet that also featured music by Eric Satie and sets by Pablo Picasso. Now let’s pretend I’m Diaghilev and you’re Cocteau. Imagine that I’ve just told you, “Astonish me!” How will you respond? What surprising beauty will you come up with? What marvels will you unleash?

that makes you worry that your body’s not beautiful enough or your bank account’s not big enough or your style isn’t cool enough? If so, Sagittarius, the coming weeks will be an excellent time to get uncolonized. There has rarely been a better time than now to purge any brainwashing that puts you at odds with your deepest self.

VIRGO (Aug 23–Sept 22): Since 1948, the chemical known as warfarin has been used as a pesticide to poison rats. Beginning in 1954, it also became a medicine prescribed to treat thrombosis and other blood ailments in humans. Is there anything in your own life that resembles warfarin? A person or an asset or an activity that can either be destructive or constructive, depending on the situation? The time will soon be right for you to employ that metaphorical version of warfarin in both capacities. Make sure you’re very clear about which is which.

CAPRICORN (Dec 22–Jan 19): An old Chinese poem tells us that “the true measure of a mountain’s greatness is not its height, but whether it is charming enough to attract dragons.” You and I know there are no such things as dragons, so we can’t take this literally. But what if we treat it as we might a fairy tale? I suggest we draw a metaphorical meaning from it and apply it to your life. Let’s say that you shouldn’t be impressed with how big and strong anything is; you shouldn’t give your mojo to people or institutions simply because they have worldly power. Rather, you will be best served by aligning yourself with what’s mysterious and fabulous. You’re more likely to have fun and generate good fortune for yourself by seeking out stories that appeal to your soul instead of your ego.

TAURUS (April 20–May 20): The 19thcentury English artist John Constable specialized in painting landscapes. The countryside near his home especially excited him. He said, “The sound of water escaping from mill dams, willows, old rotten planks, slimy posts, and brickwork, I love such things. They made me a painter, and I am grateful.” Take a cue from Constable, Taurus. Spend quality time appreciating the simple scenes and earthy pleasures that nourish your creative spirit. Give your senses the joy of getting filled up with vivid impressions. Immerse yourself in experiences that thrill your animal intelligence.

LIBRA (Sept 23–Oct 22): “My heart was a hysterical, unreliable organ,” wrote Vladimir Nabokov in his novel Lolita. We have all gone through phases when we could have uttered a similar statement. But I doubt that this is one of those times for you, Libra. On the contrary. I suspect your heart is very smart right now— poised and lucid and gracious. In fact, I suggest you regard the messages coming from your heart as more trustworthy than any other part of you—wiser than your head and your gut and your genitals put together.

GEMINI (May 21–June 20): This is Grand Unification Week for you Geminis. If your left hand has been at war with your right hand, it’s a perfect moment to declare a truce. If your head and heart have not been seeing eye to eye, they are ready to find common ground and start conspiring together for your greater glory. Are there any rips or rifts in your life? You will generate good fortune for yourself if you get to work on healing them. Have you been alienated from an ally or at odds with a beloved dream or separated from a valuable resource? You have a lot of power to fix glitches like those.

CANCER (June 21–July 22): In an episode of the TV show Twin Peaks, Special Agent Dale Cooper gives the following advice to his colleague Harry: “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don’t plan it, don’t wait for it, just let it happen.” Now I’m passing on this advice to you, Cancerian. It’s a perfect time for you to try out this fun game. You are in a phase of your astrological cycle when you’ll be wise to intensify your commitment to self-care… and deepen your devotion to making yourself feel good… and increase your artistry at providing yourself

SCORPIO (Oct 23–Nov 21): The Holy Grail of skateboarding tricks is called the 1080. To pull it off, a skateboarder has to do three complete 360-degree revolutions in midair and land cleanly. No one had ever pulled it off until 12-year-old Tom Schaar did it in 2012. Since then, two other teenage boys have managed the same feat. But I predict that a Scorpio skateboarder will break the record sometime soon, managing a 1260, or threeand-a-half full revolutions. Why? First, because your tribe is unusually geared to accomplish peak performances right now. And second, you have a knack for doing complex maneuvers that require a lot of concentration.

SAGITTARIUS (Nov 22–Dec 21): Can you think of ways that you have been colonized? Have any powerful institutions filled up your brain with ideas and desires that aren’t in alignment with your highest values? For instance, has your imagination gotten imprinted with conditioning

AQUARIUS (Jan 20–Feb 18): The questions you have been asking aren’t terrible. But they could be formulated better. They might be framed in such a way as to encourage life to give you crisp insights you can really use, rather than what you’ve been getting lately, which are fuzzy conjectures that are only partially relevant. Would you like some inspiration? See if any of these inquiries help hone your spirit of inquiry. (1) What kind of teacher or teaching do you need the most right now? (2) What part of you is too tame, and what can you do about it? (3) What could you do to make yourself even more attractive and interesting to people than you already are? (4) What is the pain that potentially has the most power to awaken your dormant intelligence?

PISCES (Feb 19–March 20): “There are some enterprises in which a careful disorderliness is the true method.” So says Ishmael, the hero of Herman Melville’s 19thcentury novel Moby-Dick. He is ostensibly referring to whale hunting, which is his job, but some modern critics suggest he’s also talking about the art of storytelling. I suspect his statement applies to a certain enterprise you are currently engaged in, as well. Can you wrap your mind and heart around the phrase “careful disorderliness,” Pisces? I hope so, because I think it’s the

SAVAGE LOVE

Diaper Pals BY DAN SAVAGE

I am a 28-year-old gay man living in a major East Coast city. I recently connected with a guy on a vanilla dating website, and we are quickly developing a real interest in each other. After talking online for a bit, we exchanged numbers. Our first conversation was through text messages for the better part of six hours. The next night, we talked over the phone for an hour or two. And the third consecutive night was our first date. In that first text conversation, he stated that he is into “everything from mild to wild.” The comment came without solicitation from me, during a conversation that he initiated about sexual preferences (e.g., top or bottom, dom or sub). This was a major turn-on for me, increasing my interest in him. I’ve had limited experience with BDSM, but I am looking to try more, so I was thrilled to receive this message. I am very familiar with one kink: diapers. It’s a huge part of my sexual identity, and I ideally want it to be part of a sex life with my partner. Normally I would wait until months into a new relationship to bring up the topic, but since he opened the door, should I talk about it now? Should I drop hints to see how he responds? Since this has the potential to be more than just a hookup, what’s the best way to proceed?

get to know you a bit better and explore some of his kinks before disclosing your own.

Nervously Anticipating Padded Pants In Erotic Situations

I’ve long advised kinksters who are dating vanillas—or presumed vanillas (PVs), I should say, as it’s not uncommon for a presumed-to-be-vanilla partner to reveal kinks of their own after a partner discloses their kinks—to wait until the PV has gotten to know them before disclosing. (Ironically, of course, every kinkster is a PV until the moment of disclosure.) Since so many true vanillas have a knee-jerk, negative reaction to kinks, it’s only fair that kinksters have a chance to let a new partner get to know them before opening up. That way, a vanilla can weigh any prejudices they might have about kinky people (they’re dangerous and depraved, not BF or GF material) against what they’ve come to know (and like) about the kinkster they’ve been dating. Sometimes it works out (the vanilla comes to enjoy the kink because it gives someone they care about pleasure, the vanilla grows to enjoy the kink themselves, the vanilla gives the kinkster a pass to enjoy their kink with others), and sometimes it doesn’t work out (the kink is a deal-breaking libido-killer and the kinkster winds up dumped).

But your case is different, NAPPIES, as the gentleman you’re courting has already disclosed his kinks. According to my treasured and frequently consulted copy of Emily Post’s Etiquette, the proper response to a disclosure of kinks by a suitor is the prompt disclosure of one’s own kinks.

Now, very few people who say they’re into “everything” are actually into every single thing. A Google search for “toaster fetish” pulls up 260,000 results. They’re not all pages created by sexual fetishists—some are pages created by kitchen-appliance aficionados—but some are sites created by actual toaster pervs. And just as your new boyfriend probably wasn’t thinking “even toasters!” when he said “everything,” NAPPIES, he probably wasn’t thinking “even diapers!” Because while diapers are a huge turn-on for you and other diaper fetishists, they’re not something that leaps to mind when even a kinky person says “from mild to wild.”

And this presents you with a problem. As Emily Post put it: “A sexual fetish for an item of attire so strongly associated with childhood (indeed, with the nursery itself!) will give pause to even the most depraved of suitors.” As such, NAPPIES, you may be within your rights to drop hints about your diaper fetish instead of flat-out disclosing it. Ask him if he really meant everything and see what he says. If he says, “Yes, everything,” then spill—or leak—your kink. But if he hedges his bets, NAPPIES, let him

Here’s the Reader’s Digest Condensed version: I’m a sexually inactive (by my own choice) heterosexual female in my late 40s who, up until recently, used to be much heavier and in rapidly declining health. Since my type 2 diabetes diagnosis, I have achieved substantial weight loss, a much-improved diet, and a little Clairol Nice ’n’ Easy. I now look and feel infinitely better than I ever did in my late 20s. People in my apartment building have been doing double takes, and recently I even got carded at my favorite restaurant dining out with a female neighbor-friend half my age! While I admit the newly acquired positive attention is fun (especially getting carded! Who? Me?!? Ha-ha!), I’m happy staying single and am not interested in developing any LTRs with the opposite sex. The weird thing is, the majority of guys doing any flirting with me seem to be much younger than I am. A wise, older female friend of mine once commented that men “don’t know what to make” of someone like me. Okay, I think. So am I too narcissistic? I can’t seem to relate or really keep conversations going. Plenty of younger men in their 20s and 30s are nice looking, but I’ll be 50 next summer!

I’m Not A Cougar Though I’m Very Energized

“The first thing I’d like to say to INACTIVE is congratulations on tackling her type 2 diabetes with such determination and getting such fabulous results!” says Cindy Gallop, a former high-flying advertising executive who is now the founder and driving force behind MakeLoveNotPorn.com, a website and movement designed to blow up pornography.

Gallop is a fan of younger men, INACTIVE, and younger men are fans of Gallop.

“Of course she’s getting so much flirtatious attention from younger guys!” says Gallop. “There are many young men out there interested in and attracted to older women—but society considers that relationship model less socially acceptable than the older-man/younger-woman version, which is why she’s so surprised. Well, the good news is she can stay single, not embark on any LTRs with the opposite sex, and still have a lot of fun with younger men, without worrying about keeping conversations going—because the fun doesn’t need to involve much talking.”

If “sexually inactive by choice” was a choice you made back in your heavier, unhealthier days due to a lack of confidence, Gallop says that this is the perfect time for you to get back in the game— and younger men are the perfect playmates.

“INACTIVE is in her sexual prime, and she should go for it!” says Gallop. “The age issue is purely a societal judgment and is irrelevant. Younger man (lots of stamina, very short recovery period) + older woman (confidence, experience, knows what she wants) is a fantastic combination. And I speak as someone who knows.”

A couple of pro tips from Gallop for older women who are dating younger men: “Number one: Apply the same filter to her dates that I do—regardless of how casual the relationship, he needs to be a very nice person. Number two: If she hasn’t been sexually active for a while, check out MakeLoveNotPorn.com. She should be aware of what she may encounter in younger men that’s been learned from porn, and how to talk about what she prefers in that context openly, honestly, and lightheartedly.”

On this week’s Savage Lovecast: How to be a professional but friendly unicorn. Find it at savagelovecast.com.

mail@savagelove.net @fakedansavage on Twitter

JOE NEWTON

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