pardon the quality; it’s a scan of a black-and-white.
Category Archives: Bumbershoot
I love the Starbuck’s Stage, and will always love it, because there I saw Nada Surf. I am happy they weren’t the mainstage show.This was so close, so tight, so intimate. We swayed to Inside of Love. They always perform above and beyond, always. Sweep you in they do. The band has charisma pouring out of their charming smiles. Daniel Lorca was out of commission with a bad knee or something. I missed his dreds, but the bassist was still superb.
I met them afterwards. The John Travolta Mullet was behind us in line. Which was not large considering. I would have waited if all the bumbershoots of Bumbershoot had come – which I thought was likely.
Matthew Caws (Nada Surf surfer-blond lead): “Hi, I’m Matthew.”
Molly: “Matthew – it’s so nice to meet you. My name is Molly. Blah blah blah blah bleh.”
He did. He – Matthew – signed my arm with an inky black pen. He signs his name like a little boy. No last name, just “Matthew” with an exclamation mark, like this: Matthew! Because his name is exciting. It is washed off of my arm. It is still etched on my heart.
Ira Elliott (drummer): “I’m Ira.”
Molly: “Ira. I’m Molly. Bleh bleh bleh.”
Ira: “I’ve signed two breasts today. That’s when you know you’ve risen to a new level of weirdness.”
Molly: “Arm will be just fine.”
Ira: “I’ll make this so black and so inky that it never comes off. Never wash it. Ever. Ever.”
I did wash it. I have to be sanitary. It’s part of me. But his name is still there inked on somewhere. I feel it inside of me.
We got a picture.
Ira: “Shall we stand boy-girl, boy-girl?” he was Danny Kaye from White Christmas, stunning – “With you in the middle” he closed – my heart was in my mouth.
We took the picture. The camera wasn’t used to such iffy lighting. It captured me with two faces: one looked at Ira. One looked at Matthew. Both grinned like fools.
Rachel: “Are you gonna stay around for a while and see Seattle? Get some rest after the concert?”
Matthew, charming smile: “We’re playing for a Nike race in the morning. Free shoes.”
P.S. the picture is currently in the black hole of hilary’s camera. the camera cord is lost. it is still imprinted on my heart.
Ingrid Michaelson was spectac. She’s so cute – and so nerdy: I love her. She is charming. I got a picture of her. She hasn’t quite gotten the handle of being a star yet; she was pretty nervous. I think Ingrid grew up alone and out of the world and read a lot of Serendepity books (remember those) and owned my little ponies and other magical creatures to play with. She got into college and learned a few life-lessons and other important things about herself and other selves and how things work and how birds and bees behave, and now she can’t stop talking about them. That’s my theory. Once she calms down and getsa bit of self-confidence, she’ll be a peach. Far, Far Away is beautiful.
Bumbershoot: bumber- (alteration of umbr- in umbrella) + -shoot (alteration of -chute in parachute). Britishicism. Circa 1896.
There is no better way on earth to spend Labor Day Weekend than sunning beneath the spinnet of the Space Needle in down-town Seattle, milling between the band stands and Indie Market, if you are a people-watcher and love music and everything else cool, that is. The people were out in full force. They were beautiful to see. A fashion show of indie/emo/hippie/folksy/weirdo/urban-chic/creeper-perv/Sunday-walkers paraded down the walks and through the market. There were plenty of intriguing tattoos, a number of hats, show-stopping (sometimes literally) dances among the crowd, and a great number of stunning mullets. We were even caught in a crowd of jittering prepster couples straight out of Back from the Future listening to SuperChunk. It ranked in my most-dangerous moments of 2008. Unfortunately, I didn’t catch a picture of my favorite mullet. He looked like John Travolta in Michael. Like Nada Surf says, it was totally weeeeyird.
But I got a free hug while listening to Paramore.
My gyro exploded while listening to T.I.
I stalked Sondre Lerche (you can pronounce his name, “Sondre Lerke, Sondre Lerche? I don’t know – however you want to,” he introduced himself) because I couldn’t stay to meet him after his performance because I was dodging through the crowd racing to the mosh pit that was ready to adore Death Cab. I didn’t meet him, but his performance rocked.
I almost died of a heart-attack because I had to sneak back through an exit ramp to get my hand stamped (yes, I forgot to do that little thing – though I did have the tick originally. Bad me.) so I could re-enter the Main Stage in time to see Death Cab.
I made some totally awesome buttons in the Dell Dome, and also stepped in a puddle of Rockstar Energy Drink. That was totally weeyird too.
I heard Death Cab perform TransAtlanticism live. I’ve lived.
I rode the junior roller-coaster in the carnival.
The sun came out and I actually warmed up while listening to a Johnny-Casher sorta guy with gray hair at the Starbuck’s Stage.
Gurrrrrl powerrrr – Estelle: 1.) is gorgeous. 2.) has such a cute accent. 3.) has such adorable accompanists-peoples. 4.) hot-dayumm, makes a girl so proud to be a woman that even the guys are swept with her enthuse. And oh m’word, does she have the best revenge policy I have ever heard of – she writes a song after every break-up so that it’s documented, stamped, and gets raving reviews from adoring fans world-wide. now that is smart.
Death Cab does not look like their pictures. They are hairier than you think. Also: more energetic. You never think about all that running around and tossing out guitars and racing for keyboards when you are listening to a CD, but there they are, rockin their hearts out and movin a lot.
Barcelona: emo of my heart. These are the lads that make one happy to be alive and listening. They also have striking white sunglasses that I approve of highly. Colors is a life-defining song. It’s heartening to see guys out of college sweeping a city into their aura and go on to take the world. They’re the next-big-thing of half a minute ago, and still sweet and cute.
[N.B. This picture, too, awaits the light on hilary’s camera.]
Pacifika is also cute. They are way way waaah across the festival at the Wells-Fargo Stage, which I discovered when I was mapping out my route to get from Sondre Lerche to Death Cab in the least possible amount of time giving slack for a shoulder-to-shoulder-stacked crowd.
Jakob Dylan is hot with his sunglasses on. He looks something like a weasel. I think his music is better than his daddy’s. AND it is absolutely awesome to hear the tone of the WallFlower’s en persona.
The new Fall frappuccino is yummy. Try one at Starby’s TODAY.
ChesterField is more deejay electronic than I thought they would be. Still slightly darling in their bizarre Flight-of-the-Concords alien-hugging way: they wore ties and kinda school-boy wear. I rike.
This didn’t format these notes as I would have preferred. Bear with me.