Round It Goes

The Round is a music/art/spoken word event that began in Seattle's Fremont Abbey four or five years ago. The idea is a simple one: local musicians, who may normally never appear on stage together, sit together in a row facing their audience, taking turns playing songs they wouldn't normally play. The audience all faces forward and listens; this is no barroom show, where people yell into their companion's ear just to be heard over the din. Most of the musicians choose to go acoustic, while in the background three different artists paint on canvases, and spoken word poets come forward to give impassioned recitations during breaks in the music.

It's a once a month event, and I manage to get to it, oh, about once a year. Fortunately I made it to last night's holiday show at the Triple Door with a couple of friends. What a way to kick off December. The Round can be a little irreverent, and the performers' backgrounds are varied, but it always comes together in an amazing way, and there is always a spiritual element underneath it all. We listened to musicians ranging from Mark Pickerel to Star Anna to Jesse Sykes to Damien Jurado, and many more, singing songs of bleak midwinter and songs praising the baby Jesus. In the end, everyone came back on stage for an obviously unrehearsed rendition of John Lennon's Happy Christmas (War is Over).

It's the unrehearsed part that makes The Round special. The backup band provides improvised harmony and rhythm throughout the night, musicians try out songs they never thought they'd perform in public, and the painters attempt to bring their visions to light before the night ends. Taken as a whole, it's a beautiful thing.

Christmas is Coming

"It is no longer Thanksgiving, it's now Christmas!" my friend's mom announced tonight as some visiting cousins draped the final strands of tinsel over their Christmas tree. She was speaking to the fact that since her daughter and son-in-law would not be around on the actual Christmas day, Christmas day would come early, and it was time to open presents.

As unexpected as it was to find myself in the midst of a mini-Christmas celebration with a family not my own, I did start to get into the spirit of things earlier this afternoon, when a few friends cam over to cut out paper snowflakes and Swedish paper heart baskets. We sipped mulled cider and snacked on shortbread, but I kept the music selection to strictly non-Christmas albums. I may be shifting towards Christmas, but I'm still just dangling my toes in the water, not quite ready to take the full plunge. Snowflakes taped to the window pane are a sign that more is coming, and when I bring home the advent wreath tomorrow, I may just break down and pop on a Christmas CD.

Compared with last year, I feel more mellow about the whole holiday season. This is probably due to the fact that I have not yet visited a single mall for any Christmas shopping. Perhaps I should try to keep it this way.

For now, I'm enjoying the sight of snowflakes on the window and none on the roads. That, and another piece of shortbread before bed, are enough to make my season bright.

Making a Birdhouse in my Soul

Allow me a trip down memory lane. As someone who grew up on classical music (more or less), one of the first rock bands I was introduced to in high school was They Might Be Giants. The quirky, sometimes nonsensical lyrics and unexpected instrumentation captured my imagination, and TMBG, along with the Beatles and R.E.M., opened me up to new genres of music.

So, when I found out TMBG were playing a special show featuring the album Flood on Tuesday night, I convinced Michael to come along and relive the experience live. Probably their most popular album (the Johns joked on stage that it recently went platinum... making it the slowest album to ever achieve platinum status), it's hard to believe that it was released in 1990. Twenty years ago! Man, that makes me feel old - although I can at least say I wasn't yet in high school at the time. After opening with a few of their newer "science" songs, John and John kicked into Flood: "It's a brand new record for nineteen-ninety..." followed closely by the entire audience singing along to "Birdhouse in Your Soul".

I remember the first TMBG concert I went to. It was back in college, and Amy G (Amy S at the time) and I took the bus up from PLU to the Moore Theater in Seattle, fully aware that by the time the concert ended there would be no more buses running to get us back to Tacoma. We toyed with the idea of staying at the airport, but luck was with us , and I spotted someone I knew, a fellow PLU student, in the audience. Would she be able to give us a ride? No, but she knew someone else who could. After the show, we piled into our benefactor's car, and everything went smoothly until we got to the edge of campus and the little car sputtered and died. Talk about timing!

As TMBG worked their way through their songs on Tuesday, I smiled, thinking back on those times. Not about to let them go, the audience called the band back onstage for an encore after the last strains of "Road Movie to Berlin" died away. And then a second encore after that. For their final song, TMBG pulled out another oldie, the infamous "Fingertips".

Ah, "Fingertips". This brings me back to high school again, when spending spring break of my sophomore year on the ferry heading up to Alaska. Three of the girls in our group became obsessed with the schizophrenic song, which is nothing more than a p[atchwork of unrelated song bits and pieces strung together in a way that is oddly effective. On the ferry, they would play "Fingertips" over and over, rewinding the tape (yes, we still had tapes back then) after each rendition to hear it again, never listing to any of the other songs on Apollo 18. The rest of us were mighty sick of that song by the time the trip was through.

But now, I can love it again. And sing along with every single word. Heading back out into the rainy night, I still felt the warmth of the atmosphere from the show. They Might Be Giants hasn't lost their touch.

Dance Like You Mean It

There's this thing called the Seattle Head Nod. Or so I've heard it called. Go to a live rock show, and people don't dance. They nod. Heads bobbing in time to the music. Heck, that means you're into it. Everyone else is standing stock still, beer in hand, or hanging out in the back, catching up with friends.

Because, you know, you don't want to get too carried away. Except That Guy in front, dancing like a maniac, a lone hip shaker in a crowd that barely sways to the beat. But who wants to be That Guy?

Secretly: everyone wants to be That Guy. Well, maybe not everyone, but come on, he's having fun. And last night, at the Sunset Tavern, there were a lot of folks who decided to let their hair down and just have fun.

It was the album release party for the Tripwires, and no doubt the fact that these guys have been around for, oh, a couple decades, playing in bands ranging from the Screaming Trees to the Model Rockets, played a part in the festive atmosphere. The small crowd seemed filled with many who knew the band, and connections were tight between the Tripwires and their opening acts, Small Change and Llama. During the first two sets, Liz and I were happily head bobbing to the music, but when the Tripwires came on stage, everyone let loose.

People shimmied and swayed, twisted and turned. Up on stage, the band members sweated it out in sports coats, jumping and grinning and playing to the crowd. As people squeezed by to get to the restroom, I more than once felt someone's hands lightly at my waist - not in an obtrusive way, mind you. These were just people passing through, and rather than elbow their way by or try to skirt around us with as little contact as possible, they weren't afraid of a little touching out of consideration. It was, well, friendly. And like little kids dancing out of sheer youthful joy, we just felt happy to be there.

After all, there's no shame in being that lone dancer when you have a whole crowd backing you up. And dancing to the Tripwires beats doing the Seattle Head Nod any day of the week.

Athens Aglow

The Greeks love the nightlife. Any day of the week, they can be seen strolling the streets, stopping in clubs, sipping drinks at sidewalk cafes, and heading out for dinner as late as midnight, with the entire family in tow. And Athens, at least in October, is the center of it all. In the islands I felt languid in the evenings, happy to dawdle over a slow-paced meal at a local taverna. In Athens, I felt energized, surrounded by hundreds out for a Sunday night on the town.

Michael and I wound our way through the ancient streets of the Plaka as dusk settled over the city. Without even trying, we found ourselves on top of Mars Hill, a glorious view of the Acropolis and the incredible urban sprawl of Athens at our feet. It was almost enough to take one's breath away.

After drinking in the view, we set off for a three course dinner on the move. First stop: gyros on the go. On traditional and one pork, along with a Coke 0 for Michael, for less than five euros. If only cheap, fast food in the U.S. could be so delicious!

Next up: gelato in the Psyrri district. Disappointingly, the gelato was not up to Italian standards. Plus, it cost more than our gyros! But we strolled the streets nearby as we ate every last lick, peering into clubs blasting house music from what looked like an English pub on the outside, to restaurant floors carpeted in carnation petals while the staff tidied up for the night, to ultra mod night spots where it was evidently still far to early, even on a Sunday, for a crowd to have gathered.

Wandering the back streets, I let Michael take charge, but not without first speculating, "Where are we going?" Instead of streets lined with stings of twinkling lights and crowded cafe tables, we were surrounded by dilapidated buildings dark alleyways.

But then, rounding a corner, we saw the perfect little bar for our final course - ouzo for Michael, campari for me. With orange walls and crazy lamps strung together out of bits of glass, old silverware, and curling scrap metal, we took our seats on tall stools at the open window. In the corner, a jazz band set up to play, and Athenians in their thirties gradually packed in the tiny spot while the DJ spun a variety of songs. We were, in fact, the only non-Greeks there. As the band played, we nodded in time with the music, drinking in the scene. You never know what you might find around a dark street corner.

We got back to our hotel around 10:45 - very early for an Athenian, but just about right for us. Monday would be a long day, full of more discoveries in the incomparable Athens.

In the Pink

On Labor Day weekend it appeared that fall had arrived with a vengeance. No sooner had we noticed that the leaves were beginning to turn a suspicious shade of yellow than we were suddenly whipped by angry winds and accosted by weather that went from party sunny to completely rainy in 60 seconds. Thankfully, this weekend summer came back for a final showing, which worked perfectly for us, as last night was the long-awaited Pink Martini show at Chateau Ste. Michelle Winery.

The Chateau does a concert series every summer, although I'd never been before. After encountering the stop and go single lane traffic jam to get to the event and carrying our cooler from where we parked half a mile down the road (at least we managed to avoid the $10 parking lots), I began to see the wisdom in avoiding the scene. After spending fifteen minutes roaming among the picnickers spread out across the grass, searching for our friends Heather and Satoshi, I questioned further the fact that I had left our cell phone in the car... now half a mile away.

But finally Heather spotted me and flagged me down, and the four of us, including Michael, set up our picnic far from the stage, but with plenty of room to take off our shoes and wiggle our toes. Out came antipasto pasta salad, pesto foccacia, deviled eggs, and Jones soda, with almond cookies and Lu biscuits for dessert. This being a winery, I was happy to take advantage of a bottle of red for $13, an unheard of price at any other local events or restaurants, which I found went especially well with Lu biscuits. Who knew?

As for the music, when China Forbes' voice rang out across the amphitheater clear and pure, Michael simply turned to me and said, "They're good!"

Well, yeah. That's why we came, after all. This being Michael's first live Pink Martini show, I guess he didn't realize the caliber of musicianship he was in for. The band played through old songs and new, and by the final song, Brazil, many in the audience were up and dancing. I was, too. And the fact that we were able to drive home from our parking spot and avoid all the bad traffic? That was just icing on the cake.

Discovering Magnolia

It's funny how you can live some place for ten years, and yet still find a part of town that feels wholly new and undiscovered. On Saturday, inspired by the chance to try what Seattle Weekly recently claimed was the best malted milkshake in town, combined with the opportunity to take Lucy out on a much needed walk through the woods, Michael and I headed to Magnolia for the first time in years. How many years? There is no conclusive evidence, but I'm going to guess it's been seven or eight.

After surviving grueling traffic on Denny (I will not take that route again if I can help it), we headed over the bridge and wound our way into "downtown" Magnolia, when I realized... I'd never been here before. At least, as far as I could remember. It was as though I'd left Seattle behind and stumbled upon some idyllic little town with classic car shows (there actually was one going on), Snoqualmie ice cream instead of Molly Moon, and tree lined streets with little traffic. Welcome to Our Town! Really, it was unexpectedly charming. Michael and I split a luscious "Mukilteo Mud" malted shake from Cocoa & Cream, which I thought was perfect, but he declared needed more malt.

We then headed to Discovery Park, which, although we had been before, still felt like a discovery after so many years away. On the 2.8 mile loop trail we walked through dark maple forests and sun bleached meadows, finding new views across the Puget Sound and even stumbling across a string quintet playing Appalachian style folk music in the grass.

"This is like a mini-vacation," I told Michael. "And in our own city!"

Heading home, we were back in familiar territory before long, heading across the Ballard Bridge and then Holman Road. It had been a nice break while it lasted. But I don't know if I'll go back soon; sometimes, a little distance makes it that much more special.

Music at the Mural

Seattle Center's Mural Amphitheater is misnamed - behind the stage, you'll find a large mosaic, not a mural. But, as my friend and I agreed, "Mosaic Amphitheater" sounds kind of pretentious. Mural Amphitheater somehow doesn't, which is fitting for a stage that has hosted the likes of Mudhoney and other Seattle bands over the years. Once upon a time these free summer concerts were called the "Pain in the Grass" shows. Now, as local radio station KEXP is trying to revive them, they're simply called "Concerts at the Mural".

It's a great setting for an outdoor show. A grassy lawn slopes down towards the stage, behind which the Space Needle towers, offering the chance to watch the elevators glide up and down its spine like golden beetles. That is, if you can take your eyes off the people - an outdoor concert is prime people watching territory, ranging from kids chasing after soap bubbles to the guy in the blue shirt who never sits down or stops hammering his fist to the music, even during the slow songs. Most of the crowd sits nowadays, which I initially find pleasant, but after a few hours, you do feel kind of a pain in your, well, you know.

Last night Johnny and the Moon, the Moondoggies, and the Fruit Bats took to the stage. Liz took a liking to Johnny and the Moon, and everyone seemed to get just a little more into the Fruit Bats (you can tell when a few more heads pick up that slight nod to the beat, and when a small crowd actually gathers in front of the stage - a very small crowd in this case, but still). As the evening grew to a close and the sun began to set, the Fruit Bats played the best known of their old songs, "When You Love Somebody", with many in the audience happily humming along. Happy to listen to the music, happy for the sunshine, and happy that the weekend was just beginning.

Talk Talk

It's Friday night, and here I am, sitting in front of the computer. Because I am BEAT. Huh. Who knew having house guests for weeks while also preparing for my first ever music history lecture at Europe Through the Back Door could be so exhausting and wonderful at the same time?

I was a little concerned about the lecture. What with being preoccupied with Ryan and company (after all, the guy was having open heart surgery, no small ordeal), I wondered if I hadn't put enough time into preparing my talk.

"I've never given a speech for a full hour! What if I don't have enough material?"

"What if someone asks me some semi-obscure question I don't know the answer to, like, 'When was Chopin born?' or 'What's the plot for Rigoletto?'"

"Was it really a good idea not to actually give a practice talk out loud? Can I really just stand up there and expect to wing it, just going off a brief outline?"

As it turns out, I could have talked for well over an hour, no one asked any obscure questions (or cared about any dates or opera plots), and I think I only looked at my outline once during the entire class. It's true: when you're passionate about a subject, getting to share that passion with a room full of strangers is actually quite exhilarating.

Now I'm already scheduled to give a talk about the Basque region in early August. Do I have a passion for pintxos, the Guggenheim, and beautiful beaches? Hmm... yeah, I think I can pull it off.

Lange Nacht der Kirchen

It's my last night in Vienna, a night which happily coincides withe Lange Nacht der Kirchen - the Long Night of the Churches - which means that around 190 churches in Vienna alone are open until 1am tonight, offering ecumenical services, concerts of all kinds, and more. Before using up the last of the internet time I purchased earlier this week, I spent a few hours in Stephansdom, Vienna's great gothic cathedral, listening to a beautiful liturgical service followed by a full orchestra and choir performing a Haydn mass.

The church was packed, both with those searching for a spiritual experience and those simply wandering in to see what was happening. The wonder of sitting in a 500 year old church, surrounded by people of all walks of life, listening to the music reverberate through the cathedral, knowing that this was just one of many such gatherings throughout the city, was awe-inspiring. Europe is famed for its amazing, yet empty, churches, and this was a reminder that the church is not a building, but rather people. I don't know how many of the people out tonight come with any regularity to a church of any kind, but I hoped that everyone would walk away from tonight's experience with a feeling of peace and unity.

When I stepped outside Stephansdom, the streets were bustling. It's Friday night, and both young and old are out for dinner, drinks, or just a nighttime stroll. Across from the internet cafe, I could hear a rock band performing along the Danube Canal below. It's a different experience, but if I close my eyes I still find myself back in the cathedral while a man and woman sing a simple prayer to the accompaniment of a single guitar.

Jazz A La Czech

This contraction free post is brought to you by the Czech keyboard (and yeah, I am sure I could just ask, but where is the fun in that?)

Prague, as many know, is famed for music. Mozart was probably more popular here than in Vienna during his own time, and today there are nightly concerts put on largely for the tourist crowds at various historical churches and concert halls through the historical center.

But in addition to classical music, there is a smaller jazz scene, so I decided last night to deviate from the expected and give one of the most popular local jazz clubs, Agharta, a try. After surviving the rainburst that opened up no the crowds as I was crossing the Charles Bridge into Old Town, and reviving myself with a pizza for dinner, I wandered over to the Old Town Square, where the recent rain left the paving stones glistening in the lamplight as the unseen sun went down. Agharta was only a quick walk from from the square, down the stairs to a cozy cellar where local jazz groups perform.

Popular with locals and tourists, the club filled up as the evening wore on, with those who had reserved seating grouped around tiny tables and the rest of us packed in along the walls, and even sitting on the stairs leading up to the balcony outside the main room. For the equivalent of two bucks, I got a half pint of dark Czech beer to sip slowly during the first set.

The group of the night was a quartet featuring electric bass and guitar, piano, and drums. While I am generally not as into jazz that features electric guitars (I like the old school jazz trumpet players most of all), they were pretty good, and got more and more into it as the night wore on, to the enthusiastic cheers of the audience. The piano blew me away, though, with his flawless playing and utter immersion into the music as he bobbed to the beat, alternating between looks of intense pain and sheer joy. When he gave an impromptu solo performance after the guitarist broke a spring, the audience was completely taken in.

I left after the second break, an Agharta compilation CD in hand (the one the clerk at their shop claimed was his favorite). For many, I am sure the night was just getting started, but I while on tour I try to make sleep something of a priority. It was just a taste, but if I come back to Prague, I will be ready for more.

Gone to Look for America

In fewer than six days, I'll be on a plane, headed across the Atlantic. While it won't be an especially long trip (last year I was gone for almost seven weeks in one go), I still can feel myself getting a little misty at the thought of leaving. Everything takes on more significance: this will be my last weekend, my last day in the office, my last chance for good Asian food, and, tonight, my last live music show in Seattle. I very seldom get homesick while traveling, but as my trip approaches I become introspective and more aware of my surroundings. The advantage, I suppose, is that I seem to work through any feelings of missing home before the plane touches down on foreign soil.

It was therefore fitting, I felt, to be listening to American roots music tonight. Greg Vandy kept me company with his weekly show, The Roadhouse, on KEXP as I drove to the Tractor Tavern. It was the perfect way to get in the mood for a night of folksy, Nashville-tinged with a West Coast-slant American music. Country, folk, jazz, and blues: this is the homegrown music of our nation, and sometimes nothing feels better than to sit back and listen with a beer in hand.

Somehow this kind of music has gathered something of a hip following of late, but you can still hear it when a musician puts their soul into it. The final group of the night, the Bittersweets, made me feel exactly like their name - a little wistful, a little melancholy, but definitely sweetly satisfied.

This is my America, and I'm going to miss you. I may forget for a while after I step on that plane, but I'll be back, and it will be good to be home.

Anatomy of a Night Out

Last night I was out for a friend's birthday. The evening got off to a fitful start.

The plan: live music. Where: Hmm, how about Chop Suey? OK, cool!

Wait, that's an all ages show (and we're all over thirty... some well over thirty). Hmm...

Plan 2: The Crocodile! Awesome! In theory that is...

The reality: I drive around for 15 minutes and never find a spot to park. Plus, the Croc is sold out.

Plan 3: Back to Chop Suey. I find a fabulous parking spot on Pike Street.

But then Chop Suey is sold out, too...

Plan 4: Neumo's! We wait outside for others to arrive (others who had managed to find a parking spot near the Crocodile and as a result became very attached to that spot), but at least this place is not sold old. And bonus: someone on the street gives the birthday girl a free ticket! And we are able to snag a booth in the Moe Bar! Things are looking up. While not everyone ends up making it (somehow we lost them in the course of this little adventure), the rest of us enjoy drinks and the Celtic rock band Handful of Luvin', which turns out to feature an incredible fiddler. The evening is saved! Happy birthday, Kristina!

Cozyin' Up to Cairo

I have never attempted to squeeze fifty people in my living room at one time. I'm sure they would fit, although that alone doesn't make it a good idea. It might feel something like the show at Cairo last night. Being as Cairo is an art gallery by day, and its main room is smaller than my living room, this was no mean feat.

In light of the circumstances, everyone was generously accommodating, politely squeezing in between strangers on the large Persian rug. I was one of the lucky few who, after developing a numb posterior during the first set, was able to stand against the wall for the second and swap places with my friend Liz for an actual bench seat for the third. Below me a sea of heads stared raptly ahead as musicians from the bands Generifus, PWRFL Power, and Tiny Vipers played solo sets, close enough kick the front row in the nose without even leaving their chair.

The idea was a homey one: wouldn't you like to hear musicians in your living room? And with no bar, there was no drunken heckling to cause any distractions. I couldn't help thinking, however, that we all would have been a little bit more comfortable had we been in my living room, rather than theirs.

But the space did lend a kind of intimacy that is very different from the typical club, and the widely varying performances made for an enjoyable night out, particularly the simple, yet oddly affecting, lyrics of Kazutaka Nomura of PWRFL Power. Liz remarked how such shows were once common in Portland, and perhaps still are. Push some clothes racks aside in your shop, and you can move an all-ages show in just about anywhere. It's not a bad idea for those who really want to listen to the music. And last night's audience seemed happy to do just that.

Rock for a Reason

In keeping with the recent musical theme of this blog, I went to a concert tonight. Far from being your typical rock show, this one took place in a house - an enormous house focused on community living, but a house nonetheless - in Edmonds called Rosewood Manor, and this band had a mission.

In short: there are an estimated 27+ million slaves worldwide, half of whom are children, and many of whom are employed in illegal sex traffikking. This is a figure that demands revulsion, and, more than that, demands action. The band Jubilee has decided to take action by bringing attention to this issue every time they play, and by donating half of their album sales to the International Justice Mission, an organization which aims to bring people out of slavery and provide them with the care they need to move on to a better life.

So perhaps tonight's house party wasn't what you might expect. You usually don't hear a plea for monetary support for social justice, and, going beyond the dollars, a plea to use whatever resources we may have to combat this issue. After all, Jubilee is just a group of guys with guitars and some drums. And so here I am, a girl with a blog. It's not much, but I wanted to share what I've learned with anyone who might be reading this.

If you are interested in learning more about the International Justice Mission, please see their website at: http://www.ijm.org/

And if you're in Seattle and interested in a rock concert for a cause, Jubilee is playing at Neumos on Monday, March 9th.

It may seem like such a small effort, but I pray it will make a difference, that somewhere on this earth someone will gain new life through these actions. Seek justice, protect the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow. (Isaiah 1:17)

Back at the Organ Again

For the past five days I have spent at least one hour each day practicing the organ. This is an unprecedented accomplishment since - well, possibly since high school. While I did play the organ weekly throughout college, I doubt that there were many, if any, times where I actually managed to practice five days in a row (I'm sure this bit of information would make my organ professor cringe at the memory). To be honest, there simply wasn't time; such dedication is a luxury few college students other than music majors can afford.

Now, however, I've grown accustomed to a life where "organist" is no longer part of my identity. Whereas I sometimes thought that few people within the world of my small hometown knew me as anything but the unofficial town accompanist, now it seems that few people I know in Seattle even recall that I know how to play an instrument at all. But thankfully my friend Leena remembered, and the result is that I'll be playing for a wedding this Valentine's Day.

And, I must admit, I'm excited. Very much so. It feels good to slide onto the organ bench and feel the pedals beneath my feet. And when it comes to pulling out all the stops, there's nothing like trilling through Widor's magnificent Toccata to get a musical high. Why don't I do this more often?

Of course, I know the answer: it isn't convenient, and, when other responsibilities or simply the desire to curl up on the sofa at home call, it becomes a chore rather than a joy. But I don't want this to be the end; I am still a musician, I realize. It's too deep in my history to just disappear, even through the quiet years.

So perhaps I should put myself out there again as a substitute organist, and perhaps there will be other weddings in the future. But for now I'll focus on this one - the rehearsal is tomorrow night, and I plan to be ready!

Sounds Like Seattle

"Seattle has one of the best live music scenes," claimed my friend Kristina.

"Really?" I asked. We were sitting at the High Dive, having just listened to a set by the band Ivan and Alyosha, a band that neither of us had even heard of before Thursday, but one we both found so enjoyable that we couldn't resist the CDs they were selling for five bucks apiece.

"Well, maybe not like New York, but..."

"How about L.A.?"

"I don't think L.A. can compare with Seattle."

I sipped my beer thoughtfully (if that's possible). To be honest, I really don't know if that's an accurate assessment or not, and those who are still mourning the loss of Seattle's indie music rag, The Rocket (despite the fact it departed almost ten years ago) may disagree. But just thinking about it made me feel pretty lucky to be sitting right where I was, listening to bands no one's ever heard of, but are nonetheless pretty darn good. I've been to a grand total of one live music show in L.A., and while the bands there were also unknowns, they actually deserved to stay that way. Not that this one experience is in any way indicative of the L.A. music scene, but it seemed to lend some credence to Kristina's assertion.

Unfortunately, I haven't always taken good advantage of what Seattle has to offer. This past week was an exception, as I made it to two shows in the span of seven days, the first one being the Supreme Beings of Leisure at Chop Suey this past Saturday. That night I was happy to groove to familiar songs, but there's a certain thrill that comes when taking a chance on something unfamiliar and being rewarded with great music. It's something I'd like to experience more often. And in Seattle, apparentely, I have plenty of opportunities.

And We'll Keep on Fighting Til the End

If you bore something of a resemblance to Freddie Mercury: The Later Years, and had a powerhouse voice to boot, what would you do? Front a Queen cover band? This, it would seem, is the logical choice. Tonight, I saw the Queen tribute band Her Majesty play at Studio Seven in Seattle's Sodo district, and was struck by the similarity between the band's stand in for Freddie Mercury and the legend himself.

Had it not been for my housemate, Amy V, I probably never would have heard of the show, which, apparently, was featuring no fewer than eight (eight!) live bands, with no discernible commonalities between the groups other than the fact that they were all doubtless happy to have a gig at a paying venue. Amy V's brother, Aaron, is the drummer for Her Majesty, and this was their second performance.

While Amy claimed that their earlier Sonic Boom Records show had higher energy, I was still impressed with the polish and presence of the new band. Aaron is no slacker on the drums, and knocked out a mean beat for throughout their short set. Faux Freddie Mercury led the audience in hand clapping through We Will Rock You, and the band played the bombastic Bohemian Rhapsody for their finale. One long-haired dude up front in the audience got to relive his head-banger days by thrashing to a particularly rocking part of this song, I have to admit I was singing along myself. Back in the day, when I was a teenager, I played Bohemian Rhapsody countless times on the piano, and had memorized every last word.

And speaking of teenagers, Her Majesty was followed by the group Modern Mosaic, who appeared to be a trio of sixteen-year-olds. Sixteen-year-olds who really knew how to rock, that is - these kids were more than alright, and definitely worth a second listen.

But you know what song is really stuck in my head? No time for losers, we are the champions... What can I say? It's catchy; ten million sports fans can't be wrong.

Celebrating Monday

The past weekend was a whirlwind of events - I'll get more into it later - and now, late Monday night, I feel that the weekend has finally come to a close. Each year at Europe Through the Back Door the individual departments have their own small Christmas parties, and the Tour Department is no exception.

Tonight, the eight of us headed out to Arnie's on the Edmonds waterfront, sticking pretty close to home this year. (A couple of years ago we drove through a windstorm to get to Palisades in Magnolia, during which Tara and I saw a stop sign uprooted and blown across Aurora Avenue, and Lisa and Heidi got locked out of Lisa's house where they had stopped before heading to the restaurant, leading them to break down her front door. Comparatively, tonight's event was pretty mundane.)

After three and a half hours of food, wine, conversation, and exchanging gifts, I'm still finding it a bit hard to wind down.Of course, coming home to a spectacularly dirty kitchen is something of a wake-up call. But for the moment I'd rather think the about the laughter (and even a few tears, although thankfully not for any tragic reasons) and bask in the afterglow of what was, perhaps, just a little bit too much to eat - good thing I don't do this every night!

Tomorrow it will be back to the daily grind, but at least Keith got Tara some new 80s music in the gift exchange, and I'm sure the addition to our work soundtrack will keep us going strong.

Christmas Time Is Here

Tonight I came home to find two packages waiting for me. Ah, Christmas! Never mind the fact that I had been expecting these packages and had even ordered them for myself (not so much in the spirit of giving, I know), I still felt a little like a kid on Christmas morning.

This boost of holiday cheer was doubtless due in part to the fact that the contents of the packages were undeniably Christmas-themed. From the Crate & Barrel outlet I received a myriad of Scandinavian straw ornaments, and Amazon had sent several Christmas CDs, including soundtracks to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and A Charlie Brown Christmas, and Handel's Messiah. There was one other goody, but since that will be a Christmas surprise for my husband, I'll not mention it on the off chance he actually reads this post.

As a kid, like many of my generation, December was the month when I could look forward to weekly, sometimes nightly, Christmas "specials" on the TV. I'd eagerly anticipate the annual viewing of Rudolph, Frosty, Charlie Brown, and others. Rudolph was a particular favorite, and even as an adult the clumsy stop-motion animation and lo-fi sound quality hold an irresistable charm. I particularly empathized with the inhabitants of the Island of Misfit Toys. "I'll take you home, spotted elephant!" I'd silently plead. Who wouldn't love an elephant with polka dots?

As I got older I appreciated the melancholy and simple beauty of A Charlie Brown Christmas more and more, and the sound track is well-loved for good reason. And as often as we listen to some of these songs at my job this time of year, Vince Guaraldi's music always puts a smile on my face. Listening to the original version tonight was the perfect accompaniment while I busied myself in the kitchen.

It's good to know that after all these years, Christmas can still bring out the kid in us.