Erika and I and the Space Needle, by Erika Lax
I am using two arena rock shows, this weekend and last, as the pretext for doing some writing about other matters. Most photos are by me, but the one above is by Erika. The Alabama Shakes ones might be her, too (my phone died, but I also borrowed hers for a couple shots, so I dunno).
Erika and I travelled to Seattle last weekend to see Alabama Shakes. On hearing we were going, our friends had quite a range of reaction, from people urging us to reconsider to people reassuring us it would probably be fine. I did crack a few jokes myself ("I always kind of wanted to visit El Salvador") but didn't anticipate much complication; in fact, it turns out the only issue at the border was making it clear to the border guard that we were going to Seattle, not Alabama (I think he figured out that "Alabama Shakes" was the name of a band, eventually, but Erika had to repeat herself once to get it across). They didn't even look at our phones, and to this day, no one has searched any of my cavities (unless it was a medical exam).
Hungry and nostalgic, and having sat at the border for over an hour, I suggested, once we crossed, that we pop into Bellis Fair Mall. I have some history with that mall. As a young guy travelling across the border with my parents, at a record store that is long gone, I bought my first Big Star record there, Sister Lovers, which was, as I recall, a blind buy based on it being 99 cents. One of my top blind buys ever; I don't think I even knew who Big Star was. I also bought Bad Religion's Suffer and Paul Leary's A History of Dogs there, I think on CD, which I would later sell, then re-acquire on vinyl when I was scheduled to talk to Paul Leary (which I did). That dates the trip, actually: it must have been 1991 or later, which is when that album came out, though I don't remember grunge having blown big at that point. I also bought uncensored VHS tapes of Day of the Dead and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2 at the Target (both films had gore cut from them when they came out in Canada); unlike the record store, the Target is still there.
There are always odd little things to get used to in the USA, like this signage on the glass walls of the Bellis Fair Mall library. But one of the weirder quirks involved our phones; this was the first trip south Erika and I have taken since using Google Maps became a thing, and we were mildly surprised when all the directions switched to miles ("Turn right in 3/4s of a mile"), which happens as soon as you cross over (then switches back when you cross back). Like most Canadians in our age groups, both Erika and I remember the changeover from imperial to metric, so that some things we grew up with, we are habituated to thinking of in pounds, inches, feet. I can't tell you how many kilograms I weigh or how many meters I am tall (I can't even do the fuckin' math, have no interest or need for it, and don't carry the formula in my head; 5' 11" and a half and 305 pounds are good enough for me). But we buy litres of milk, not gallons, and we think in kilometers. Telling us to turn right in 3/4s of a mile required some translation, since we don't intuitively use those units of measurement. Instead of such-and-such meters. you'd look at the Google Maps display and see 0.2 miles. What the fuck is that, even? It was kind of strange that our phones "went local" in this regard.
But Erika has history with Bellis Fair, too, so we were happy to pop in. We'd been on the road for awhile, so we beelined for the restrooms, then the food fair, with me briefly popping into the library to ask someone at a desk if there was a record store or bookstore in the mall. They were very polite and friendly about it, but there wasn't.
Slowly it dawned on us: the reason Bellis Fair was dead was AN ABSENCE OF CANADIAN SHOPPERS. I suddenly felt kind of terrible. All the Americans we saw were very nice, very polite, but the ones at Bellis Fair also had a bit of a grim overcast to them, maybe because they were aware of a before-and-after effect ("This place used to be hopping before he got in again"). Without us, Bellis Fair was in a sorry state, and it seemed like people knew it.
Taking pity on our American neighbours, we did our part, shopping for clothes and a few road supplies at Target. Prices were not good. Whether it's tariffs or just general economic decline, with the exchange, everything in the USA was either the same as we'd pay for it here or more expensive; with the one possible exception of a stop at Trader Joe's -- which has fun, custom packaging and discount prices on tasty snacks, most of which Erika can't eat now, due to her recent weight-loss surgery -- we saved no money on anything at all. Still, I bought a pair of pants and three shirts at Target: one as a birthday gift for a friend of Erika's, one for myself (a silly AI-generated "Halloween cat" t-shirt), and a Frog and Toad one for David M. I actually don't know Frog and Toad, but the shirts appealed to me. I got him the "Toad sat and did nothing" shirt, which somehow made me think of him (his cat was named Toad, and I believe, maybe on 1894, you can hear him talking to "Toadie" between tracks somewhere. Or was that on Snivel?). I would have bought one of the "We must stop eating" shirts for myself, except, go figure, all the XL, 2XL, and 3XL variants had SOLD OUT. Wonder why?
Saddened and sobered by the empty mall, we hastened south, checked into our hotel (Hotel 116, a cheapish room with a king-sized bed and a pool we did not use) in Bellevue, a bit out of town.
If there is a Trump-supporting demographic among the Seattle population, we did not encounter it, but we saw plenty of anti-Trump messaging on signs and sidewalks. We saw protestors on streetcorners in front of Trump-associated businesses ("Love not hate makes America great" read one picket sign). It wasn't everywhere, but it was definitely a visible thing.
Part of my agenda for the trip was to hang out with Vic Bondi, buy some records off him, get some other ones signed, and chat a bit. Over lunch at the Bryant Corner Cafe, he explained that the protests had been going on all over the city; he's been in a few. Sadly, he didn't have a 7" of my favourite anti-Trump protest song, by his band Dead Ending, "Ivanka Wants Her Orange Back." It's from the first Trump presidency, but it's still topical:
So finally it has come to this
The empire ground to bits
You can choose between
bad and worse
Sterile and perverse
The pickpockets
Of the public purse
The famous groper
Of Miss Universe
And all the bald men
With Toupees
Finally have their say
Pushing all the
Feminists
out of the way
Don Rickles with the tiny hands
Little Marco finally met a man
In the closet
with a red, white and blue
Dress
So finally it has come to pass
Patriotism served up for laughs
Every principle in the sack
Who’s your Daddy?
Who’s up your ass?
And all the bald men
With Viagra
Finally get their long
Pushing all the
Transexuals
out of the John
Ivanka Wants Her Orange Back
And all the white men
With no balls
Finally have their man
Suck on the knob
Make American Great Again
Ivanka Wants Her Orange Back
I have, of course, more things to say about Vic, but they'll wait until we get a Redshift show in Vancouver; would someone please book one? This is one of the great men of American punk rock (for his band Articles of Faith, but he's done lots else) and he's only a short drive away. The new Redshift album (combining hardcore with surf) is amazing, and note that there's a video in response to the Luigi Mangione shooting of that United Healthcare CEO (including images of it in progress!).
But that's stepping out of sequence -- that was Saturday. Friday night, when we settled in, we went out to an Irish pub near the hotel for our next meal -- bangers and mash for me, Irish stew with soda bread for Erika. We were relieved to see that, compared to Bellis Fair, the place was hopping and normal and that everyone seemed happy. The mood of quiet desperation, of Americans guiltily waiting for the bad times to end, that had seemed to pervade at Bellis Fair was no longer visible, which lifted some of the weight *I* felt off my shoulders. A couple of people told us they were sorry for what was going on in the USA, but we were quick to reassure them. We knew they were suffering too, and the people who were apologizing were not the ones to blame.
The next day, I waited for Erika to wake up while having breakfast in the Woods cafe adjacent to the hotel, reading Michael Crichton's Jurassic Park again and eating a ham-and-cheese twist. Next day it was a croissant. One of the two mornings, I looked up to see who the loud party talking was and discovered that there was a meeting room full of cops, in uniform, having a boisterous, cheerful morning discussion.
"Do the cops have a private room here?" I asked the (trans, I think) counterperson.
"No. we just have a meeting room, and they show up and use it. It makes everyone uncomfortable."
"No. we just have a meeting room, and they show up and use it. It makes everyone uncomfortable."
I snapped a surreptitious photo as they left.
My feeling of pervasive good will almost extended even to the fuzz -- I considered popping in my nose and saying hi. But I couldn't think of a good opener: "So, I'm curious, do you have to bust any protestors these days? How do you feel about that?" Or maybe: "Sure beats a donut shop, eh?"
I said nothing.
Once Erika was up, we got ready and headed into our 1pm date with Vic. While we were talking, he told us about Sonic Boom in Ballard, so I got Erika to drop me off there while she went clothes shopping. There was a Howlin' Rain and a Bill Orcutt album which I picked up, apropos of the coming Rickshaw show; I'll be putting a giant Steve Shelley story into the world soon. I grabbed Beck's Mellow Gold, too, which I had not realized had come out on vinyl (at $29.99, it might end up cheaper when it shows up here, if it does, but I didn't want to take any chances on missing it).
The one item I coveted but did not buy: the Lewd's "Kill Yourself" 7". I remember buying that in the early 80s at Zulu Records for $4. Seeing the prices now made me wish I'd kept it!
I was deliberately trying not to shop. I did make a Sunday morning trek to the Bellevue Barnes and Noble, again while Erika was sleeping, but bought nothing; it was pretty lame. On Saturday, too, when we passed a Golden Oldies, I did a doubletake and smiled ("I used to shop there as a kid!") but didn't ask Erika to turn around. Still -- later in the day, en route to the concert, I was pleasantly surprised by the sudden manifestation of the Sub Pop shop.
Of course I went in: "Do you have any TAD merch?"
"I wish! Seriously underrated band."
But they had Loser shirts. I'm not entirely sure that TAD started the whole Loser thing, with their 7" of, uh, "Loser," but it's an awesome song, probably my favourite single grunge song, released before Nevermind ruined everything. So the word "Loser" on a Sub Pop t-shirt is close enough to TAD for me (read my interview with Tad Doyle here). I had thought to wear my Royal Strays shirt to Alabama Shakes, but I ended up putting the Loser one on instead, to, uh, "blend in."
We also did some thrifting. Erika bought a brand new blazer (THAT was cheap, but only because of it being at a thrift store!) I didn't pick up much, myself (a Silver Platters near our hotel had some blu-rays that I coveted, like Night of the Creeps and Paul Schrader's Hardcore, pus the new Minus 5 album on CD, but I think Erika got more clothing than I did records).
I was taken with this vintage fire hydrant, and snapped another few photos as we walked around Ballard.
But again, I've gone out of sequence, here, because we did Ballard before the Sub Pop shop, which is in downtown Seattle. Anyhow, we drove into town, parked for free at the Amazon garage, and explored a little there, too. Starbucks egg bites are better in Seattle than Vancouver, it turns out. The pot shops are very similar. And again, I had a striking impression of the racialization of homelessness in Seattle (which I snapped no photos of); there was very, very little evidence of the fentanyl epidemic that we're experiencing, no one folded over on the sidewalk or looking dead, slumped in a doorway. What there were, in the more depressed areas, were mostly black people with tents or other makeshift shelters. There is a larger demographic of blacks to whites in Seattle than in Vancouver, and there were plenty of affluent people of all backgrounds and skin tones on the streets, but the homeless people seemed to be at least 75% people of colour, which is something you simply DO NOT SEE here.
Then to find our way to the stadium. The transit system signage is about as shit in Seattle as it is Vancouver, and we wasted $6 US on tickets for a train system we didn't need to use; "No, you want the monorail." Ah well!
I remember riding that monorail with my Dad one time that he went down to the racetrack and took me with him. Long Acres. There's actually a story there, but it's kind of a sad one. I'd told him I was having suicidal thoughts, that I was pretty unhappy, and he suggested we take a trip to Seattle to get away. I was blown away: he never did things like that -- suggested father-son bonding exercises -- and I was as excited as I was surprised to see what he had in mind. Even on the monorail, I felt happy and excited to be spending the day with my Dad. Where would we go?
We went to the hotel, where he left me alone so he could go to LongAcres. Unless I wanted to come with him?
I was pretty disappointed in him, having had my hopes raised, and told him I'd just stay in the room.
But enough of that. We got to the right stop and oriented ourselves (no signage we could see; Stadium Station is much better that way, actually). My battery died as we arrived at Climate Pledge Arena, where Alabama Shakes were going to perform. It was huge -- seemed a few times the size of Rogers Arena, where we saw Cyndi Lauper last night, plus we were further away from the stage than we thought we'd be. But Alabama Shakes have a huge sound, which filled the room, and the sound was surprisingly excellent. We were clustered, alas, among idiots, people who chatted endlessly or made a dozen or more trips to the bathroom, so there were a few distractions, but there was a gay couple in the seats ahead of us whose total engagement and exuberant dancing were all the sweeter to observe, given the contrast with the other yahoos; we told them at the end that they were our favourite audience members: "these other people were annoying as hell, so thanks!"
But the music was great. Alabama Shakes did quite a few new songs -- they obviously are seriously reunited, not just doing it for the money. They had a bigger band than I expected (not just the core trio). Brittany at one point also addressed the political circumstances we face at this juncture, saying something vague about how there's a lot of problems in the world now, but if we "spread love in the dark times" we can pull through.
To me, the key conversation of the trip, besides the talk with Vic, took place at the Guest Services booth. I was a bit high, so a bit chatty. There were two dudes, one seeming senior, the other junior, and someone who I'd guess was a lesbian, from the semiotics of it, but, like, I didn't ask. The interaction went a bit like this:
ME: So look, I have a stupid question.
THEM: We can give you a stupid answer.
ME: No, I want an intelligent answer to a stupid question. Is that possible?
THEM: Hit us, we'll see what we can do.
THEM: Hit us, we'll see what we can do.
ME: We're down from Vancouver. I haven't been to a big arena rock show there in years, and I've never been to one in Seattle. But in Vancouver, for the encores, sometimes, when I was younger anyhow, they would let people sneak down onto the floor.
THEM: Ah, sorry. No, we don't do that.
ME (adopting ironic wheedling whine): Not even for my wife?
PRESUMED LESBIAN: (chuckles)
JUNIOR LOOKING MALE GUY: She got a kick out of that.
ME: ...Ah well, t was probably too much to hope for.
SUPERVISORY-LOOKING MALE GUY IN BACK (hence, SLMGIB): Are you from Vancouver, Washington, or Vancouver BC?
ME: Ah. Vancouver, BC.
SLMGIB: Thanks for coming down.
ME: Yeah, no, everyone's being really nice. Actually, I felt terrible at Bellis Fair Mall on the way down. We were walking around wondering where everyone was, and then we realized, it was us. We weren't there. It was dead.
SLMGIB: Yeah, they're hurting. But really, thanks. Don't abandon us.
ME (misting up): We won't. We feel bad for you! We know you're hurting. You deserve better.
Or something like that. I mean, memory is elusive, but it's close, and "don't abandon us" is verbatim.
As for Alabama Shakes, the setlist is online here. I took no notes, have nothing to say, but it was a no-bullshit rock show of the highest order.
(that last one is definitely by Erika, too)
I just wore my usual. Erika's new blazer was far more new-wave than anything I had in my closet. I don't actually HAVE clothing for a show like this. But I don't go to them often, so...
We sat, by design, in basically the same section I was in when I went to see Black Sabbath, ten years ago, also at Rogers Arena ("the last time I was here, Ozzy was onstage") -- straight back from the stage, near the front. We still mostly watched Cyndi on the screens, but we could see her, tiny, onstage too; it was okay!
Speaking of Ozzy, Cyndi HAD been doing something onstage where she played a bit of "Crazy Train," and I kind of hoped she would do that again, but maybe she stopped when he passed? (Might be too emotional?). I thought of Ozzy regardless. Cyndi's voice is in way better shape, but that's not sayin' a lot, considering some of the strangled squeaks Ozzy issued that night (he even apologized to the crowd for "singing like an asshole," at one point. But he was a game cheerleader, and the songs he DID sing well were great).
Sabbath also used screens that night, actually, but nothing compared to what Cyndi did.
That last stage setup involved a Yayoi Kusama themed installation, for the closing tune (I'll let you guess what that was). Cyndi explained a bit about Kusama to the audience, and remarked that Kusama was 90; Cyndi herself, now is 72.
She danced, for the most part, like she was still in her 20s, but you could sometimes see a certain stiffness (I noticed in her shoulders, Erika noticed it in her hips; we compared notes on the train home). But she danced a lot, adding to the time-machine quality of the night.
And the spectacle was fun -- I mean, fuckit, I grew up with Much Music myself, and have seen concerts in those modes before (I was reminded of seeing the Thompson Twins opening for the Police, in particular: another music-televsion-informed stage presentation).
And what was really wonderful was Cyndi's stage patter. She kinda did what Lucinda Williams did for that Car Wheels anniversary show a few years back, where she told the stories of the songs, and of her life. Frequently, these took a feminist bent: of how, for example, she recorded "I Drove All Night" because even in the early 1980s, there were no songs on the radio about women driving (this got a cheer). Actually, I'm not sure there are that many, now!
It really added to the songs, learning her motivations (often feminist ones) for having written or performed them. She talked about how, when she was a young woman, you couldn't even get a credit card or bank account without your husband's name on it (or such; again; I wasn't taking notes). She told stories about being the child of immigrants. She managed to hold the crowd throughout, though there were a few people who occasionally insisted on shouting things at her, and twice she interrupted her storytelling to respond to it, the second time a bit crankier than the first: "I can't hear what the heck you're saying, I've got stuff in my ears! But I love you!"
That brought cheers, but also a little less shouting (well-done, Cyndi!).
Lauper's stories also took in her career trajectory -- about how things went bad for her in 1989, when her third album, A Night to Remember -- which features "I Drove All Night" -- tanked. Billy Hopeless tells me on FB that it's a seriously underrated record; I might check it out. They also took in her time as an art student, prior to her music career, coming north into Canada to draw trees, not realizing that it was blackfly season. She still drew lots of trees! And she showed appreciation for Canada by mentioning the Acadian/ Cajun connection by way of introducing "Iko Iko."
I can't do justice to her stage patter but it was the high point of the night, for me: she has one of the most engaging stage presences, between songs, that I've encountered, is a natural storyteller, funny and honest and surprisingly frank. In some cases ("Sally's Pigeons"), I enjoyed the stories more than the songs -- she talked about her childhood as the (grand?)child of Italian immigrants, about her community, and how the women would hang the sheets to dry in the backyard, being sure to take them in by the time Sally, their neighbour with a coop, released his birds. She also gave nods to the gay contingent in her audience ("gays like glamour," she said, of one costume change, which happened onstage) and encouraged people to buy wigs, proceeds from which went to the "Girls Just Wanna Have Fundamental Rights" initiative. She even mentioned, in talking about those fundamental rights, one of the more contentious ones in the US, abortion.
We cheered and loved her. How can you not?
Sadly, I have to admit, my own awareness of Lauper as a performer ended in 1989 -- the last song I remember hearing from her was "I Drove All Night," in fact... then there was nothing on the radio, nothing on Much Music, and I kinda forgot about her (being into grunge and then avant-rock and free jazz from about 1989 to 2000). Hell, even when she was at her peak, I was mostly listening to hardcore punk. But I still appreciated the hell out of anyone singing a song about female masturbation on top-40 radio -- go, Cyndi! -- and was entertained by her costuming and persona, even if it wasn't entirely my thing. Seven songs of the fifteen she played, I had never heard before, including the Frankie Laine cover, "I'm Gonna Be Strong," which -- while old-fashioned and far from my wheelhouse -- had the vocal performance of the night: holy shit can Cyndi still sing.
But we both enjoyed ourselves immensely, Erika and I. There were a couple of less impressive songs, too, but I almost don't want to mention them. For "Time After Time" but it sounded to me like she'd decided that, since everyone was going to sing along (which they did), she would stagger her own vocals a bit, move them up a notch, so to speak, so that she was in front of the crowd's echo a bit; it sounded odd to me! But people (including Erika) still choked up to be hearing it. Myself, I enjoyed "Money Changes Everything" more, and the Laine cover, and "I Drove All Night" and "She Bop," and of course the big show-closer. As for the rest, mostly I liked the stories between songs best.
So they were two very different concerts, but both of them were very enjoyable, even if there was an undercurrent of sadness about things in the USA right now which informed both nights. I hope it gets better soon. Americans deserve better.
Thanks to Alabama Shakes and to Cyndi Lauper for making this a week to remember.
