Bumbershoot. Day 2.

11 Bands. 1 Comedy show.

Bands Seen:
The Lonely H
Sage
Matt Jorgensen +451
The Blakes
The Tripwires
Howlin Rain
These Arms Are Snakes
Speaker Speaker
The Black Keys
Stone Temple Pilots
Tapes 'n Tapes

Comedy Show:
Michele Buteau
Janeane Garofalo

A different mode of transportation! As I had a friend crashing at my place, and he happened to borrow a car from his grandparents, and also was headed to Seattle (for Penny Arcade Expo in his case), I decided to do the noble thing and let him drive (for the sake of the planet and all that...). The Penny Arcade Expo was at the Convention Center in the middle of downtown Seattle, so I was still a short hop away from my destination. I walked down to third avenue and hopped a bus down to the Seattle Center. Time of Arrival: around 10:30am. Which meant I had a half hour to kill. I set myself in line (which already had stretched halfway down the block on near the Pacific Science Center, and pulled out Cryptonomicon, the book I had brought in anticipation of this excess bit of time available.

For those unfamiliar, Cryptonomicon is a rangy book that spans three narratives concerning 1) a World War 2 cryptanalyst, 2) a marine in a detachment that is created to protect the secret that particular enemy codes have been broken, and 3) a 20th Century tech start up involving the grandson of #1. Part war story, part primer on information theory, part treasure hunting adventure. And all of it's wrapped together that makes a math nerd squeal in delight. Unfortunately all this bound amazingness comes in an 1100 page package that would weigh down my pocket all day. Despite it's size, I'd highly recommend it though. Maybe not as festival going fare, but Neal Stephenson tells a mean story (see Snow Crash...).

The gates open, and the line gets moving. I'm swept inside with about an hour and a half to kill before the first band goes on. Luckily, I have two tasks to initially keep me occupied.

The first, is to get a ticket to one of the comedy shows. In particular, I had seen that Zach Galifinakis had pulled out, and I thought I had seen a reference to David Cross replacing him on Saturday. These tickets are handed out at a booth in the middle of the festival grounds, and I hurried in that direction, to be confronted with another impressive demonstration of queueing power. No reading here however, as the line moves efficiently forward. A mark of a sharpie on my ticket, and I'm guaranteed a spot in a show featuring Michelle Buteau and Janeane Garofalo (either David Cross only did the one day, or I misread).

Number two on my list is to get a main stage pass for the evening. Day two boasts both The Black Keys and Stone Temple Pilots on the main stage for Sunday night. Again, a brief walk, followed by an efficient line. I am spat out of the entire preparation process with my main stage pass and comedy show ticket in tow over by the EMP Sky Church venue (which is where the first band I'll be seeing is getting set up). The time is now 11:30. One hour til showtime. I grab a slab of concrete, pull out my book, and pray that the 30% chance of showers that I had seen in the forecast doesn't construct itself into reality.

The sky maintained its composure (although a few drops leaped to their dooms, they thankfully proved to be exceptions). About five minutes before the show, I headed into the venue and caught some rail space for The Lonely H. The entire band looked to be in high school (or just barely out of), but were decked out in full 70s rock star regalia. As they took the stage and launched into their first song, all I could think was that the 70s had thrown up on stage, and it was a good thing. Lots of energy from these guys. Everything that I like about classic hard rock wrapped into a shiny new veneer. I headed out about a forty-five minutes into their set to get over to the Rock Star Stage to check out a band called Sage.

Sage, per the event description, was a band reminiscent of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I didn't entirely see the similarity, but they were a solid act. This was the band that I had thought I was going to start my day with, but their set was offset from that of The Lonely H by fifteen minutes giving me an opportunity to see both. And to their detriment, The Lonely H put on a hell of a show, which made the low key nature of their set seem a bit less impressive then it likely was.

Next up were comedians! In a theatre! I crossed the Seattle Center grounds to see a massive line in front of the theatre. Assuming default sheep demeanor, I hopped in and proceeded to stand. I got in the line 15 minutes before the show (which was supposed to start seating a half hour before the show) and proceeded to stand in one spot for the next 10 minutes. Something did not seem right...

The general mechanic for the comedy shows is apparently such. They distribute a finite number of tickets from the Comedy Pass booth every morning. These tickets fill up some percentage of the seats. In addition, a Standby line is formed at the entrance to the venue. Anybody can stand in the Standby line and gets the opportunity to fill one of the remaining seats. Once the seats are filled they tell the rest of the line to go to hell and all is dandy in the world of the comedy stage. Now when I arrived at the front of the theater, a sign was displayed near the venue saying that the entrance was in such a direction (which the line was originating from) and the exit was in another direction. After 10 minutes, I became suspicious. I hopped out of line (even if it was the ticket holder line, I was guaranteed a spot by the shiny piece of paper in my pocket) and headed towards the entrance along the side of the line to talk to one of the Bumbershoot staff folks.

As it turns out, a second line did exist for people with tickets, but this line had disappeared inside far earlier then I had arrived. The Standby line had thickened into a mass that obscured where this line had been. The staff folks walked me through the line of Standby people into the cool interior of the theatre. Having dodged that bullet, I made my way to a seat, and prepared for the show. The emcee came on, joked for about 10 minutes (introducing the phrase, "I was so excited, I Bumbershit my pants...") and introduced the first comedienne. Michele Buteau was from New York and her act had a primarily sexual bent. Amusing and also charming. Then it's time for Janeane. She comes on and starts immediately with politics. She is a seething ball of anti-conservative rage and most of her act is political satire laced with diatribes. In the middle of her act, a group of four or five folks stand up and leave saying loudly that they came "for comedy, not for politics". Did they not know who they were getting in to see? Janeane was on Air America! She's in the Satiristas show (at Bumbershoot), which is entirely political humor. She is the female liberal foil to whatever white male conservative dares to grace the airwaves. And on top of all this, we're in the middle of an election year! To assume that she's going to make nice about politics is possibly the least informed thought that you could have. And living in Western Washington, you have to expect a lot of yes-men for this type of thing (there was a lot whistling, clapping, and loud displays of agreement as she went through her bit. This was not a particularly conservative audience)

The walk out shakes her a bit. She falls back to some other topics, trying to get her feet under her. Babies (and her non-desire for them). Marriage (and her non-desire to be engaged in such). Then family. And this leads her back. Her dad is apparently conservative, so arguments come up, and she's right back into the flow of political satire. She does go off the crazy conspiracy end for a bit ("every cell phone, even if it's turned off allows the government to track your usage of certain words..."). As a whole I enjoy it thoroughly (although, as usual find that all political discourse comes down to a stark us vs. them breakdown, that's more invective then truthful representation).

Comedy show done, I head over to the Wells Fargo for some Northwest Jazz. The hectic artist to artist jumping portion of my day is about to begin. Matt Jorgensen +451 is a good band to ramp up for this. It eases me back into the music side of things and gives me a chance to grab some food sit down and masticate like a champ (jazz is approved by 5 out of 6 professional masticators for post-comedy mastications).

Then, a quick trip into the Exhibition Hall to see The Blakes. The Blakes were a solid entertaining group. Not quite on par with the high points on my weekend thus far (Beck, Throw Me The Statue, PWRFL Power), but definitely avoiding the basement. Now a jaunt over to the Sky Church again for The Tripwires, a band that is supposed to be "Beatles-esque". I don't get any of this vibe from them, and leave after two or three songs. I got more of a "bastard love child of the Cherry Popping Daddies and Sum 41" kind of thing out of it.

In any case, this sits lowest in my evaluation of the day until I arrive over at the Rockstar Stage to hear Howlin' Rain. And to borrow a phrase from earlier, it's like the 70s threw up on stage. This time though, it's not in a good way. I get the feeling that this group of guys has actually been playing together since the late 60s/early 70s. And where they didn't get huge initially (because they had X number of immensely talented psychedelia/funk/arena rock bands at the time), through a sheer battle of attrition, they have gotten to the point where the world demands Y number of psychedelia/funk/arena rock bands and they happen to be #Y on the list. I sit around for a bit (as there is a distinct lack of other things to check out in the next half hour) and get some more reading done.

As 5:00 pm rolls around I get up and head back towards the Exhibition Hall to see These Arms Are Snakes. I enter to see the singer shirtless, with the microphone wrapped around his neck, leaping around as if possessed. Hardcore. Indeed. This is the first show of the weekend where I see the band (actually just the singer) get down on the floor and interact with the crowd. He climbs the little barricade and hops out into the crowd for a bit of crowd surfing. The sound is schizophrenic. And I dig. 45 minutes of crazy later and I'm back outside with a half hour to kill before Speaker Speaker comes on at the Sky Church. I snack on free samples and then find a bargain in terms of food. A plate of basmati rice with Alo Chole (potatoes and garbanzo beans) from a booth serving up Indian food. With the addition of a Mango Lemonade, I'm ready to roll.

The information guide for the festival indicates that Speaker Speaker is a brand of pop-punk that is sonically close kin with Ted Leo (one of my favorite artists). Now this sets an expectation. And the expectation is the baseline for comparison. And this becomes a hurdle in the way of my enjoyment. The band plays well. They're definitely into their set and having a good time up on stage. I'm on the rail on the side of the stage that they come up from, and I hear the pre-show banter with some of the crowd they know. Talking about the show they had a week ago where 8 people were there (they had fun though!). MarioKart (I'm gonna bring those sparks!). But they aren't Ted Leo. More along the lines of The Ataris. And my dilemma here is that I've come in expecting Ted Leo, and gotten The Ataris instead. This is a bait and switch that leaves me a bit dissatisfied. I'm starting to think at this point that the informative little summaries of the bands are less then helpful for me. This realization comes a bit late though. I know the next three bands, and have known them for a significant portion of time prior to Bumbershoot.

Next in my schedule is Jakob Dylan, formerly of The Wallflowers. I get to the stage, look at the packed, shoulder to shoulder crowd, and decide immediately that I'd rather find some prime real estate for The Black Keys and Stone Temple Pilots then stick around. And given my anticipated proximity to the stage, I'm going to try and get out of the Stone Temple Pilots set early in order to catch a few songs by Final Fantasy and Tapes 'n Tapes.

More reading commences as I wait the half hour for The Black Keys to come on. The Black Keys are spectacular. There's only two of them, so they don't physically fill the space they've been given (the Main Stage is large), but their sound is huge and crunchy. The set goes by quickly. I'm in disbelief that an hour could pass that fast. T-minus thirty minutes until Stone Temple Pilots come on. The book comes out, and I read by cell phone light in the quickly fading half-light.

9:15 comes around. The filler song playing through the house system ends. There's a few second pause and the crowd noise swells in anticipation. Then, another song comes over the house system. The crowd subsides back to it's default dull roar. The song ends and goes quiet. 6 seconds. 7 seconds. This has got to be it! The crowd lets the decibel level climb again. And then another song from the house system. The false starts keep happening for about a half hour. The Stone Temple Pilots were supposed to be on at 9:15 and it's 9:20. 9:25. 9:30. 9:35. Around me the crowd thinks that it's got to be something with Scott Weiland. He's drunk. Throw some water on his ass and get him out here. No, he's back on heroin. He OD'd. A tour bus rolls in around 9:35ish. 10 minutes later STP takes the stage.

The music rocks. It rattles, jumps, and hisses. Lounge Fly, Creep, Vaseline, ...! I'm solidly gripped by it all (Purple was the first or second CD that I ever owned). One bit of eh? here. As the music is sonically pummeling the front rows of the audience, he sings and moves around. But it's almost like he's in the middle of an interpretive dance. He's moving at a different speed and level of intensity then everything around him.

I pop out of the set after 8 or 9 songs and head over towards the Wells Fargo stage to see if Final Fantasy is still on. He is not. I head in the opposite direction to catch the tail end of the Tapes 'n Tapes set. Happily I'm there for about 3 songs before their set ends. A good stage presence and some great songs leave me with some warm fuzzies at the end of day 2.

My friend is still up in Seattle, so I give him a call and meet him at a 7-11 near the Seattle Center. It's 11pm. Tomorrow's a holiday, and he's got a pair of friends in the car from Victoria. We head to Dick's to put a food cap on the evening. One Dick's Deluxe, fries, and milk shake later and all of a sudden the night needs some drinks. We drive around downtown Seattle looking for some parking. We abortively attempt to park in a garage and leave when we find out that they close in five minutes. Time is starting to dwindle til last call hours. We head back to the hotel that the Canadians are staying at. Parking here is on site, so we get inside the parking garage and start spiraling up looking for a spot. We head past reserved spaces aplenty. Then the handicap spaces pop up.

"Wait," I say, "This is your grandparents car." I look up in the visor, and sure enough, a handicap permit is present. Time saved (albeit through nefarious handicap space stealing ways), we touch down in the hotel bar. The waiter comes by to tell us that it's last call. Shit! The table orders before me. A beer each for the Canadians. A beer for my friend. I, being a forward thinker, order a beer AND a gin and tonic. The Canadians immediately change their drink order. My friend Derek retains his one beer as he'll be driving back. In a land that's about to stop serving alcohol, you've got to make the most of the time that you've got. We talk for a bit and then part ways. Time for sleep.