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After breakfast, Mary and I went thrifting yesterday, where I finally scored an old, heavy-duty camera tripod for a paltry $5.99! Oddly enough, I finally got the shutter in my old Olympus OM-2 unjammed that morning, so the timing couldn’t have been better.
The rainy Seattle weather has been living up to it’s reputation over the past few days, and the cold drizzle has returned us to a feeling of winter. Appropriately, we started our afternoon at the pub, reading The Sinner and setting ourselves adrift to Miles Davis and Enigma.
Dorothy quips that she prays for weather like this, “It forces people out of the cold and into the bars, where they belong.” And she’s on the money. As the hours blend on, the people continue to seep in. Some groups huddle around casual conversations, as couples shake their coats free and reposition their footstool around the flickering fireplace. By the time Mary and I leave for the Ballard Art Walk, the OP is bustling.
A quick shower and pound back a double tall vanilla, and then it’s time to wander. Unfortunately, there really wasn’t that much being shown for the art walk, and since talking about art is akin to dancing about architecture, I’ll spare you the details of the exhibits. (OK, just one: Pat Wickline’s copper wire shadow sculptures are really cool, and the picture above simply does not do him justice.)
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Saturday night and that late double vanilla latte failed to provide me with the strength necessary to endure the slow, draining punishment of another poorly-booked band at the OP. I heard someone comment that the band sucked, and I quickly corrected him. Ever After isn’t at all that bad—playing well an eclectic mix of mellow rock, including at least one Moody Blues cover. They would be perfect for something like the third stage at Bumbershoot, where people, sprawled out on blankets under the summer sun, can slowly eat their scones and knock back seven-dollar beers as they catch up with friends.
The problem here is that the OP draws a stereotypical meat-market on Saturday nights. The diminishing crowd consisted mainly of three sect: the younger crowd, who sequestered themselves upstairs under a pretense of playing pool and throwing darts the moment the band started playing; the older hippie throw-backs, who were obvious friends and relatives of the band; and the regulars, who’s common social agenda exempts them from necessitating consideration.
I could feel the room getting whiter by the second. Any energy the crowd brought with them was being systematically drained away. Fuck me for coming out and actually saying it, but the only way this train-wreck booking could work is if the show was if it was promoted correctly. Or am I wrong?
All right… so why am I going off again? Well, I’ve spent way too much of my life consumed by the music industry to let it go. Even my graphic design is an extension of my relationship to music; a byproduct of owning a recording studio. It kinda’ like noticing once that a photo on a wall is hung slightly askew, and then not being able to do anything about it. Even though I should really shut up before someone hears me and gets personally offended, something inside me still screams that I could do better.
Anyway, our evening was aborted prematurely in an gracious moment of mercy as the power overloaded the house system. On the way out the door I snapped off the picture of Ever After’s gear. They were between sets, and I wasn’t going to wait.
I guess this is a good shot of how I really feel about this band,” I joked to Todd, the doorman, as I took the picture.
“Of an empty stage?” he laughed, nodding.
I would’ve replied, but Todd was scrambling to ask for the ID of two women that had walked in while he hadn’t been paying full attention.
“What did you say?” one asked, turning to face him.
“Oh. Nevermind.” He replied, waving them in, obviously realizing that there was no chance in hell these two old bats were anywhere close to being under-age.
“WHAT???” she exclaimed, confronting him with his blatant lack of tack. “THAT WAS THE TOTALLY WRONG ANSWER!”
Excellent. The night ended on a high note. Thanks Todd.