The Moondoggies :: at The Blue Moon :: June 19th, 2009

We’ve been saying it basically as long as we’ve been writing this blog, The Blue Moon is one of Seattle’s best and certainly it’s most under-appreciated venue.  I say that fully believing that the most spot-on description you’ll likely ever see of the Blue Moon reads a little something like this:

That place is a real historic Seattle shit-kicker kind of place. You got the old timers and the hardcore drinkers. It’s one of those places where it feels they should have chicken wire onstage so people wouldn’t hit the musicians with bottles. When you walk in it just smells like old bar. … It was cool because there was nothing pretentious about that venue. You just have a lot of real people and then your friends. There would be people who would come there and just be like, ‘Ah, I can’t stand it—I have to leave!’ But it’s a very genuine good shit-kicker bar. It’s one of those places where you’ll be sitting there joking around and some crazy old drunk lady will just lie down on the floor next to you and start sleeping.

Kevin Murphy of The Moondoggies gave that description in a  recent interview with LA Record, when he was asked about the band getting their start with a “residency” at The Blue Moon. Not many other (if any) Seattle venues are being called out by name by out-of-town interviewers. Even so, in Seattle-proper The Blue Moon often seems to be ignored as a legitimate music venue by both the press and regular concert go-ers. While it may very well be the least glamorous place in Seattle, you’ll rarely see a band at it’s more genuine bare than on the Blue Moon stage.

The Blue Moon has been our ‘home court’ for the past three years and it’s not uncommon for us to be there for a show a week. We were there as The Moondoggies got their start playing regularly at The Blue Moon,  and we’ve been introduced to a number of our other favorite local acts from sets at The Moon. The Blue Moon is where local rock bands cut their teeth. And countless Seattle bands (both past and current) had their first gig at the venerable dive bar. Much like this blog, the Blue Moon is largely all about the locals. While there is an increasing number of touring bands on Blue Moon bills, we’d still say that 9 out of 10 bands you see at the Blue Moon hail from the Pacific Northwest.

We’ve spent the past few weekends being reminded just why we love The Blue Moon so much. On June 19th we saw The Moondoggies return to the Moon for a secret performance, and oh how the times have changed from those first sparsely attended late night sets. Even without being on the bill or the show being mentioned anywhere officially, the room was packed and buzzing for the Moondoggies.  In spite of being on the verge of something much bigger, having been recently picked up by Red Light Management who manages acts like Dave Matthews Band, Ben Harper, and Phish — The Moondoggies looked perfectly at home on that shit-kicker stage. And the band played one of the strongest sets I’ve ever seen them perform, playing previously unheard songs among old favorites.

The Moondoggies ::: all photos by Abbey

Read about our next two weekends at The Blue Moon after the jump…

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Do remember where you were when you learned the news in 1994?

What people who don’t live in Seattle don’t realize, is many of our rainy days are really just drizzly days. It’s not that Seattle doesn’t do downpours, we do, but many of our rainy days are just kind of half rainy days. As someone who was born and raised in Seattle, I’d say these days are the epitome of Seattle weather and climate. We’re all about the in-between here.

Most “rainy day” songs and albums are for those downpour days, the really stormy nasty days, but here in Seattle, what’s really valuable are the albums for those in-between days. For me, nothing fits days like this, like The National. While all their albums are well-suited for the in-between grey days, their second release “Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers” was made for such days. It’s brooding but not furious, with just enough upbeatness amidst the anger and heartache. It’s a moody album in a very grey Seattle skies way.

I’m not strictly a National girl on these days, or I would listen to very little else. A few of my other favorite in-between rainy day albums are: Neko Case Fox Confessor Brings The Flood, Radiohead Kid A, and Modest Mouse The Lonesome Crowded West. Lately I’ve also been playing The Rural Alberta Advantage Hometowns lately on the half-grey days.

I’m sure you have your go-to albums for these kind of in-between grey Seattle days, and I would love if you’d shared them. I need to add a couple more to the rotation.

The highlight of my week?

Going down to the very bottom of my favorites section, in the folder marked “Venues” to the link for The Crocodile Cafe, which I refused to delete after it suddenly closed–and after the venue stayed shuttered for over a year–and having it work.

No error page, no blank schedule, rather a month’s worth of amazing shows at Seattle’s classic music venue. I can’t wait to get back to The Crocodile, and I know many of you feel the same way.

Since the first time I heard them, I’ve been trying to figure out who M. Bison sounds like. I finally figured it out at their show on Saturday.

+

=

M. Bison photo by Abbey

The equation is: Weezer Blue Album + Ben Folds Five = M. Bison

That’s my deduction and I am sticking to it.

Just may be. Behold….Iggy Pop in Crocs.

Exactly a year ago today, Sound on the Sound made a great musical discovery and share an incredibly memorable night with two of Seattle’s most talented bands. On last years’ Solstice we were lucky enough to be introduced to five incredibly talented guys from Port Angeles, The Lonely H. 

A year ago, four of these kids were skipping practice for their high school graduation to play the Nectar. And what a year it has been for The Lonely H–despite suffering the loss of original lead guitarist Colin, the boys have continued and improved as a four piece. Indeed, a year later, these boys are no longer boys, but well-traveled musicians who have spent nearly all of 2008 on the road. The new songs the H have been writing on the road show an increased maturity, meatier licks, and dueling lusts for the road and home.

Despite the men they have become, I will always fondly remember the wide-smiling boys who astonished me with their old-soul rock’n'roll that night. Here are a few photos from the night we were introduced to the Lonely H:

For those of you who know me outside of SOTS, the following story will come of no surprise to you…as you know, these types of things always manage to happen to me.

We enjoyed a glorious weekend in Georgetown celebrating local music with a few of our friends and favorite bands. If you were there yesterday, you know as well as I do the weather and the local line-up could have hardly been more perfect. Seventy degrees and sunny all day…as we gladly ran from stage to stage for eight hours straight, enjoying old favorites like Thee Emergency, The Lashes and The Hands; and discovering some new locals to love–The Lost Episode, Kaylee Cole, and The Lonely Forest.

During the only lull of yesterday’s afternoon and in search of some much needed sustenance, we moseyed down to Smarty Pants, one of my favorite spots in Georgetown. We grabbed a clutch seat on the patio, ordered a couple of Manny’s, ate a delicious sandwich (I had the Flipper, but next time I’ll have what Josh ordered–Miss Piggy: yes, no tv character is sacred) and enjoyed the company of a few of our favorites from Skeletons with Flesh on Them.

Deciding to use Smarty Pants’ non-Honey Bucket facilities before we returned to the Festival, I excused myself. After readying myself for an afternoon and evening packed full of my favorite bands, I attempted to exit the restroom. I reached down to unlock the bottom lock and nothing. Oh, the door knob moved and even the little lock latch moved, but the lock didn’t budge. So I yanked and pulled on it as hard as I could for a few minutes; I stopped and took a deep breath and tried to figure out just how the lock was outsmarting me–to no avail. …I was stuck. Luckily, I had my cell phone, so I texted my compatriots out in the Smarty Pants court-yard: “Halp! I am stuck in the bathroom.”  Within in moments I hear Becca outside of the door in her soft southern drawl, “hunny are you in here?”  “Yeah,” I whimpered defeated and slightly embarrassed…I just knew with one turn of her wrist Becca would open the door. But no such luck, I can hear and see Becca doing her damnedest to conquer the door. After a few futile minutes of trying and willing to suffer the embarrassment, I ask her if she can have someone with the key come and rescue me.

I sheepishly put the toilet lid down and take a seat.  I can hear the conversation as the bartender fiddles with the key, Becca asks “Has this ever happened before?” and with bewilderment in her voice the key-wielder says ”No. In Five years, never.” The key has absolutely no effect on the lock or the stuckness of the door. Another waiter or two and a few patrons, by the sound of it, are taking their turn at the door. Nothing. There are lively discussions about my predicament happening just outside the door. “Is that your friend stuck in there? Poor Thing!” “Is someone stuck in there — oh god!” Someone passes a butter knife under the door to see if I can somehow jam it in between the lock and the door jam, again no such luck–in fact, the knife bends in half comically.

By now fifteen or twenty minutes have passed, the bathroom is getting hot, and I am trying not to give in to my claustrophobic tendencies. I am starting to think I may miss The Hands because I am stuck in a bar bathroom in Georgetown and I’m trying my damnedest to see the humor in that. By now, the big guns have been called in. I hear calls for screw drivers and hammers and all kinds of tools. Someone is beating the fuck out of the door knob with a hammer, but still nothings moving.  And then it’s just silent. I call out “Hello?” Becca tells me the guy who is “going to get me out” had to go and get some more tools. In my mind, this next tool may be some sort of hatchet or chainsaw. “Don’t worry,” Becca coos, “you’ll be out soon.”

Soon enough, someone is at the door again and taking determined swings at the door knob. The acoustics of the bathroom make me feel like I am sitting inside a kick drum, but it appears to be working. I can see that the door knob is shaking and moving and with one final thwack and thud — there is outside light and air in the bathroom. I see an eyeball peek in and I wave sheepishly. A reassuring, booming male voice says, “don’t worry you’ll be out in just a few minutes.”  A few maneuvers with pliers and a screw-driver and the lock has been popped out–the door is flung open and to the cheers of fellow patrons–I am free. A tall lanky man clad in his motor-cycle clubs’ leather vest welcomes me warmly and pats me on the back and people at the bar give me a thumbs up. I am bright red with embarrassment.

I thank my “rescuer,” a handsome bald man who was thankfully handy with tools. He tells me to wait around a while and I am hoping for a shot of whiskey. At this point, I need one–badly. Perhaps more badly than ever. I walk out to the patio–again to claps and laughter from my fellow Smarty Pants’ patrons. I hang my head and shrug my shoulders and finally just laugh and laugh with everyone else. If it had happened to anyone else, I would probably have been in stitches. Before we head out back to the festival–beers and meals were ordered and finished during my bathroom ordeal–my ”rescuer” brings me a generous gift certificate from Smarty Pants and apologizes. (see above cheesy photo)

And I will be back, I love Georgetown and Smarty Pants. I love that this happened in a place where some guy just had to go to his truck for his tools, and that everyone there shared the experience with me, in a kind rather than a pointing-and-laughing kind of way. (I believe this experience would have been soul-crushing and much longer in say, Belltown or Fremont). Oh, I will be back, but maybe next time–I’ll only use the top latch on that bathroom door.  

Damn you Fleet Foxes and your full-length debut–that I cannot stop listening to. I have tried, but somehow, I have still managed to listen to the album a full six times through today-alone. Damn you and your perfect pacific northwest sound, which reminds me of church hymnals sung in cedar churches by earnest hippies. Damn the fact that Pitchfork gave the album a (deserved) 9.0, cementing its spot in the best of end of the year lists, guaranteeing that you will no longer going to be a sweet Seattle secret. But bless you for writing songs that soothe and salve. I thought it would be nearly impossible to top the beauty of “Mykonos” from the Sun Giant EP, but you’ve managed to do so with tunes like “Your Protector” and long time fan favorite “Oliver James.” The success really couldn’t happen to more deserving, talented fellows. So really, Congratulations.

First and foremost, I want to sincerely thank all of you that sent your sympathy and sad song recommendations. I’m not going to get all Emily Gould on y’all, but for you guys to interact with me as a breathing, mourning human has been really touching, reaffirming, and just– wonderful. And you guys most certainly know what you’re talking about with your sad songs! Tindersticks, Elliott Smith, and Bonnie Prince Billy have all helped me get the tears out.

My mom called me a couple days ago to tell me that Barb (her best friend and the person we are all missing so much) loved Hallelujah. (start the water-works again!) This summer they had seen K.D. Lang at Chateau Ste. Michelle and K.D. Lang had covered it, much to Barb’s delight. More than anything that’s been said to me in the following days, this made me feel better than anything else. Like Barb had told me what to listen to in my sadness and that she approved with her whole-heart. I’ve listened to the song a few more times since and have sincerely felt like Barb is smiling and crying with me and Mr. Buckley.

I went as far as making a sad songs playlist, which has been on pretty heavy rotation. I searched through my entire music library–got super stuck on Nick Drake’s catalogue-now THAT is some sad shit, too sad actually. A couple of songs have been really wonderful companions, and I thought I’d share a few with you.

* Golden Slumbers and In My Life - The Beatles
* all of Dirty Three’s “Ocean Songs” album
* Mykonos - The Fleet Foxes
* Love Love Love - The Mountain Goats

and since it was Barb’s favorite, here is K.D. Lang, doing Hallelujah.