The Music

Paul Allen knows how to throw a party. The comparisons to Bumbershoot--the major musical extravaganza that is thrown every year at the Seattle Center--are inevitable; while each manages to pack in more musical acts in a single weekend than any one person can partake (I tried!), the EMP Opening Weekend definitely had a larger marquee value. Naturally, the collection of such acts enticed MTV to roll in for Friday night and VH1 for Saturday night.

If you haven't already, you can catch the cut-and-paste versions of these shows during their endless summer reruns on either channel. Since security around the Memorial Stadium was single-minded in their directive of once in/once out, it was real tough to spot check the music in the larger Stadium and still keep up with the five other stages (not to mention the seminars and such going on at EMP). Which means we all missed the Eurythmics stopping their show to tell the VH1 helicopter to piss off. (You certainly won't see that part in the telecast!)

Here's a run down of what our intrepid eP explorer did manage to see and hear:

The Friday night show catered to the MTV crowd. Not only does Paul Allen know about party tossing, he's also a master of generating press. If you entice the proper lineup to your show, then you can convince MTV to spend a few days roiling about the Seattle Center and end up with a special report on the channel that gets you all kinds of publicity. Keep the ticket prices reasonable (a mere $60 as compared to the numbing $150 for Saturday night's VH1 spectacle) and you can pack the house. And the Memorial Stadium was definitely packed; it was just a sea of asses and elbows up in the pit as Kid Rock hit the stage, and by the time the sun set and Metallica stormed the stage, that sea of sunburned, sweating humanity reached nearly all the way back to the food stands at the back of the stadium. And this ocean was ready to do some Perfect Storm-style turbulence.

The stadium started its long wind-up when Kid Rock bounced on stage. As the Kid mentioned to Kurt Loder in a revealing behind-the-scenes interview, each band only has about thirty minutes--enough time to do your hits. Kid Rock doesn't have enough "hits" to fill that half hour, but there was enough time for him to run around the stage and take a spin on each of the instruments of his band. Frankly, if I were being paid to play in Rock's band, I would have seriously thought about clocking him. There's nothing more insulting than having your superfluousness demonstrated in front of 24,000 people. But hey, the kids seemed to love it, and I'm sure Kid Rock is a big fan of the Coen brothers and lives by the Hudsucker Proxy mantra.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers on the other hand, had more than enough material to fill a half hour, speeding and gyrating through a tight set. Complete with a tube sock encore and Flea's impassioned call for kindness and consideration to your fellow man, the Chili Peppers demonstrated exactly why their version of speed punk funk is still a complete delight to see and hear.

It's certainly a sad sign of the Apocalypse that Eminem can walk onto the stage, ask the audience if they've ever felt like killing someone and get a rousing roar of approval from the crowd. Backed by a DJ and a garishly designed stage, he spat through a couple of his hits, stopping to indulge in a little public laundry airing about his current marital issues. Anyone surprised his wife isn't all that happy when he's out touring and equating her to an inflatable doll in front of thousands of impressionable audience members? Sadly, there wasn't enough of Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg. The set cut short, there was only enough time for Dre and Dogg to stroll through a couple of their major hits. Too bad. While Eminem has got enough anger to spark interest, Dre and Dogg have got the chilled passion to keep an audience rapturously attentive.

After an interminable wait--the stage rotated in an attempt to keep down times between acts to a minimum--Metallica finally decided it was dark enough to come on stage. And the crowd was definitely ready to rock. Still strong after twenty years of banging their and our heads, the band looked like the recent flap about Napster hadn't dulled their desire to entertain. Tan and trimmed, James Hetfield looked like he was having a grand old time up there. Of course, he was probably doing the math in his head. "Let's see. A million dollars to play this gig. Half an hour set. Four of us in the band. Yep, I'm making eight grand and change every minute." No wonder he was smiling.

Over on the Mural Plaza stage, the day-long affair with old school blues and rock and roll was beginning. Big Jay McNeely--widely remembered for his signature saxophone sound as well as "The Deacon's Hop"--couldn't be contained by the stage. Leaving the platform, he wandered down among the gathered families to give them a close and personal visitation from a R & B legend. This stage seems to engender this type of behavior: I seem to remember young bluesman Jude Bowerman doing the same thing at Bumbershoot last year. It's a type of interaction that the Mural Stage crowd seems to inspire in its attendant artists.

It's surprising the depth of musical genres that you can find in Seattle. Back at the Electric Bus stage (a temporary structure erected just opposite the Flag Plaza near the International Fountain), Yerba Buena was bringing the Cuban flavor of Latin music to Seattle. Actually based here in Seattle, Yerba Buena demonstrated that music doesn't have to be relegated to cultural and geographical borders; it can--and does--go where the love of the music wanders.

It's all about running back and forth. Okay, okay, humping across the lawns. Johnny Johnson--the "Father of Rock 'n' Roll Piano"--is on the Mural Stage, demonstrating why he retains this title after forty years. Danny O'Keefe comes onto the Electric Bus stage and charms the attentive audience with his folk-style songwriting. Neko Case--fighting "consumption" as she laughingly tells the audience--performs her own style of country music, complete with heartbreak and soulful melancholy. The audience--introspectively lost afterward--is bludgeoned by Skerik's monster saxophone as Nausea Trois blow onto the Electric Bus stage. An artrock/noise trio--Skerik, drummer Mike Stone, and Sadhappy bassist Paul Hinklin--Nausea Trois set out to test the ratings of the sound system and to wake up the folks napping under the trees over by the Key Arena. Having so recently caught the Peter Brötzmann Tentet a few days before [click here to read the review], I was happy to have my noodle scrambled again. Others weren't as pleased, drifting away to the Mural Stage where Bo Diddley was churning up his own kind of musical storm.

You see? The reward to the savvy was that all these shows were free. Sure, Paul Allen and EMP were picking up the tab; while the baby boomers who could afford the ticket prices for Memorial Stadium were slowly filing in to their hard metal seats, the rest of us were seeing some of the best of the old and the new. The irony this weekend was that while EMP was touting rock and roll and the musical mainstream media was out filming and following the "rock and roll" of the major stage, all kinds of truly impressive musical innovators--past, present, and future--were wildly thrilling audiences. While the Eurythmics were opening the Saturday night show, I was wrestling between Bo Diddley, Wayne Horvitz's band Zony Mash, and perennial Seattle favorites Maktub.

(We won't even try to ascertain who thought that having the Eurythmics be the opening band for a festival show that had Matchbox Twenty as the headliner was a good idea. Rob Thomas--even after coat-tailing on Carlos Santana's recent ride to Sainthood--doesn't have the same sort of presence as Annie and Dave; or the ability to keep an audience interested as evidenced by the steady trickle of folk out of Memorial Stadium during Matchbox Twenty's set. Note to the programmers: Annie can follow Gwen Stefani and No Doubt. Rob, obviously, shouldn't. )

Starry-eyed--and after another charming encounter with the spunky boy/girl pop of Imperial Teen--I made my way back to the Mural Stage for a late afternoon boogiefest with Taj Mahal and the Phantom Blues Band. Exhausted as he worked the frenzied audience to a point of rapture and beyond, I found a tree to collapse under and bided my time until the Electronica Tent opened its doors.

DJ Nasir and the Sweet Mother Sound System started us off, slowly turning up the beats from a lazy downtempo chill to a sharper breakbeat fusion of live instrumentation and DJ Nasir's impressive record collection. A tight collective, the Sound System--an amalgamation of turntable action, double-bass, guitar, and congas--followed Nasir's lead and started the audience moving.

Arrayed about the room were the hanging panels done by the Heavyweight Art Installation. Painted on-site, their challenge is to start and finish a piece of art during the show. Near the stage, the three painters worked rapidly in time with the music, slowly building an impression of a Marrakesh tape salesman.

The highlight of the Electronica Tent was the Supreme Beings of Leisure. Flown up from Los Angeles specifically for this show, they rewarded the diligent with a smart set--laying down the trip-hop champion gauntlet for the post-Portishead generation to pick up. An electronic lounge experience, they kept us all bouncing until they turned over the speakers to the Gus Gus Sound System. Two of the lads from the Icelandic collective, the Gus Gus Sound System cranked up the BPM and finished out the EMP festivities for Saturday in a joyfully sweaty evening.

Sunday began with a thoroughly entertaining set by Kickshaw, a woefully uninspired name for an otherwise remarkable quintet of lads who sought to entertain and educate about the joys of a cappella singing. The main difference between these guys and the boys-of-the-month band? They do all their instrumentation through vocal effects. Okay, so their mics are treated somewhat to assist them in reaching those basso lows or mimicking those high-hat splashes, but it certainly doesn't detract from the simple fact that these cats were really, really good. A little will, a little voice, and you can do much. Nice message to start us off with on this final day of EMP festivities.

Quick! Turn around. Pat Wright and the Total Experience Gospel Choir are hallelujah-ing the recently hip-hopped audience. Merrilee Rush is taking back "Angel of the Morning" as her own. Krist Noveselic--lately spearheading JAMPAC's efforts in improving the local Seattle music scene and more lately bass player for Nirvana--is introducing the Young Fresh Fellows in the Memorial Stadium. It's another day at the EMP Opening Concert series at the Seattle Center.

The Mural Stage on Sunday catered to the rockers of the Northwest, giving up sets by Jimmy Hanna and the Dynamics, The Kingsmen, The Fabulous Wailers (pick your favorite version of "Louie, Louie" here!), Paul Revere and the Raiders, and The Ventures. Every band your dad ever loved. Well, mine at least. All relatively unmarred by age, these guys demonstrated why the Pacific Northwest was known as the Party Region as they laid down hit after party-time hit. A long time ago, rock and roll was about feeling good and getting down. And the packed crowd on the Mural Stage lawn complied, dancing and singing all day.

Contrasted by the quiet repose of Pearl Django on the Electric Bus stage. As Ann Wilson's voice sailed in the background from the Memorial Stage, Pearl Django's quietly intense set of "hot jazz" kept their audience rapt. The Electric Bus and Flag Plaza stages went head-to-head on Sunday, offering diversity as their guiding tenet today. Everything from riot grrl pop to atmospheric chanteuses to ecologically-charged rap to joyous gospel singing kept the audience swirling around the International Fountain in a constant state of flux. While Bratmobile's scattered inter-song patter kept the audience from getting into a groove, the Misfits-style makeup of the Murder City Devils made it clear that their set of lacerating punk was leaving dead bodies in its wake. Heather Duby--fighting a similar ailment as Neko Case--delivered a strong set. She's become much more confident since her November live debut, streamlining and tightening the charged elements of her introspective songs.

As the unmistakable sound of Geoff Tate's voice rose over the roaring sound of Queensrÿche's guitar in Memorial Stadium, the lines for the James Brown show began to move, filing a full house of eager participants into the Key Arena for a blistering evening with Maceo Parker and the Godfather of Soul. The Ventures are on the Mural Stage, their trademark surf sound ringing against the buildings. Queensrÿche finishes their set in the Memorial Stadium and everyone starts to leave, leaving little doubt that Queensrÿche is the metal band that will be remembered from the Northwest and not the Scrap Metal collective (made up from members of other Northwest metal bands--Metal Church, TKO, Sanctuary, and Nevermore) which follows them.

In another hour, the Hardest Working Man in Show Business is the only one left, shaking the metal rafters of the Key Arena. The Grand Opening of EMP is over. The experience has begun.

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