
You could always go to the Orca Ballroom at the Tulalip Casino, I'm just sayin'.
"Celebrate the holiday season in style with Adé at Re-bar at the Black and White Ball—a holiday party and benefit for Lifelong AIDS Alliance—with DJs Riz and El Toro and performances by Vintage Youth, Adé, and fashions by Artstar, Danial Webster, Jordan Christianson and Lenna Peterson. Come dress up to the nines (in black and white). $10 cover for black & white formal wear, $15 without."

As soon as a shakuhachi flute gets played, the baby flies out, like it's running down the side of a mountain.
Here now is the sound of Mickey Hart's unborn son's heartbeat, and instruments.
Don't miss the Queen Diva! Wildrose! GO!
Well, that's kind of reassuring. I wish there was some sort of class... Oh wait: THERE IS. Vockah Redu & the Cru are teaching a dance and workout class next Thursday, June 16th, from 6-7 pm, at FRED Wildlife Center (see flyer).
Maybe there is hope for us. Redu also performs at the Trouble Bouncy Ball Pre-Pride Party, next Saturday the 18th, at FRED Wildlife Refuge (advance tickets available at Rudy’s Barbershops), and then again at the always fun-as-hell Wild Rose beer garden stage, during Pride proper, on Saturday the 24th, performing alongside Big Freedia. Oh, Big Freedia! This is going to be dancin'-est, funnest Seattle Gay Pride, in the history of Seattle Gay Pride. Mark my words.

Tomorrow night, you will experience a part of Sebadoh that you have been pining for. That part that reveals itself to you. Drawing exclusively from Harmacy and Bakesale, there are many moments where you feel like you've been transported to that head space you were in fifteen years ago, the place that you had a hard time letting out your feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelings, before you grew some balls and decided to cry at the theater with your girlfriend, and in the bed next to her as you struggled to get it back up.
Sebadoh didn't play "Willing To Wait." I wouldn't have left if they did. But don't worry, dudes. They will still play some rippers (Jason Lowenstein is playing bass, after all... this ain't no Gaffney/Barlow circle jerk). Get ready for the beauty of the ride.
Sebadoh plays Neumos on Saturday, February 12. Open up your heart and let them in.

FREE FREE AMANDA KNOX PAINTING: Here is a painting that is for free. To win this 18"x24" painting and have it sent to your home (Anytown, USA), simply leave a really, really good haiku in the comments section. My roommates Ruben & Lacey will pick the one that they like most and that will be the winner. (Tip: they like ZZ Top, dogs, and pizza). They're not getting home from Texas until 9pm tonight, so you have all day to do this. It seems that most of the evidence given against lil' Manders Knox was provided by a drug-dealing homeless man, so there's a really good chance she'll be chompin' crispy burritos at the West Seattle Taco Time in no time.

JEEZ LOUISE, THIS TOWN IS DEPRESSING. The weather in this city is the p-i-t-s! I don't think I've ever been so depressed in my life. Everybody told me to take vitamin D and luckily I found a bottle of supplements for teenaged girls in the medicine cabinet. Then I found myself watching the worst possible TV that I could find streaming on NetFlix. This mostly meant Man Vs. Food, American Pickers and unauthorized biographies, the best being a wonderfully boring documentary about a house that George Harrison once slept in. Eventually I settled on the very worst thing to ever come through television, The Secret Life of the American Teenager. As our own Alithea O'Dell put it, "At that point you are scraping the bottom of the barrel of life."


Well, unless you DON'T like rock n' roll. And you don't believe in love. And you HATE amazing all-girl backup bands... and boys who sing like girls... and girls who rock like boys...
Read my 2009 interview with Hunx HERE. Swoon.
Check him out!

The male bowerbirds are also musicians, though more like a human DJ than a composer. Excellent mimics, they reproduce various sounds from the surrounding environment and weave them into a seductive aural tapestry. The more accurate the mimicry and complex the birdsong, the more likely they are to lure in a mate.The male bowerbird, however, is more known as an architect than a DJ. It builds bowers and decorates them with shiny things and even fresh flowers. The more fancy the bower, the more it catches the eye of a female.
Jeff "Type" Tune: member of the Let Go,, Illegitimate Child, party crasher, self-proclaimed "hobby rapper" and comic gadfly of the Seattle hiphop scene, the most awkward man alive. When he's not helping make fun of domestic abuse, he's often trying to bait the numerous homophobes and generally-uncomfortable straights of the scene, hence his latest video, the bromance anthem off his 2008 Amateur Hour LP:
The clip genuinely had me rolling- even if it's not quite the blow for civic rights and equality Type would probably make it out to be (being the forever hustling self-marketer he is): it's really just Farrelly Bros-type gross-outs and dick jokes. But a fine example of both- and if it makes the insecure among the community a little rattled in it's wake, I'm all for it.

I guess the things that used to thrill me don't thrill me so much anymore. Intimacy is more important to me than sleeping with hot chicks. I don't even know if I really savored every menage a trois I had. I don't want to do it all over again.I can not get over this sentence: "I don't even know if I really savored every menage a trois I had." What kind of uncertainty is this? In what ways is the soul disturbed by this strange type of uncertainty? Is there peace in the soul when one knows for sure that he has "savored every menage a trois"? Is sleep lost by the feeling, the concern that one has not "savored every menage a trois." According to Puffy, savoring a menage a trois is the ultimate point of having a menage a trois.

Why is Portland 10 degrees hotter at all times? While Seattle seemed temperate on friday afternoon, I arrived in PDX to what felt like sweltering weather. Maybe it was just the long drive (5 1/2 hours - Thanks Tacoma traffic!) in the sun, but all I wanted to do when I arrived was sleep.
It was getting late, and hungry, with need of a shower, I decided to press on and just have dinner and some caffeine later.
The reason for the trip was the one and only Horse Meat Disco, DJ's Jim Stanton and James Hillard.
The thing that makes Horse Meat Disco so fucking special and amazing is the fact that even though it started out in a small boozy leather bar in London, somehow the kids heard the call! Somehow the people recognized quality over laziness, intelligence over vapidity, hard work over phoning-it-in.
That's what Horse Meat Disco gave Portland. Reading the crowd from early in the night (they played 4 hours), Jim and James took us all on a journey from funky strutting slow-groove disco to Hi-NRG early 90's house, then back to a melange of some of the most creative Disco and Post Disco dance music of the 70's and 80's. There were tracks that had people wondering if they were contemporary or vintage.
The best part?!?! The kids danced. ...And danced. It was if the magic of the legendary glory days of Disco and House were being sent out via the good vibes of the music. At one point the crowd started screaming in unison to one of the songs, and early house track. The room went dark and a giant laser mirror ball effect (I have never seen a light like this in a club before) sent the energy zapping out the front door. People came piling into the bar for a serious fucking workout.
People you assumed would hate disco were dancing and singing and bumping along on Horse Meat's ride. It was totally fucking fun.
When Horse Meat Disco is done with this tour, promoting their new mix CD, they head back to London, to the same small boozy sleazy little gay leather bar, where the disciples will come, some to play (guest at the night have ranged from James Murphy, Prins Thomas, Lady Miss Kier, Idjut Boys to name a few), but most to dance.
More pics (including some dude from Seattle) after the jump.

After four years of marriage—and just a couple months away from the birth of their first child—Nas and Kelis are splitting up.
The only reason I care about this enough to write about it: My affection for "Getting Married", the Nas track devoted to just that, with lyrics painting a detailed portrait of Nas and his lady's wedding day.
Condolences to the busted couple, and confidential to Nas: Take copious notes—hiphop needs its own Great Divorce Album.
After five and half minutes of bubbly Caribbean bass, pretty licks, and sweet singing, Sade's "Cherish the Day" breaks—there is a moment of silence/tension, and then the regime of a pounding hiphop beat. It runs for fifty seconds.
In the concert performance of this tune, when the slamming hiphop beat hits, the musicians, one by one, leave the stage. First the drummer puts down his sticks and walks away; he is followed by the keyboardist, percussionist, the guitarists, and, finally, Sade. Her beauty vanishes, and all that is left is the hiphop beat. It pounds on its own. No one is needed—no singer, no musicians, no living thing. This is the dictatorship of the beat. The musicians can only surrender to its mechanical will, its factory logic, its inhuman repetition. The loops are identical and refuse to give us the pleasures of variation and verticality. All narrative pleasures have been pounded out of existence by the inflexible and inexorable progress of the beat machine. This is the end of human emotion, of cherishing.