Seattle Underground Music

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15 Underrated Songs from Seattle Artists

(Taken from my September 2009 Facebook Post)

1) “Hallowed Ground,” Skin Yard.
2) “Vaporized,” X-15.
3) “Foot,” Love Battery.
4) “Shoot ‘em Down,” the U-Men.
5) “Blow Your Life Away,” Jim Basnight.
6) “Potty Swat,” 64 Spiders.
7) “Dead is Dead,” Terry Lee Hale.
8) “Blue Flame Ford,” Truly.
9) “Flight of the Wax Tadpole,” Jack Endino.
10) “40 Days,” Swallow.
11) “3 Boxes,” the Fastbacks.
12) “Fuzzgun ‘91,” Mudhoney.
13) “Out of Control,” Mr. Epp.
14) “This Little Mystery,” the Young Fresh Fellows.
15) “Mona Lisa,” Capping Day.

The Baseball Project, June 6, 2011, Philadelphia

Last night I was fortunate to catch the Baseball Project at North Star bar in Philly.  The band writes songs about America’s past time and consists of Steve Wynn, guitar (the Dream Syndicate, the Miracle 3); Mike Mills, bass (R.E.M.), filling in for band-mate Peter Buck; Scott McCaughey, guitar (the Young Fresh Fellows, R.E.M., and a bunch of other projects), and Linda Pitmon (Miracle 3) on drums.

Since I like all the players’ “main bands,” it was pretty cool to watch them gig together from about ten feet away.  Further, I have a connection with Scott since I interviewed him about the Fellows. (Note to the un-knowing: the Young Fresh Fellows are the world’s greatest rock n roll band.)

Before the BBP performed, they graced Citizens Bank Park by singing “Take Me Out to the Ball game” during the seventh inning stretch of a Phillies game.  Then, they traveled over to play for us.

In the meantime, we enjoyed a strong opening act (the Bigger Lovers), whose keyboard player apparently plays at Fenway for the Red Sox.  We learned this after he later joined the headliners on stage.

During the opening act, I stood at the bar and I started talking to a random gentleman, who mentioned he had a CD coming out…and that it was his first recording after 40 years of DJing.  Then I found out I was speaking with Michael Tearson.  For those who don’t know, Tearson was a pioneering Philly WMMR-FM jock during the 1970s, spinning a free-form playlist. (He has a show on WMGK-FM now).  Sometimes his song lists would be based on themes—like songs about horses or whatever.  He wouldn’t tell the listeners what theme he might be using.  You had to figure it out…nobody does that anymore.

The Bigger Lovers finished up, and the BBP took the stage.  Wonderful.  Scott was his usual witty self.  During one song he began jumping while playing.  Afterwards Linda mocked him for not leaping in time with the beat.  After Scott put up a faux protest, Linda said he was on beat in his own mind.  We of course laughed. (btw, Linda is a fucking kick ass drummer!)

Mike, despite his “celebrity” status, got booed by the Philly faithful when he mentioned the Atlanta Braves.  He more than made up for it by playing R.E.M.’s ”(Don’t Go Back To) Rockville”  later.

Steve, meanwhile, offered up the Dream Syndicate’s “That’s What You Always Say,” which made me come close to actually banging my head.  Then, he mentioned Roy Halladay during a BBP song, and all was right with the world.

All in all, it was a fun night.  Oh yeah, and Michael Tearson will be coming to speak to my class at Del Val in the fall.  I can’t wait.

Green River Reunion Show, Summer 2008

Green River.  The quintessential proto-grunge band.  Formed in 1984, Green River were the arguably the first to embrace the heavier aesthetic beginning to grip Seattle.  Its members combined styles then anathema to rock n roll…Iggy-esque punk rock, Black Sabbath-esque metal, Aerosmith-esque hard rock.  Back then, that wasn’t cool, so said the alternative music snobs.  But Green River didn’t give a fuck.

The band lasted until 1987 when it split into two pieces: the part that wanted to become rock stars (Mother Love Bone, then Pearl Jam), and the part that wanted to remain punk rockers (Mudhoney.)  In the summer of 2008, Green River’s original members reunited and headlined at Sub Pop’s 20^th anniversary music festival.

I arrived that weekend in July for research purposes, scheduling my trip around the reunion show.  The day of the event featured perfect, cloudless weather.  I showed up at around 4:30 in the afternoon and took in newer Sub Pop bands like No Age (great…just a guitar player and drummer, totally dug it) and Red Red Meat.  I called my wife, who was worried I might get sucked into a mosh pit.  I assured her that wouldn’t happen, as I looked around and saw parents feeding their kids hot dogs.

Then Green River took the stage.  Ear plugs installed, I parked myself about 20 feet from the front, near enough to experience the band, but not too close should things get out of control.  Immediately, the earlier congenial atmosphere became rowdy, as people began slamming into each other in front of me.  Still, I felt removed from that, and had no desire to experience an “I’m too old for this shit” moment.  That would change.

Green River featured all six members including Steve Turner, who quit the band in 1985, and later formed Mudhoney.  The band consisted of guitar players Turner, Stone Gossard (Pearl Jam), and Bruce Fairweather (Mother Love Bone), bass player Jeff Ament (PJ), drummer Alex Shumway, and singer Mark Arm (Mudhoney).  I was fortunate to interview Gossard, Shumway, and Arm for my book.

The band opened, to the best of my recollection, with the Black Sabbath-influenced “Come on Down.”  I thought to myself, ‘If grunge exists, this must be it.’  It’s like pornography. You know it when you see it.

I took a bunch of photos, then put the camera away to enjoy the band.  Arm stole the show in some ways when he announced—likely tongue-in-cheek—that the Melvins had ripped off a Green River song some years back, and, “in Led Zeppelin-like fashion, credited it to themselves.”  For those not aware, Zeppelin became notorious for re-working old blues songs without acknowledging the composer.  “Whole Lotta Love” was arguably the most egregious, stolen word for word from Willie Dixon’s “You Need Love.”  Thus, I lost it when Arm referred to Green River as “the Willie Dixon of grunge.”

During the last song, the bemused band members looked around and noticed they no longer had a percussionist.  Ament ventured behind the drum kit, grabbed the sticks, began playing the cymbals, and asked aloud where Alex went.  Next thing I realized, Shumway, a forty-something like me, had decided to go crowd surfing.  Yes, this show was a lot of fun.

Ament then began heaving Green River shirts into the crowd.  Before I could realize it, a pack of T’s headed towards me, and I reached out to grab one.

For some reason, and perhaps a sociologist can explain this to me, crowds get irrationally greedy when stuff gets tossed their way.  That’s why people will physically accost one another to get a foul ball at a baseball game.  I think you could throw dog shit into a crowd, and people will stomp each other for it.  I was about to experience that behavior.

I’m fairly strong, but I couldn’t match the inertia of twenty or so people tugging at the same shirts I had grabbed.  The next thing I knew I was down, the shirts torn from me, my glasses knocked to the ground and smashed.  I stood up and brushed myself off.  Fortunately, a woman picked up what remained of my lenses and handed them to me.

I’m pretty much blind without glasses, and thus could not drive back to the hotel. So I had a problem.  Luckily, I found someone with some first aid tape, and I crudely reconstructed my glasses.  I may have looked like Spaz from Meatballs, but at least I could drive home.

Later, I spoke with Jack Endino, who laughed when I told him my rowdiest concert experience occurred at a Green River show.

The next day, Brother James Burdyshaw unexpectedly set up an interview for me with the U-Men’s legendary Tom Price.  Tom is a critical piece of my book, and I had spent nearly two years trying to get the interview.  I just couldn’t meet him, however, looking like the quintessential nerd.  So, I bought some crazy glue, which allowed me to remove the geek tape. I showed up, met Tom, and did the interview…which was great by the way.

Man, I love Seattle.

My “Of Course” Story

So, I’m getting permissions for my book on Seattle music history…

I had to get approval to use lyrics from a Blackouts song.  The Blackouts were a standout Seattle band of the late ’70s/early ’80s.  In any event, to get the necessary permission, I emailed Olympia’s K Records, who put out a Blackouts retrospective a few years back.

A K rep emailed back, stating the label did not own the rights, but she would forward my request to Bill Rieflin, who played drums for the Blackouts.  I figured that would be the end of it, since Rieflin now plays with R.E.M.

About a week later, on a Saturday night, my wife, daughter, and I attended a synagogue bingo fundraiser.  The event was called “KINGO,” named after KI, the Temple’s initials.

About a half hour into the event, I checked my cell phone for the time, since I don’t wear a watch.  I noticed a message.  It was Rieflin, whose number came up as restricted and he left no way to get a hold of him.  My wife asked who called.  I said, “That was the drummer from R.E.M.  I missed his call, and I have no way to get ahold of him.”

Of Course…

Epilogue: I ended up pulling the lyrics anyway. In retrospect, I find the whole thing humorous.

Fish Out of Water Story #2

Uncle Cookie Plays Whitey’s Good Time Tavern

In the late 1970s, with few available Seattle venues, Conrad Uno’s Uncle Cookie ventured into rural Washington in search of a place to play.  Cookie’s agent got the band a show at Whitey’s Good Time Tavern, a biker bar about halfway between Seattle and Olympia.  The bar attracted soldiers from nearby Fort Lewis and thus had its inevitable military-biker confrontations.  As one might expect, Whitey’s was not the ideal place for a Seattle punk band to play.  Desperate for a gig, however, Cookie agreed to play the club.  “We had figured out that we could get weekends in some crummy clubs if we learned to do cover songs,” says Uno.  “And [we] played our cards fairly close to the vest, because some of us in the band weren’t sure if we were gay or not.”

Uncle Cookie began its first set without incident, playing Rolling Stones covers sprinkled with an occasional original.  Uno, playing bass, wore what he calls his ‘typical rock garb,’ basically a black tee semi-covered by a long sleeve shirt with rolled-up sleeves.  The t-shirt had the words ‘Harley Davidson’ embossed on the front in gold glitter.  That didn’t sit well with the biker crowd.  After the first set, a biker approached Uno and told him Gorgeous George, the biker gang leader, wanted a word with him.  Uno ambled over to George, who turned out to be an imposing specimen.  “And he reaches over and pulls my [outer] shirt forward,” Uno recalls, “and looks down at my t-shirt, puts it back and says, ‘Don’t wear that tomorrow.’”  Uno’s response?  “Yes, sir.”

The highlight at Whitey’s was the nightly sign-off.  At closing time, Whitey himself would get on the PA and shout obscenities at the patrons to get them out.  The bemused bikers knew the drill and would quietly get up and leave.  The effect was enhanced by speakers that were in such bad shape that Whitey’s screaming insults came out as garbled shrieks.

(Quotes used with Conrad Uno’s permission.)