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I heard about a rave that was a little on the downlow a few days ago, starting at midnight last night, so I decided to go. It was at an address in Sodo that I figured was one of the numerous light industrial spaces there that have been taken over by artists.
Wrong. After much walking from the light rail, hearing clubbers near the Monkey Loft whine about vaccination proof requirements, getting stuck waiting for a freight train that stopped twice, and being misdirected by Google Maps, I followed my ears: I heard rawk coming from an area that fit the ravers' description.
It was a punk show at a skate park underneath a viaduct for SR 99 that I never even suspected existed. There were, of course, skateboarders and slam dancers. There were people being sociable in the gravel parking lot. There were people selling merch and beer. There was an older dude – for "dude" is the correct word here – who told me about the skate park's founding in '04, as attested by some of the copious art on the walls. I'm pretty sure I was the oldest person there.
Was the music to my taste? Wayell, no, but it warmed the cockles of my heart to see a bit of the old Seattle that I love being itself on what would otherwise have been a patch of waste ground.
One thing this site lacks, alas, is any kind of toilet, even a porto. I asked a woman about it, and she indicated a tree across the street. I noped out of that.
So I started walking east towardcivilization 1st Ave. S and found myself surprisingly close to the Monkey Loft. There was a DJ playing there whose mix from years ago I have. I waved hi to a local house luminary. There were dolled up women. But I was very much dressed for an outdoor show, and wearing something kind of ridiculous underneath my Dracula Clothing coat. It was also 0030. And I still needed to pee with increasing desperation.
I wasn't feeling it. I called a Lyft, got home, peed longer than I thought possible, ate leftover ma po tofu, and went to bed. I'm low on sleep now. I'd be really out of it if I'd stayed at the Monkey Loft. The evening might not have ended well, but it had its moments.
Wrong. After much walking from the light rail, hearing clubbers near the Monkey Loft whine about vaccination proof requirements, getting stuck waiting for a freight train that stopped twice, and being misdirected by Google Maps, I followed my ears: I heard rawk coming from an area that fit the ravers' description.
It was a punk show at a skate park underneath a viaduct for SR 99 that I never even suspected existed. There were, of course, skateboarders and slam dancers. There were people being sociable in the gravel parking lot. There were people selling merch and beer. There was an older dude – for "dude" is the correct word here – who told me about the skate park's founding in '04, as attested by some of the copious art on the walls. I'm pretty sure I was the oldest person there.
Was the music to my taste? Wayell, no, but it warmed the cockles of my heart to see a bit of the old Seattle that I love being itself on what would otherwise have been a patch of waste ground.
One thing this site lacks, alas, is any kind of toilet, even a porto. I asked a woman about it, and she indicated a tree across the street. I noped out of that.
So I started walking east toward
I wasn't feeling it. I called a Lyft, got home, peed longer than I thought possible, ate leftover ma po tofu, and went to bed. I'm low on sleep now. I'd be really out of it if I'd stayed at the Monkey Loft. The evening might not have ended well, but it had its moments.
