Apr. 7th, 2014

sistawendy: (mad woman)
I came back from zappy yesterday evening, ate dinner, and contemplated a couple of hours to myself that I hadn't planned out. I hadn't exercised in a while, so I thought I'd go for a walk over Phinney Ridge and back. As I was ogling what [livejournal.com profile] stroppy_baggage calls real estate porn on Palatine Ave., I thought, 'I wonder if there's anything going on at the Josephine. After all, it's only ten blocks away.'

The Josephine, if you'll recall, is the artists' residence & studio cum performance space. It's got to be the last grungy, DIY, BYOB, ungentrified place to regularly party or hear music in the whole damn city. Indeed, I used to live in Ballard, and I've watched NW 65th St., where the Josephine is, become progressively newer, shinier, and pricier. Add in wacky murals on the walls* and you know why the Josephine has a place in my heart.

I asked the three people hanging out by the door what, if anything, was going on. Experimental music, they said. So I chip in some dough and see some young man fiddling with a laptop next to spinning prisms and lenses a la Buckaroo Banzai. I never did find out what that setup was for**, because the young man then set up a camera to shoot video of Ivan the alto saxophonist and Christian the trombonist playing what could perhaps just barely be called outside jazz. At various points Ivan removed his mouthpiece, and Christian scraped the pieces of his disassembled straight mute. At the end of one set, a cat could be heard (but not seen) meowing insistently. The dozen or so assembled all laughed. Overall, that experience is to music what Rorschach blots are to painting: interesting & thought-provoking, but not the kind of thing I want in my apartment. I left before the show was over - Hey, I needed to go to bed. - but I'm not sorry I went.

Seattle, I love ya.



*They got rid of Josephine Baker from the back wall behind the "stage"! Why? It's the Josephine, fer cryin' out loud. They also painted over some others, and there was less stuff adhered to the walls. I can't help but wonder if the fire inspectors had paid a visit.
**Even more like Buckaroo Banzai.

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