Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

I apparently have never written about Ishkur here, and that's a shameful oversight. Who is Ishkur, you ask? Some wise guy up in Vancouver who, if memory serves, is a writer and/or comedian. He's a raver from way back. His real claim to fame, though, is his Guide to Electronic Music, now in its third incarnation. Warning: this site is a time sink! A rabbit hole! You will groove away the hours! It's beautifully done, and chock full of fabulous audio goodness. I miss the commentary from the v2 site, though.

In addition to the guide, though, he's put a lot of mixes on Mixcloud, typically two hours each, that each illustrate one of the absurdly many genres of electronic music. I've come back to them repeatedly over the course of the pandemic. Totally worth a listen, in my opinion. My most recent fave? "Secret Squirrel".

I've never met the man, but xaotica, who's also a raver from way back, knows him. That gives me reason to believe he's not a psycho killer. xaotica, by the way, founded the NWTekno bulletin board site, which is where I found out about my first local techno events.

Why have I been so quiet the last few days? Because I was in a place with no cell service, namely the Cascadia Festival, which had been on my bucket list for years. Like so many festivals around here these days, it was at the Masonic Campground (?!) about 90 minutes' drive northeast of Seattle, which is a beautiful wooded site in the Cascades.

I left work a couple of hours early on Friday, finished packing, and bopped on up there. Arriving so late in the day was my first mistake: I got the least convenient parking, and since I was looking for a spot to pitch my tent in the twilight, I could have picked a better spot, as well. Moral: at the very least, take the Friday off and go early. Diesel Bleeper got an early arrival pass and showed up Thursday, but at Burning Man that's for people who are building stuff, so I dunno.

Then there was the problem of getting all my stuff - and remember, I'm used to Burning Man, so I pack a lot of stuff - between the bad parking and the bad camping spot, a distance of at least a quarter mile. At one point, when I reached my car, I had to refuse the offer of help from a drunk dude who was clearly interested in me. He became less interested when I mentioned my girlfriend. It's nice not having to lie about being a lesbian sometimes, and it's also nice that low light apparently makes me look more like a girl.

On way back to camp, a strapping gentleman and his girlfriend gave me and my stuff a ride on the tailgate of his pickup - only to have to pull over for half an hour to make way for emergency vehicles. Still, it was mighty nice of him to drive me to the center of things and help me carry my stuff.

I did get to hear my sister in transness Brit Hansen blow up the dance floor in the lodge, i.e. the only indoor stage. She was working CDJs & mixer like fiend. If you want to hear what it was like, she played some of the same tracks on her show for KEXP's Expansions show last night.

I had trouble staying awake past 0100, even with the help of caffeine; the lovely folks from Nectar in Portland drove their coffee truck all the way up. Speaking of substances, I only brought a third of a 750ml bottle of sake. Sobriety my have colored my view of the whole affair.

I have to say, though, that compared to Critical or The Thing In The Desert, there's not a whole lot of interest to me to do during the daytime. There was some shopping, including some beautiful stuff that was way more than I wanted to spend. Le sigh.

Excellent eye candy: unreasonably attractive younger women who do a lot of yoga & dancing and have even less modesty than I do. Ahem.

Saturday I got to see Lusine, local techno luminary with an airy, cerebral sound, at a stage with some really sweet Funktion sound. Promoter Michael Manahan seems proud if it, and rightfully so.

As I nommed some OK poutine, I got to chat with Riz Rollins, who was able to answer a "Whatever happened to" question that I'd had for years. I fondly remember grooving to DJ Eddie, mka Eddie Nonong, in the late aughts. It should come as no surprise that Riz knows Eddie. The latter has been raising kids and selling records at the Silver Platters in Sodo. (Riz busted my chops for not shopping there. It's not too convenient for me, a mostly-carless north ender, but I'll do it.)

Highlight of the festival: Sunshine Jones, who I'd never heard of. His vibe is old school, Black-church-on-Sunday house, only with some west coast acidic flavor. I got the ecstacy while stone cold sober, baybee. The lasers hitting the fir trees through the wood smoke were a nice touch.

A lot of the fun was running into people: Diesel Bleeper, Riz, Grenade in a mustache, et al.

No one offered to help me load out Sunday morning, so I walked a few miles, half of it laden with stuff. Uff da! I'll tell you what: I slept pretty well last night.

Lessons learned:

1. If you're going to go to Cascadia, show up as early as possible.
2. Bring a cart for all your stuff. There are such things as folding carts.
3. You'll probably want some substances in your stuff.
4. Bring somebody to camp with. It's a pity that the Tickler is so against camping, because she's all about the costumes and grooving.

SistaWendy: I make mistakes so you don't have to!

ETA: Grenade told me she knew I was at Cascadia because unbeknownst to me, I had introduced myself to her campmates because they had a wonderful Trans Pride Cascadia flag. They later described me to Grenade as "kind of Goth". Shallow fashion details: black patent 20-eyelet docs (perfect for the rain & mud), black & white floral Bombsheller leggings, black ruffly overskirt from cupcake_goth, hoodie with tails from Mishu, studded leather collar, black lip paint from Lime Crime. I do love to Goth up and go to raves.

If you have to have a twin, you could do far, far worse than thevfrchick. I was delighted to have somebody to burble at as we wandered the Pacific Science Center.

I'll admit to being a trance cracker and spending a lot of time with local DJ & producer Osiris Indriya. He consistently puts on a good show; his set was more distinctive and had better flow than the national guy Jaia. It didn't hurt that all the art & the best outfits were in the trance room, either.

Biggest & best surprise: the little dinosaur room that I thought was going to have all the downtempo & experimental sounds -- it did last time -- was instead packed with solid, techie groove by Nordic Soul & Christina Childs. Damn, I've got to make it to Krakt, Childs's night the second Saturday of the month at Re-bar.

Nationally known house man Rithma was... good, but not good enough to make a squeeing fangirl out of me. Honorable mention: Gabriel Alexander.

Checked out the new breakbeat room, but its headliner Naha came on right at my scram time. Breaks continue not to be my thing.

My recent (ahem) silicone acquisitions stayed in place nicely even with all that moving around. Happiness.

Four hours of dancing & walking around after pruning an apple tree and running. Yeah, I think that's enough exercise for the weekend.

Remember back in February when I gushed even more than usual about a big ravey thing called Kinetic? Well, all of the same people are doing the same thing only bigger on November 11th in the same place, the Pacific Science Center. If you're at all interested in any kind of techno -- they'll have four stages -- or if you're the least bit curious, you need to go to this. With me. The people who organize these bring good music and a wonderful vibe to what has to be the best venue in town. As Bob is my witness it'll be worth the money. Ladies and gentlemen, Magnetic II. I'll be getting an extended curfew.

Thumbs up again to local boys Amanita & Osiris Indriya. I liked them better than the more straightforward European headliners. Bare legs were again a good idea. Mm, speaker freakin'.

Seen but not quite believed: motionless guy in lotus position for at least half an hour, about fifteen feet from a speaker stack and facing away from it as the rest of us bopped 'til we dropped.

More people watching: 1) guy in batik Buddhist monk robe dancing in the chill room -- unclear on the concept? 2) a casually-dressed young thing doing a notably fine robot.

Suspensions, i.e. hanging people from hooks through their flesh, figured prominently among the performing arts there. I think I'm with the Fremont Arts Council on this one. ( Cut for mild squick. )

Many gravers there. It was a hoot not to be the only one there in a corset. Welcome to the Hill.

Overheard in the jane:
"There's a man in here."
"He's just peeing."
I guess I should be relieved. Le sigh. I was careful not to make eye contact. Move along.

I'm posting this while sitting in the sun on my neighbor's driveway. ¡Viva wireless!

I hear the shootings on Capitol Hill have made the BBC. I didn't know any of the victims, but I know people who did. Please let this have been a random madman. Please don't let them blame the victims or their friends.

In much happier news, I got photographed by the charming robotangel in vinyl today, after much rescheduling, changing room-bumming (thanks, Chrilexia), and frenzied preparation including changing clothes not quite indoors. I suppose that technically makes me a fetish model. Funny, I don't feel like one. On my way back to the car with my stuff, a youngish Latin guy comes up to me and asks, "Weren't you dressed as a woman when you got out of the car?"
"Yes," trying not to sound too nervous as I got my fuzzy bag.
He proceded to tell me how I briefly fooled him & his girlfriend as I got out of the car. I thank him, and we both left. Yeah, maybe boo me for getting nervous, but yay me for keeping cool.

Oh: the Wendlings's dance went pretty well, maybe a little better than last year. He always seemed a split second behind his classmates, and reluctant to simply move his body. I hope the time comes, one way or another, when I don't watch my son and cringe inwardly at the frequent reminders of his Asperger's.

But first: caught a rare sighting of astronomical phenomenon rigel_p. Shiny!

As I've said many times, I've been intensely miffed that I missed Mark Farina when he was in town back in August. He spun at Trinity last night, though, and I even worked out a deal with Her Nibs to stay an hour later than usual.

I'd been told that Trinity is a pretty space full of pretty people, and it's true. It was reassuring, though, to find gen-u-ine gay guys engaging in PDA. No attitudinal difficulties to report. (I was too chicken to try the bathroom.) I got a fair number of surprised looks, and only one person checked out my corset, which is the reverse of what usually happens at techno shows. On three separate occasions I got asked, "Are you having a good time?" One guy even shook my hand when I said I was.

Balconies above bars: good for cleavage observation. Balconies across from stairs: good for checking out clothes & boots. Yes, Trinity is a delightful space architecturally, but their drinks are expensive enough that not even the Wendling could get drunk for $20. Happily, I saw no evidence that illegal drugs were taking up the slack.

I wonder if there will ever come a time when I don't look at women dancing and think, 'So that's how you do it.'

You know people are into the music when they're dancing on the balcony and in back rooms. Many empty chairs. Speaking of into the music, Om Records had a table of CDs. I already own five of the seven titles they had there. It is to laugh.

The man himself took the stage at about 1:00. I'd describe his sound as less-is-more meets jazz, and he did play some of that, but he had some surprises, too. I might have found it groovier if I hadn't been tired by then, but it definitely had me bopping. (I'm glad I was bare-legged; I was toasty in my velvet.) Farina is short, with a receding hairline and glasses. Watching him bounce, spin, and twiddle knobs like a fiend, I got the funny feeling that he's One of Us -- a geek with something to geek about. I went home happy.

I got extracted from the line for the women's bathroom at Studio 7 by what I believe to be one of the staff. I didn't argue; it was ten minutes to curfew anyway, so I just got my cloak and scrammed. A quick search of Seattle's city ordinances implies that yes, they can do that, as long as they don't threaten to hurt me. It's remarkable that I've gotten zero bathroom grief from patrons or staff at the Vogue or Merc (duh), Chop Suey, Des Amis, Re-bar, the Baltic Room, and until last night Studio 7 as well. It may be time for a polite e-mail to the promoter, who's always made a point of personally telling me about his next event. Mazel tov. Today I am a tranny.

Other than that, it was a pretty good gig: good music (especially Marble), lots of scanty santa outfits, people who at least recognized me, and for once the lack of ventillation at Studio 7 was a good thing. It's dawned on me that I'm a sucker for offbeats; I think I might be slightly black.

Those guys search bags & people like you wouldn't believe. They were even confiscating eye drop bottles for fear they might contain acid. Naturally, all this searching takes time. I've mentioned before how little most people wear to raves. Ladies, you might want to consider some outerwear before standing in a slow-moving line in freezing temperatures.

I can't help feeling parental when surrounded by people half my age, a few of whom were in states I don't want my son in.

I'm having one of those out-of-sync-with-the-universe times. Yeah, maybe I should have gone to the Catwalk, but I'd already paid for the rave.

The Pacific Science Center kicks a lot of butt as a venue for a party, especially one of the techno variety: enough room, high ceilings, and giant animatronic arthropods. I wonder if the real bugs were bothered by the (pretty nice) sound system. The music was about 85% good, good enough for sore feet, but I had to miss Farina. Le cry. I'd even brought a copy of one of his albums to sign. Damn that 1:30 curfew. Yeah, I hear some of you parents saying I should be grateful that I get out at all, but missing headliners three times this summer has made me crazy.

( Things seen at PSC )

Someday I will succeed in getting at least one of you to come with me. Oh yes. I shall.

Oh yeah: I'll grudgingly admit that the 1:30 curfew is a good thing if you want to take little boys to Mercer Island to get buzzed by loud, sexy planes.

Last night at ConWorks was a party thrown by the Space Virgins, who are one of the tribes (or whatever it is they're called) at Burning Man. The party in brief: dayumn.

The music: right on. Had to miss Riz, who didn't come on until 3:00, but still, this was one of those rare occasions when I liked the people I'd never heard of before.
The look: raver meets perv. Perfect for me, no? I was only slightly contrarian in my acres of black vinyl. (I was, however, a bit warm. You'd think an art gallery would have A/C, but neau.)
The crowd: high freak, low attitude & creep. Very nice.

Worshipful hand motions in the direction of intrepid_reason for cluing me into this. I have new respect for her in-the-know fu.

This has only increased my desire to make it to Burning Man someday. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to engineer that, but I figure I have time.