WOW, WOW, WOW. What a weekend. What a swirling mess of art, what an epic adventure in electronica, what a bad-ass dance festival, what an fantastic experience to have shared with friends. I had one of the best weekends of my life, and yall know I have a hell of a lot of great weekends.

Seattle has just been injected with a reinvigorating shot of electronic adrenaline. I keep hearing the word “inspired” roll off the tongues of the many friends who came out. DJs are talking about taking their art in new directions and dancers got their groove back. All the local performers that I saw really threw down, bringing up their game and refusing to have anything but a killer time. The visiting artists I have spoken with since this weekend had a blast in our city as well and loved the Seattle crowds that showed up; it was really neat for me to see all the different performers out and about checking out other artists and their work. The sound everywhere was excellent (why can’t we have this all the time?) and I discovered new music from around the world as well as from locals which has changed the way I see the world, as good art should. Score.

And I TOLD YOU dB in the Park with the Glitch Mob was going to be insane- and the freaks and robots definitely showed up! Thank you my friends!

It seems like I should be tired or hungover or something, but right now I feel refreshed, rejuvenated, and ready to go. Which is a good thing, since I leave for Thailand tomorrow morning- but before I leave, I want to share with you my impressions and adventures of the past weekend. I made it to nineteen showcases, one conference, and three unofficial afterhours, two official afterhours, hung out with Jahcoozi until 8AM, had fun messing around with Deadmau5’s head, ate crab wontons with edIT and Boreta, and I am still standing. And glowing. And ready for next year.

DAY 1:

My Decibel began officially at Grey Gallery on Thursday night where the Oi Vay boys were warming up the lounge with their sexy beats; Struggle was up top spinning and Eddie was dancing around like the lovable soul he is. This was not to be the last time I ran into this Seattle legend shaking his ass during the weekend- that boy gets down, for real.

I hung out at Sole Repair for a bit where Team Peloton was tearing it up; I tried bouncing back and forth into Neumos but the opening acts were all a bit too slow for me/not my cup of tea/kill me now and I kept finding myself back in Sole Repair where the dancing was goo-od mmm mmm. Those boys know how to make the people DANCE!

I like being able to see the DJ and so hung out upstairs which had more room for the freaky dancers with flailing arms, like me. Around 1AM when INCITE! aka Sean Horton went on we all donned mustaches to wish him a happy birthday (not sure where the mustaches fit in- though I do know a lot of French bicyclists with beards). I am a big fan of Sean’s new moniker and hope to see more of his more aggressive and visceral style soon in the future. I really enjoyed Stewart Walker as well, he was sweating and dancing to his beats almost as much as the wild crowd was.

Then I RAN back over to Neumos where Jahcoozi was running slightly late but noshing on snacks downtstairs in great spirits; I have been a big fan of theirs for a while and this was one of the acts I was really stoked about experiencing. Sasha and Oren took the stage and proceeded to turn the club on its head- what started as a half-full room of looky-loos ended in an all-out dance brawl. MC and rapper Sasha kept jumping down into the crowd and we all gathered around her like we were third-graders on a playground and she was the cool girl, dancing in a circle and getting down and getting dirty. She WAS the cool girl, and with her I-don’t-give-a-shit dance moves, heavy crowd interaction, sharp lyrics and mad trumpet skills she won over everyone there as did Oren, backing her up with his keen beats and electric bass.

Jahcoozi’s performance was definitely one of the highlights of the festival for me and I have heard the same from several people. And for the love of God can people stop comparing Sasha to MIA? The only thing they have in common is that they both rap and neither one of them are white- and there it ends. Sasha’s intelligent lyrics blow MIA’s out of the water- open your ears and listen and you will see the cliched comparisons are just the work of lazy music journalists.

After the Jahcoozi show we all went and kicked it in the Green Room where we talked to them about their trip up the West Coast (Seattle was their favorite show, ahem), Berlin (the scene there is as great as you think it is) and tried on Sasha’s sweet fur hat. I made the bands.tv guys and my coworker Cedric wait until about 3AM for the live streamed interview, but finally Jahcoozi was ready and we had a quick chat for the camera before all heading off to Sean’s birthday party in the loft above Grey Gallery which was rockin’ and hot and sweaty, just like a good afterhours should be.

Then we left with Jahcoozi and partied all night until breakfast hour back at the Best Western Executive Inn. The food sucked.

DAY 2:

On Friday I was up for the lunchtime dB Conference on (duh) music journalism where I got insights from writers from XLR8R, Resident Advisor, the Stranger and more. One striking fact of the panel for me was that in a room of about thirty artists, only two were female, myself included. Where the ladies at? Next year, how about a panel on the dearth of female artists in the electronic arts?

Making my Friday was a delicious French-toast crepe and Wasabi Bloody Mary from Grey Gallery; highly recommended if you like your hangover with pickled okra and a very, very clear head.

That night I returned to Grey to catch a little of the Kulturszene DJ lounge before heading over to Neumos for the Dirty Dancing showcase where Let’s Go Outside was tearing it up. I love this DJ for his music and for this. I wanted to stay but my heady bass-freak self propelled me all the way over to the Baltic Room for the Native State Showcase; this venue is the perfect match for the Dark Lords of Native State. Welder was keeping the crowd wobbling and soon KiloWatts was shaking the whole earth with his structured and driving brand of crunky bass- this sound pioneer gave one of the best performances of Decibel, for sure. The people were lapping it up like kittens. Evil little kittens.

It was hard to pull away but I had to head back over to Neumos for Deadmau5. I lost track of how many times I went back and forth between the Baltic and the Pike Street area; I walked it at least four times, took a cab twice, drove at least once and bummed a ride a couple of times. Once I took a hoola hoop.

I really didn’t know what to think of Deadmau5- I am familiar with his music and had done some research for a pre-Decibel article but had never seen him live and really didn’t know what to think of Mr. Joel Zimmerman. Downstairs at Neumos he was chilling and connecting the mad wireage inside his now-blue Mau5head, whose ears are a lovely velour, fun to rub, and insured. He was feeling a little pain from the night before in Edmonton where he and his manager had tied one on, but there was no hint of that at all when the Mau5 took the stage, because-

Deadmau5 completely blew me away. His performance was my biggest surprise of the festival. Dance-floor transcendence, and you know what I mean. I tend to fall into the brainwaves of “oh, everyone in the world likes this artist, so he must really suck”- but Deadmau5 simply wrecked mad destruction; the dance floor was so freaking packed you hardly even had to dance- all the people around you just moved your body around for you, and all you had to do was give yourself to it. I really don’t think Joel knows how good he is, despite all the Beatport awards and accolades; all he cares about is getting back into his studio and making music. No really, that is all he cares about.

However we did convince him to head over to the Church of Bass for the Subsequence afterhours and arrived just in time for the very last of Kris Moon’s set and then proceeded to get sticky with Phidelity whose psychedelic robotty-bass grooved perfectly with the dark dance church, all decked out for the festival with sweet black light art. We then got a second dose of Brendan Angelides aka Welder who performed this time as Eskmo, who is a dreamy poet of electronic intensity- I don’t know what world he comes from, but I want to buy a ticket.

DAY 3:

Saturday morning started with a trip to the airport to pick up my very favorite producers in all of the universe- edIT and Boreta of the Glitch Mob. Sadly I missed a lot of Decibel in the Park but I heard that Noisemaker laid it down proper, as usual. I rolled up in style with my precious cargo around 4PM just as Jacob London was finishing up and Truckasauras were getting set up with their Americanakitsch: gold Zelda cartridge, Uncle Sam hats and all. Who wants to bet that was Maker’s Mark in that plastic cup?

Truckasauras was good but I live for the Glitch Mob and now my dear children, you can see why. I think I personally called every single one of my friends and told them to go to this performance or I would kill them. And over a dozen of them came up and thanked me afterwards for the mind-blowing experience. edIT and Boreta (and Kraddy and OOah, the missing mobsters) create something new with each live show; you either get it or you don’t, and something tells me the mass of people dancing their asses off for an hour and a half GOT IT. Burner breaks, glitch hop, laser bass, Crunkedouthyphyfunkadelicpsybrokenwhomphopmusicforbasssluts or whatever you want to call it; the Glitch Mob pushes through boundaries like they aren’t even there (like the spoon) and they have a hell of a time doing it.

Great success! Decibel in the Park was mad fun, just like you knew it would be. The fact that the showcase was free added to the aesthetic and I know of at least one person who asserted that the Glitch Mob changed his life (me too). I hope to see more outdoor shows at Volunteer Park and of course, more freaks.

After a nap and a shower I headed over to Grey Gallery quickly to say hi to the Sweatbox and Knight Riders kids (I LOVE TECHNO) and then got myself to the Baltic Room where I made yet another exciting artist discovery at the Ghostly Showcase: Deru, who was taking things on a dark and twisty turn there on the dance floor. The dirty sounds got me all worked up which was just perfect because I hopped a cab up to Chop Suey where things were CRACK-EN’ in mad firecracker style. In the hot-as-hell side room Swank was ripping it up like a pirate and Sean Majors followed suite, keeping the energy ramped up, and over in the main room LA Riots started laying crazy on the crowd who flipping loved it.

Once again I was forced to pull myself away from the bRave New World Showcase and head to Neumos for Carl Craig; the end of Audion’s set had the people bursting in bubbles and then THE DETROIT LEGEND stepped up- and this is where I should stop writing. I danced for his entire set like a raving madwoman, like a lunatic with no lunch, like the insane devotee of the cult of dance that I am. I don’t know what tracks he played, I don’t know what he mixed in or how he did it, I don’t know his no-doubt long list of props, awards, and accolades. I was dripping, dripping with sweat, it was in my fat eyes and stupid smile which did not wear off all night (and is in fact still there right now).

This is what I live for, why I stay hours late at my office writing for you, why I go out all the time in search of it- it is why I do what I do- so that I can have this divine experience, and it is no less than that. My brain stops working completely and the music takes me over and I experience something that I cannot find elsewhere- not from a person, not from a drug, not from anything else on earth. THIS IS WHY WE DANCE. THANK YOU CARL CRAIG. No really, I love techno.

After three days of dancing of course I wanted to dance more and headed to a friend’s afterparty first; the dubstep was icky-icky but just not what I was searching for so I trolled down to the Church of Bass once again for yet another WOW experience and discovered yet another new favorite performer of the festival: Dixon. Oh. My. God. You would think the people on his dance floor had been sleeping for a thousand years instead of going for three days of Decibel. Taimur Agha kept it bangin’ as well and I left after several more hours of epic dance trance- a very very great day in the life, right?

DAY 4:

After a respectable amount of sleep I was up on Sunday I made it to Havana’s just in time to catch Sun Tzu Sound, though not so for the barbeque from Austin which was long gone. This Texas girl was very sad, although the bartender had stashed some chicken back so I did get a little fix of homefood. I wasn’t expecting to dance, just to relax, but the warm, tribal sounds echoing out of the parking lot had a different idea, and soon I was getting down with a few others in the shady pink parking lot- so perfect for a city barbeque. Jeremy Ellis was out chillin’ in his sweet yellow suit and red ponytail and jumped in for a minute to play along with SunTzu. People kept strolling by the gates, watching us dance and listening to the beats and wondering where they took a wrong turn in life. (Yeah it was at the intersection of Mainstream Avenue and Live-For-Art Street).

Still hungry from my teaser barbeque experience, I drove over to the Triple Door to the Ambient Showcase for a little Deaf Center and a cheese plate. At the second door I ran into Akira Rabelais and we had quite the lovely wine experience all backed up with some creepy-ass music that would chill my bones right off if I played it late at night at my house and would no doubt inspire me to turn on every single light that I could. I think they call this kind of music “haunting”.

I went to this Ambient Showcase on the recommendation of everyone who has ever told me in my life to slow down- which is like 8000 people. I did, and it was as lovely as the wine I shared with Akira. I hung on for a little of Eluvium and then took my leave to go get down for one lovely last night of Decibel- it was time to dance!

Over at Sole Repair my favorite people in the world, Innerflight, were getting things started with J-Sun and then Kadeejah Streets up on the decks and swinging hard and low with their music- I don’t know who loved it more, the DJs or the crowd below. Upstairs once again in the gallery the dance freaks were rocking it; the crowd wasn’t as thick as it had been for the weekend nights but for those of us there it just meant more dance floor, because the music was definitely right up there with the best of the weekend.

Again- tough choices- I left to catch Flying Lotus who was incredibly entertaining and a gentleman to boot. He has to be one of the most talented and critically-acclaimed artists of the weekend, and for good reason. The Bug and the Warrior Queen didn’t so much do it for me, I loved the heavy vibrating bass but couldn’t seem to get into it and found myself outside socializing more than dancing- which shouldn’t happen in Shilo World (see Carl Craig above).

Supermayer brought it back for me though with their adorably clever musical attitude and I would have rocked out until the sugar-sweet ending- but m.0 was on fire next door and I wanted to blaze with him. I walked in to Sole Repair to see him in the middle of the dance floor with his trademark giant smile and seriously talented beat-mastery. Fantastic, beautiful, and epic. m.0 is the shit in this town plain and simple and is only going up, up, up, and Seattle will be right behind him with a big “Hell Yeah.”

After two I headed out for my fourth afterhours of the weekend where once again the music was top notch, the crowd was off their heads with excitement, Flying Lotus was chilling on the windowsill and I danced until I was wringing out my shirt AND JEANS. Wringing out my jeans, people. I was in bed by 6:30AM which didn’t quite give me the sleep I needed to be all perky and Shilo-like by my office meeting at 10AM- but I sure as hell was still dancing on the inside, as I will be for a while, thanks to Decibel Festival.

And thanks to you, everyone involved which is about a billion people, from the director down to the kids who shucked out money to see a show and over to the bouncer sweeping up cigarette butts. The electronic music community here in Seattle is alive and well, full of passion and smiling faces, exploding with talent and gaining more adherents every day. We must harness the excitement and enthusiasm for our music that you are all feeling right now and use it promote the talented artists among us, to work for more and bigger music venues in Seattle, to support newcomers to our scene, and to share with others what electronic music has meant to us, which more than can be put into words.

I too am inspired not only by all the new music and art in my head but by the fact that one person with a little help from friends can make a huge impact on the international electronic arts community which we are part of; mad mad props to Sean Horton. Thanks to everyone who handed out a flyer, reposted a Myspace bulletin, told a friend about the festival or simply showed up and danced. Rest assured that people returned home with respect for the Seattle electronic music community in their hearts, and I am honored to have been able to contribute to this epic electronic arts mania riot love dance fever weekend we like to call the Decibel Festival. Thanks you.

And now I ask you a favor- I would usually go back and add in links back to CultureMob.com for all of the artists, venues, and events as well as going back and editing the hell out of this write up at least three times, adding clever remarks and innuendos.

However I seriously have a flight to Thailand in less than twelve hours and should probably go home and start packing.

So if you would, my friends, check out CultureMob.com- register if you haven’t already, make a comment, and find out about local events coming up in Seattle and all over the country. CultureMob is all about promoting artists and venues and you will no doubt find some sweet events you didn’t know about, not only live music events but art, comedy, movies, sports, theater, and more. Sign up and make Shilo happy- well, happier. ‘Cuz I’m floating on beats right now.

Click here to go to CultureMob’s listing of upcoming Seattle electronic music events.

That’s it! I am off to Thailand. Catch you on the flip-flop. And one last time until next year, Happy Decibel.

So I showed up at Trinity Nightclub in Pioneer Square last night for free.BASS JUST before 10PM, wanting to slide in before they started charging cover for Dave Dresden. But there was no need for me to rush, because Dresden wasn’t there; he had cancelled (something about a head through a window). 

But this was the overwhelming response of the crowd:

Who cares? I came to see KJ Sawka. 

At 10PM there was already a nice throb of party kids in the beloved club and KJ’s fantastical drum kit was set up in the Blue Room where people were drum and bassing it to The Dowlz. Life is good.

I made a quick trip to Belltown for a little birthday bash and minimal techno with Jules V, Ctrl_Alt_Dlt and a few other crazy people, then got my ass back down to Trinity for Kevin’s 12:30 set. The Blue Room was now PACKED. Like usual I pushed my way to the front of the dance floor (hey I EARN my spot) and was happy to see to my right and my left lots of my good friends straight holding it down for me. I was right in front of the drum kit and KJ was going freaking nuts with both arms and both legs on that thing. I think he was growling a little bit; he was so into it and the dance floor was responding to his passion- by going freaking nuts with both arms and both legs. It was ON.

I LOVE drum and bass; probably too much, like espresso and cupcakes. I kill myself dancing to it, that is for sure, I get so involved that I forget to take it back to half-time stepping and wind up a sweaty, feverish mess in a very short time. With KJ Sawka’s unique brand of fire-flavored drum craziness I am not sure how anyone walked out of there last night. I can’t even begin to explain how he creates the sounds that come out like an army of darkness onto the dance floor; I don’t know if he can either but it doesn’t matter. Trinity was beautiful last night and the Blue Room came alive. Big smiles all around.

YOUR PLANS FOR TONIGHT:

For your prefunk head out to the street fair in Pioneer Square along Washington Street in front of Fuel Sports Bar: live music and DJs, food, and some beautiful, amazing, I-want-to-kiss-everyone-I-see SUNSHINE!!! DJ Pressha plays 80’s B-More and Mashups from 6PM-9PM.

Gruvsessionz at Heavens Nightclub: Come get down with the dopest crowd in town. Produkt puts on a freakin’ circus with DJs Dab, Flave, Ben Shelton, Messiah, Dirty Steve, The Dowlz and Eric Nelson. Two rooms of music: house/electro/techno/progressive house/d&b/dubstep/and some mashups for the ladies- and don’t forget the aerial performances, fire twirlers, live art, lasers, magic, burlesque, belly dancers and the Tap-Taparazzi.

Next door is Fuel Sports Bar and a new monthly breakbeat night: The Breakup. Kicking it off are the Mendicants and beautiful Nyx who will be partying along with the “NW Breakbeat Ambassador” Dig Dug.

Chop Suey’s got Trevor Loveys and DJ Same DNA, Jizosh, and mad religious prophet and rabble-rouser Recess.

Jacob London is at SeeSound Lounge.

Afterhours? It’s all about Hengst Studio (my favorite venue in Seattle) until 7AM with Claire Huxtable, Snap ‘N Pop, Grindle, and Ctrl_Alt_Dlt…….mmmmmmm…minimal techno until the sun rises, baby!

I will be everywhere, all at once. See you on the dance floor.

GUEST BLOGGER: DANCEFEVER5000

First I just want to say that any condo owners on Capitol Hill who have ever complained about noise from clubs can go straight to you-know-where: I’ll even weave you a hand basket. You move into a vibrant and colorful neighborhood and then proceed to bland it down to the color of your khaki pants with your lame sheep-calls for quiet. What, do you want the neighborhood to be as boring and uninspired as your lives? Oh right, you do, because the kids out rocking it and having fun dancing to loud music for all hours of the night remind you how freaking lame and shallow your existence based on the pursuit of material goods really is.

Turn it down! I need a good night’s sleep so I can get up and go to work and make more money and upgrade my IKEA living space! YOU are what is wrong with American society. You are not happy, and you know it, and it pisses you off that we can be so fulfilled listening to beats with our friends and drinking cheap beer with nary a luxury SUV in the parking garage. It is not Chop Suey’s fault that you hate your lives. Move to the Eastside already where you belong, start having kids and drop out of life.

WOW! Rant over! So I obviously thought the show should have been louder; but this is not Kode9 or Chop Suey or anyone’s fault besides the pansy-ass City Council and the Mayor and the aforementioned condo owners. I don’t know anyone who owns a condo near Chop Suey, but if you do, please by all means forward this link. I would love to chit-chat with the lame-O’s.

To be fair, I have a huge pro-noise bias; just about every night you can find me on the dance floor getting fresh with a speaker screaming “LOUDER! LOUDER!” at the DJ. I do prefer the loud side of life and will never understand how the wishes of one quiet-lover trump a dance floor of a hundred people who want it loud. I call bullshit.

On to the show review:

A big mix of people came out for the Tuesday night dubstep-mania; the crowd was filled with many random friends from different Seattle scenes, all there to check out what the legend Kode9 would throw down. I LOVE shows like this which mix up the cliques and bring people together, from the dreadlocked hippies to the hard-core breaks DJs to my work mates to a guy speaking French who just moved to Seattle that day from Belgium. The master of dubstep was brought to Seattle by Decibel which should make you tingly all over in anticipation for the upcoming Decibel Festival taking place in late September all over Capitol Hill, condo-owners be damned.

Dubstep is a weird genre which a lot of people don’t seem to get. I think it scares them. The wavering, syncopated sound was the first electronic music I listened to (unless you count the Gorillaz); I was living in New Zealand where the reggae scene is flipping redonkulous, off the charts, balls-out crazy- which means the dubstep party is right there behind it. I truly think that people who don’t like or don’t get dubstep are just scared of the bass whether they know it or not. More likely they are scared of what the bass will do to them, and maybe they should be because IT WILL MAKE YOU DANCE LIKE A FREAK. Deep down we are all bass sluts though, for real. I go absolutely crazy over the mad dissonant grooves; I have ‘give me the bass’ tattooed across my forehead in bold.

AND last night was the best dubstep show in Seattle I have seen in a while. I loved it all and had a freaking blast. Shocker, I know. Too big of a blast if you judge by my face-dragging this afternoon into work. Itchy and funkalicious sets by beautiful local boys Struggle and Kid Hops started the show at the perfect wobbly level. Call it blasphemy and get out the tar and feathers but I enjoyed dancing to Kid Hops’ set the most of the night. These two are absolute bad-ass DJs and you should experience them the next, and every, chance you get.

Kode9 came from another level though. His beats seeped out of a haunted home, crawling out of the dark shadows and up onto the dance floor, grabbing our ankles and our brains. His set was a searching introspection of the state of human existence, an aural illumination of the nihilistic free-fall through modernity that no one can stop. Kode9’s music speaks to a place in the furthest reaches of our consciousness, to the deepest parts of our heads and our bodies that still recall the tens of thousands of years of evolution when we danced to heavy drum beats on the African savannah in celebration of a hunt or a birth or a death. Humans love the bass, and no one can to deny it- just look at the surging popularity of all the bass-thick musical genres going on right now (ahem…glitch-hop, grindcore, laserbass…). It all goes back to the bass. Way back.

Kode9 goes there, with no reserves or apologies. He digs it up and lays it out raw and unfiltered. The lights stayed off at Chop Suey last night during his whole set which was perfect, as this was no laser-fest candy-kid acid-house rave. This was freaking serious. The wacky mix of minor chords and wonky rhythms made me wish I was dancing in a back alley of London, full of trash and buck-toothed rats and bums and leaky boxes, embracing the dirtiness of human existence, squatting in a filthy warehouse and making soup on a single propane burner to share with my new, unbathed friends. Yeah. It was that grimey and that real.

Kode9’s music makes you embrace the dark side of human nature, the evil emperor within us all, a welcome out-breath for this sunshine-snappy girl. Dancing last night my knees just bent deeper and deeper until I was practically in the final stanzas of “Shout” (get a little bit softer now); perhaps it was my subconscious effort to get closer to the earth, the roots, the black dog within me. It worked.

So once again my show review verges on the philosophical over the technical; I am a recent convert to electronic music, I cannot call out tracks from mixes or drop names of festivals I went to back in ‘95 or point out nuances in equipment. But I have an all-consuming, blazing passion for electronic music and I was not disappointed last night.

I left Chop Suey with a big fat smile across my head and spent the next three hours in Pioneer Square dancing my freckles off like a madwoman and it is safe to say that in writing this review my brain is not sunshine-fresh this afternoon. Evening. Though the mad beats should have been louder, Kode9 wrought his black magic on the crowd and brought to the surface an ominous and deep-seated feeling of grime and grit and filth which lives within us all and is an undeniable part of our psyche- even the shiny lives of the asshole condo owners.

Sorry yall, I read Sartre on the bus today. L’enfer c’est les autres. Just ask Harvey Danger.

Ya got something ta say? Think I’m full of it? Right on? Should shut the hell up about the darkness within us all? Do I write too damn much? Are you a black dog? Are you a condo-owner who is proud of your khaki life? For the love of dub, leave a comment.

What a great night! I will pull the strings of memories out of my head and try to convey the energy and vibe going on at Re-bar last Friday night for Produkt’s eleventh installment of Analog: Everything But the Kitchen Sink. I tend to not review the really good parties because I dance my ass off and pretty much just go into a DJ-induced trance and live in the energy of the dance floor. I lose track of everything around except the DJ and the beats, and a slap-happy gang of purple monkeys could run in behind me and go berserk and I would not notice. This is why there is no BreakBeatBuddha or Glitch Mob reviews, and I am a few days late on this one but I know you want it, so here it goes:

I was really looking forward to the night of breaks, dubstep, minimal techno and a little crazy rat bastard shit thrown in; the lineup was tight and the word was out. Analog has been getting better and better every month; May’s I Like Orange and Techno night was a freaky fun orange-a-thon complete with naked chicks, flying beer bottles, and a guy in his underwear jumping on the decks. 

But the theme for Analog XI was not citrus-laced hoohah; no, the mood was dark and dirty on the dance floor, starting out with the Milkman’s wobbly grime-laden dubstep. The beautiful Produkt dancers were all in black, a nice complement to the atmosphere. Asifa showed up in a big blond wig, and I didn’t even recognize her for about half an hour even though she was dancing right in front of me. By the time Noisemaker and Naha came on for their two-hour set, the scene was straight gritty and ready for some filthy bass, which the two poured over the crowd like a midnight waterfall. At some point an actual kitchen sink was paraded in, much to my delight (mad props for the sinkage to NickyJee, yet another of my bad-ass-up-and-coming DJ friends). Noisemaker effing kills it and the dance floor absolutely loves him; Naha threw down as well with the redonkulous rock star MC Anton Bomb doing his thing over the beats- the best that I had ever seen him.

So this is about where I put on my dance-trance-pants, so you are not going to get a lot of specifics on tracks or what-have-you. Rest assured it was a “YEAH” night for me- on the dance floor often all I can say is “YEAH” or “MORE”. It was “YEAH” all night long. After the crazy bass set, DJ Goner hit it thick like always with his wicked brand of minimal techno. GONER ROCKS. It was also my pleasure to hear him a little later in the weekend for several more hours, and I must inform you that Goner will be taking the Seattle techno scene by storm. He kills, always; he is as intense as his music which HELL! gets you moving. On Friday night the Night Train (Seattle superstar extraordinaire) played some mad harmonica over the deep techno beats. Think harmonicas belong on the range at home with the buffalos? Well then, you need to come out more. The Night Train always gives a twisted take over the electronic music, and with a smile no less.

So it should have been the end of the night, 2AM, last call and all, but wait- we were in for a exclusive appearance as Schlage hit the decks and the bar decided to stay open until 3AM. I really really love Re-bar; it is a dancing club FIRST with a giant floor and the crowd always comes to get down, which is a nice change from the usual Pioneer Square drivel. And to end the night in the sickest fashion, Noisemaker jumped back on the decks and fed us a little more sticky bass, of which we can never get enough. After closing down my fourth dance floor of the week, I went straight home to bed. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

What makes the Analog parties so consistently ON are the people who come out: the Produkt family always supports their people like mad, and those cats party like it’s the eve of the Armageddon. The dark and bass-thick music gave the dance floor what we wanted, and Analog XI was the best one yet.

This month is Analog XII: Meeting of the Minds (July 25th) where the big boys of four Seattle music collectives will be throwing down to another dance floor full of crazy dancing girls and boys. Jisaan, Ramiro, Mikey Tello, Michael Manahan and J-Sun will be out REPRESENTIN’ their respective crews and you can come out assured the night will go off with deep-house, tech-house, techno, and God only knows what else.

OK everybody- It is HOT, it is a HOLIDAY WEEKEND, and everyone will be out celebrating like fools that we live in an awesome, free country where the right to the pursuit of happiness is one of our nation’s founding principles. So do your civic duty and GET OUT THERE, GET INTO IT, and pursue your happiness, kids, unless he has a girlfriend. Don’t know what to do this weekend? Confused by all the choices? Go where I’m going- ‘cuz that’s always where the party’s at.

Like drum and bass? Tonight (Wednesday) at Pulse at Trinity there is a cherry-sweet lineup with no cover: DJs Jason Curtis, Aaron Simpson, The Dowlz, The Dub What, Contents, and Sonic MC will be giving you all the DRUM AND BASS! DRUM AND BASS! that you could ever want. Brad will be pourin’ ‘em strong.

Like minimal techno? BONKERS goes off this Thursday July 3 at Re-bar; you know you don’t have to work the next day so come out and get crazy with the techno-heads. With the deep, dark, penetrating, throbbing, beats you can’t go wrong. Ever.

Like art and music and want to go to the best party of the weekend? Want to see Noisemaker along with about 5 billion other mad DJs like PrEssHa, Theory, Von Dewey, Ben Shelton, Jisaan, Lovevirus, and B.Fly? See you Saturday night at the Columbia City Theatre for the much-antici…pated Collective Art Project. You will dance your pretty little face off- and oh yeah, there will be art and handmade clothes and HOLOGRAMS to buy, so bring cash.

Like freakish experimental nerdy brain-beat music from the future? Want to catch a glimpse into the evolutionary course of electronic music? Matmos hits the Triple Door on Monday July 7.

Like dubstep? Of course you do, you stoner. UK MASTER of dubstep Kode9 is at Chop Suey Tuesday July 8. Kid Hops and Struggle will be getting the party started; if you are a bass slut, your presence is required. We will be taking names.

Signing off,

DF5K.

If you would like to post this on your myspace profile or blog, please post the link back to this page rather than copy-and-pasting it. That will make Shilo smile.

If you would like to post a comment, please do so below.

If you enjoyed my review and would like to buy me a drink this weekend, that would be a vodka and soda with a lime.

HAPPY 4TH OF JULY!

Two hours east of Seattle this weekend a mountain of energy was created deep in the woods, far away from civilization, far away from everything except what really matters. Photosynthesis 1.0, presented by Collective Flow, brought together old friends and new, a stupid number of local DJs that we all know and love, along with a copious amount of hula-hooping, fire-twirling, bubbles in the breeze, giggling children, hours and hours of music and dancing, silly dogs, a deep indigo sky bursting with stars and framed by evergreens, legions of mimosas, body paint galore, and a naked guy. Now this was a party. Up on top of the ridge it was sunny and warm in the day, windy and cold as hell at night. I arrived in a sheer sundress and hours later had on not one but two pair of wool socks, June be damned, living the wisdom that there is no bad weather, only inappropriate clothing. Good thing I brought some.

Beats, beeps, scratches, and whomps found a temporary home in the forest and were sent out into the trees from three stages. The combination of the great outdoors and electronic music generates an incredible sense of enchantment; what should be an odd match of opposites instead creates an all-encompassing feeling of happiness, of wholeness, of everything being right in the world. I pitched my tent by the Main Stage, the Nama Stage, which gave me easy access to the art dome, the big heart-shaped campfire, and to the festival kitchen to whom I must give mad, mad props. A huge amount of time and effort went into the food preparation; nobody at the festival went hungry because heaps of people worked very hard to make sure of it. Every time I passed by the kitchen there was a flipping buffet of healthy food, made with love. Pho the first night, then veggie gumbo, a van-load of tamales, A ROAST PIG, fresh fruit, homemade breakfast muffins; everything I tried was absolutely fantastic. Mad, mad, props to the Sweet Peeps kitchen for their hard work and delicious chow.

The Main Stage rocked consistently for two nights with sick DJs from all over the Pacific Northwest. Novatron laid it down in the middle of the dance floor, his dog Ziggy running around like an idiot and the rest of us shaking our souls and asses for the artist. I never ever miss one of Novatron’s live sets, he is a master. My favorite player of the festival though (do I have to say it?) was the brilliantly original Noisemaker who played two random time slots around 5AM and 5PM. Come on now yall, this DJ belongs in the middle of the fire and frenzy and madness of the night. That is his home. Noisemaker had the freshest and most unique sets of the party; I really loved watching people stroll up who had never before heard his brand of crunk. They first look a little confused by the frog noises and Big Band music, then they start smiling, and then they start dancing. Curious DJs wandered up to check out his set as well, and one of my friends laid out the reason he loves Noisemaker: “It’s just like, ‘I’m Noisemaker. I’ll do what I want. I spin Britney Spears, bitch, and you’re gonna love it and you’re going to dance.” And dance we did.

The second stage out in the woods was Vex Village, where I spent the least amount of time, though I did catch the unbelievable KJ Sawka set on Friday night; could he possibly be a more bad-ass drummer? No. He couldn’t. And do the ladies love him or what! “Blah blah blah I love Kevin Sawka” is all I heard that night. I was also lucky to catch Von Dewey on the second stage as well who laid down quite a fat set of beats for the crowd.

The three stages were a nice walk apart from each other, but traveling the cold path between them birthed ample opportunities for random social encounters. I love being a nomad, wondering around in the dark woods by myself (sorry Mom), meeting strangers and strange friends in the night. On the liminal path, that dirt space between worlds and stages and social circles, anything can happen- there are no rules.

My favorite home of Photosynthesis 1.0 was the rock-strewn dance floor of the third stage, the Orca Sound Lab. When I came upon the area the first evening, it was nothing but three speakers on the grass by some trees. The following day however the wooded area was transformed into a sacred circle of dance. The beats started out strong there Saturday afternoon with Awggie and the Mendicants, and then HOLY FREAKING TECHNO! Can I say it again? HOLY FREAKING TECHNO.

What had been just three speakers in the forest became a temple of unrelenting beats that continued deep and deeper into the night as one DJ after another ripped it in half, a blazing lineup that spiraled through the forest into a incessant explosion, a rampage, a frenzy. The stage was on fire the whole night; this is the reason I don’t mention any of the headliners of the festival in my review. I was possessed by the techno. Nordic Soul ignited the madness with quite the ridiculous set; he cannot hide the fact that he thoroughly enjoys what he does to the dance floor as much as we do. I am in love with this DJ. The techno continued its unabated aural penetration as the evening continued; the one-hour sets went quickly and we were treated to a succession of gifted electronic artists. Manos was laying down straight crazy, dubby shit; Panty Control, Milkplant, Brian S., Jesse, and to all the DJs that night who I met and can’t remember your name, you guys destroyed us there in the middle of the forest. The sloped and rocky dance floor did not stop the party from giving it up to the Dance.

I danced in the forest all night and into the morning, not a creature of my own volition but a slave to the music. The beats go inside of my body and move it for me, I have no choice in the matter. The incongruent blend of electronic music and campfires puts something in your soul that cannot be explained, it can only be felt. And can I shout out to the DJs who dance? I absolutely love to see you guys on the floor getting down. I love it. I nourish myself with the symbiotic relationship between the DJ and the dancers and the energy it creates. Music changed my life, music saved my life, music is my life. There is no one in existence who can say that music has not contributed positively to their world, and most of you probably even agree with my three hippie-face declarations above.

However at any festival or party there always seems to be one DJ who completely destroys the dance floor and whose name is on everyone’s hungover lips the next morning around campfires and smoke circles. At Photosynthesis 1.0 it was Ctrl_Alt_Del. This boy absolutely rocked the minds and bodies of everyone who heard his set late Saturday night, his own as well if I am not mistaken. I don’t know crack about minimal techno, but my body does. I feel the energy trapped in the pulsing beats, the intense throbbing that stays just below the surface, rising and falling and threatening to bubble uncontrollably to the top of our minds. Ctrl_Alt_Del kept us on that threshold; speaking to our subconscious desires and the nethermost chasms of our very beings with the pulsing undercurrent. Techno rouses the ID, the animal inside of us all who just wants to grab the person dancing next to us and run off into the woods naked and screaming, social-circle cohesion be damned. Ctrl_Alt_Del woke up this beast on his dance floor, and short of going raving mad and frothing at the mouth and howling at the moon, we danced. We danced all night in the woods like our ancestors did for hundreds of thousands of years, warming ourselves with the fire and our feet.

Which, of course, is why we go to festivals; to dance on the earth with bare feet, to experience the feeling of walking up on a campfire encircled by strangers in the middle of the night, to see children playing free in the forest, to wear feathers in our hair, to walk paths drenched in falling light alone. Time returns to it’s true and undefined nature and exists only as a DJ lineup. For a few days, we commune with the earth and each other as humans have done long, long before the time of texting and Myspace and traffic. We share food, and water, and energy, and life. The weekend was almost perfect.

Sunday morning I woke up and found out that a boy had died. His name was Shawn-e. I met him the night before, he was fishing for ravers with a pole and a glow stick. He caught one; it was me. We said our hellos-my-name-is and went along our separate ways in the dark forest. I really wish I could leave this out, that I could skip this unpleasant part of my annoyingly positive review, that I could keep the weekend lingering in your minds as singularly and wickedly beautiful. But I can’t. That morning as I sat at a friend’s campsite with a circle of strangers sharing a bottle of warm Champagne, a sound met our ears, the echoes of a girl weeping in the woods. The small circle of humans froze. Our eyes locked; we were strangers bound together by the sound of the absolute despair of one of our own. Once again this weekend we were reminded that we are all connected. We all live together and we will all die.

But you are alive, right now, reading this. So guess what? You have to live for Shawn-e now. All of you. You have to dance a little harder, you have to sing a little louder, you have to live a little more. You have to devour every new experience that presents itself to you and is good. You have to suck out the marrow of life just a little more now, not just for Shawn-e but for all of your friends who drop away from this world. Add Shawn-e to the long list of reasons why you refuse to have anything but an absolutely incredible life, rich with experience and human connections. My heart aches for the friends and family who knew Shawn-e well; know that I met him but a few tiny moments on this earth and in that brief encounter, he made me smile and laugh.

The music was turned off, the campers slowly left, and the energy dissipated, carried away bit by bit in each of us to be dispersed around the Pacific Northwest. I packed up the car and went to pay my respects to the dance floors, finding once again that the third stage was just a few speakers sitting in the middle of the woods. The only evidence of the party mania and techno fever the night before was a charred campfire and grass stomped away by dancing feet. Ashes to ashes. I made a huge trash sweep over the forest campground and found only one gum wrapper on the grounds; this place had been well-loved and taken care of. I walked away from Photosynthesis 1.0 filled up, with renewed inspiration to live every single day as fully as I possibly can.

Heading home over a rock path with a few wrong turns and a late lunch at random cafe #3 in Cle Elum (complete with deer chandeliers and a bear skin rug on the wall), my carload was salivating for more electronic music. Seriously. Drool was dripping off our chins. Thankfully I had a downloaded CD of Ctrl_Alt_Del in my car- however it only plays when my navigator has not jammed a second disc into my car’s stereo system. Alas, for the two-hour ride home, we were stuck in radio hell, which is no mild exaggeration after a weekend of such mind-melting music; going back to Top 40 was pure aural torture. I have a bad habit of screaming at DJs to drop the beat when they hold out too long, which is what I was yelling at my radio by the time we reached North Bend. Jazzy-F Lips on KE-whatever didn’t seem to hear me, but somehow I made it back to my favorite home-of-the-moment, Seattle.

I am satiated with positive energy from this weekend. Thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who shared this time in the woods with me, every single one of you: the people who worked hard to give us a party, the new friends I made, the people whose names I’ve already forgotten, the ones of you I didn’t get to meet and the one of you who will not dance again. To the girl in the woods, I wept with you. Thank you for sharing your energy, all of you, and in exchange I give you my words and will share my filled-up spirit to everyone I meet.

Damn I sound like a hippie.

So what is this techno music I keep going on about? Pulsing? The ID? The undercurrents of penetrating electronic beats that moves your body and fills up your head and will not goes away? Find out this Tuesday at Vito’s when Oi Vay gets MADE: Struggle, DJ Eddie, and Jeromino will be spinning a lovely evening of techno in an Italian mobster cafe; come out and dance and live a bit more than your normal weekday night. Who knows? It just might change your life.

If you would like to comment on Photosynthesis 1.0, or my review, or on some of the amazing DJ sets I missed because there are not two of me, please comment below. I would love it.

Click here to read more of my show reviews; click here to read all of my random blog posts.

I went to see Moby’s DJ set at the Showbox at the Market last night for a few reasons: sheer curiosity regarding his DJ skills, a $20 ticket price, and an insatiable desire for new musical experiences. I figured I would just chill out at a smooth Sunday night show, grab a beer and a seat in the back, perhaps even take a few notes.

Yeah, right. Like Moby was going to allow me to maintain any illusion that didn’t involve me being front and center and dancing my face off. I had a much better time than I expected to, and the music went straight inside of my body and moved it for me; I had no choice in the matter. The DJ brought out a very diverse group of Seattleites; I adore the random swirling currents of people at a show like this where you see a few regulars from every scene you hang out with in addition to a thousand other people that you have never seen on a dance floor before in your life. Where do they go every other night of the month? It’s a Seattle mystery.

I arrived around 11:30PM, too late to catch any but a couple of songs from the openers. Sadly I missed my favorite opening DJ Nordic Soul’s set completely; Colby B seemed to really light up the masses though, and I responded most to Bret Law’s energy- he really loved the what he was throwing down, hand gesturing and even putting his headphones on to the beat. Ah, unbridled enthusiasm! Passion is what humans respond to. DJs, take note: we love it when the you get into it! If you do, so will we. There is nothing less inspiring than a DJ who is so intent on twisting knobs and pressing buttons that he or she rarely looks up or smiles or interacts with the audience.

Moby did not disappoint in this area, or any other. For this first-timer, I somehow had the impression from his music and videos that he would be a serious-faced DJ, concentrating emphatically on his equipment. Maybe it was because Moby reminds me of that nerdy bald kid in we all knew in high school who was very artistically talented but socially inept. This is not the case. Moby was all smiles last night, clearly enjoying the effect of his beats on the crowd. He came out to touch the hands of the audience three times, driving the girls around me on the front row wild. I do want to state one truth regarding the front row at any show: if you get pissy because people are jumping and dancing and screaming around you, guess what? You don’t belong on the front row. Sorry to break it to you. I don’t go back to the bar area and go nuts, so don’t come to the front and go lame. The girl beside me actually sat down on the stage at one point during his set. Party foul, yo. Par-ty foul.

Moby’s eclectic set definitely represented his appeal to a wide variety of people, all present in their multitude of music personalities. A little dirty bass, a little more house, and a lot of techno; at various points in the show you would see different members of the audience going slightly nuts. Just a little bit though, as the crowd was mainstream-heavy, which I measure by the amount of “crazy girl” looks I get in a night. At hard core electronic music parties people on the dance floor understand and appreciate my unmitigated enthusiasm for the music, my raging dance fever, because they have it too.

Moby did sample some Moby, and of course we loved it; he laid down a choppy version of Porcelain, my favorite song off the album Play. With the beats parsed in, the song wasn’t quite so damn sad and heart-breaky. At the end of his set he walked up to the screaming crowd, soaking in the energy we were giving him, arms raised and eyes closed, for almost a minute before leaving the stage.

But the definite highlight of the night (besides getting to shake his hand three times) was the encore; Moby took us home. Home, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty. That’s right, Moby slung some good old G&R much to the delight of the crowd which was in just the right age bracket for Axl’s guitar riffs to stir up some potent coming-of-age verve. The beats started and Moby gave the hand signal: the cue to get-your-ass-up-on-stage-and-dance. He was waving us in! Without hesitation I jumped up onto the stage first, thinking for a split second I might be alone for the get-down, only to be joined a moment later by a mass of people who knocked to oblivion any drinks left on stage in the rush to get closer to the DJ.

We all rocked it like no one’s business mere feet away from the electronic superstar, and Moby was loving it. I was crammed against the DJ set-up at the very front of the mass of people pushing onto the stage, and thought during the heights of the encore frenzy that I might be crushed into the oblivion of the decks and merge forever with the music. However all 5′4″ of me has experience getting down (I’ll show you my scars from Rage Against the Machine’s moshpits later) and I held my ground. Usually my dance motions are upwardly oriented, of the bouncy sort, but during the last of Moby’s set I was completely leaning back, using the weight of the pushing crowd to support me as I grooved. It was absolutely thrilling to be in the epicenter of such deliriously positive energy.

Over a thousand people turned out for Moby’s DJ set; selling out the Showbox at the Market and prompting those outside without tickets to declare loudly on the streets, a là Eminem, “Moby, you’re too old, let go, NOBODY LISTENS TO TECHNO!”

The white boy is right. We don’t listen to techno; we live it, and Moby does too- with a big fat smile on his face the whole time.

Do you know someone who went to Moby’s DJ set at the Showbox? Might they help me figure out the mystery of the disappearing Seattle dance maniacs and where they hide out the rest of the year? Please forward a link for this post to them. United, we can ignite the Seattle electronic music scene and conquer the world, one beat at a time.

Thursday night on Capitol Hill class was in session and the bumpin’ crowd at Neumos got schooled proper-like by two professors of pimpin’, ?uestlove and Black Thought of The Roots. Hot off the opening stage for Erykah Badu at Marymoor Park, the two hip-hop superstars laid down the lessons of life for an eclectic crowd. The show drew people from all different scenes in Seattle- the electronic music kids, hipsters, hip-hopsters, dance freaks, nerds, curious skateboarders, innocent bystanders, and Blake Lewis, who is everywhere. They all came to enroll in Hip-Hop High; you might want to take notes because there will be a test. And get out your history textbooks because what went down last night was Old School, straight up and down like six o’clock.

Lesson 1: Give the ladies Biggie. During the opening DJ’s set, a gorgeous woman who could have been mistaken for Ms. Badu herself came up and asked me if there was any way to get the DJ to spin some Biggie; she was hungry for some East Coast flavor in her Thursday night soup. “Aks him,” I replied, and helped her out doing the deed myself (I have no fear of DJs; they only rarely bite). “Can you play some Biggie? This beautiful woman wants to hear him.” The DJ seemed to acquiesce to my request only to fail to drop said Biggie beats. DENIED! The hot chick was quite disappointed until the real show started and ?uestlove proceeded to show quite a bit of love to the East Coast and Mr. Smalls himself. And we didn’t even have to aks.

Lesson 2: Session Lager comes in really big bottles. Forty ounces for eight dollars. Drink it fast or you will find yourself in warm beer city.

Lesson 3. Black Thought is the quintessential MC; he brings meaning back to the two letters. This man had the crowd going nuts, reaching out over the front of the dance floor and dusting the fingertips of his fans with magical MC power.

Lesson 4: ?uestlove CAN SPIN, even when he is really, really, stoned.

Lesson 5: You cannot bring bottles of wine into Neumos.

Lesson 6: Everybody still really loves that Biz Markie song; just sing it to yourself to get the full effect: “OH BABY YOU, YOU GOT WHAT I NE-ED…” (and now it will be stuck in your head all day).

Lesson 7: The front of the dance floor is where it is at. This holds true at every show but in particular at this one; the sing-along effect was in full force, championed by the ladies with big smiles on their faces and arms waving in the air. Only happy people put their arms above their head; this is a well-documented cross-cultural human trait. Also only happy people sing along to Old School anthems by Eazy-E, the Beastie Boys, and even a classic anthem from E.U. (Google it; this is a family website). You can take the kids out of the 80’s but you can’t take the 80’s out of the kids.

Lesson 8: The source of all of ?uestlove’s power is THE PICK.

Lesson 9: Neumos’ capacity has recently been drastically lowered, thank you Mayor I-Hate-Rock-and-Roll Nichols. Although it was nice to be able to leave the front of the dance floor and find a little space in the back of the room to cool off (impossible at many previous shows), I worry about the implication of this recent development and what it means for the future of not only Neumos but other venues and dance floors (my home) around Seattle.

Lesson 10: CultureMob.com freakin’ rocks, and not just because we got to hang out with ?uestlove and Black Thought. CultureMob is now open in the San Diego, Phoenix, and Boston markets in addition to our existing sites in Portland, Denver, and Seattle. CultureMob.com is the next generation of online social networking. We take it one much better step further than Myspace or Facebook by giving you information that gets your network OUT, a place that is far spicier, louder, more colorful, more fun, and most importantly more real than the internet; it is a place where you can touch and smell and hear and actually engage the people you have been stalking online. Welcome back to reality.

CultureMob.com thanks ?uestlove and Black Thought for the killer mixes and raps, and we thank you, the people out there enjoying life last night.

Did I say there was going to be a test? Here it is: Get out there this weekend, Seattle. Get out there, and get down.

(AND YES, I DID MEAN TO SPELL ‘ASK’ LIKE ‘AKS’ . For more information please refer to the album “Doggystyle” by Snoop Doggy Dogg. Thank you.

I wish I could write a review of Atmosphere’s performance at the Showbox SoDo last night, but I can’t. I never saw the show, because I was thrown out due to a case of mistaken identity. For real.

Let me ’splain:

I had been trying to get a ticket to the sold-out show for about a week and a half, with no luck. Then the night before a friend texted me that he had an extra ticket to Atmosphere, and did I want to go? My reply was two words, and the second one was ‘YES’. I had never seen Atmosphere before and was excited as I had heard great things about their live shows, and I love the Showbox SoDo’s warehousey feel.

The crowd out on the warm Tuesday evening for the much-hailed hip-hop duo from Minnesota was dense and all-ages, with a bit more mad-dogging and less open smiles than I am used to in my usual electronic music crowd. If you like rap though, last night the Showbox SoDo was the place to be, and I was stoked to be swirling around in the mix.

Arriving late, of course, I had missed the first act and Abstract Rude was up on stage laying down rhymes and steadily working up the crowd in front of a big banner proclaiming, “When life gives you lemons, you paint Seattle gold.” 

I watched all this with my friends and our beers, caged off like the animals we are in the drinker’s section. When Abstract Rude finished up we all headed outside to check out one of my friend’s new pimp van, actually, the pimpest van EVER in the history of the universe and sweetest ride you ever saw, with running lights, a drink table and DOUBLE privacy shades. Straight pimp, straight up and down, like six o’clock.

After the fresh air/smoke break we headed back inside; Atmosphere was about to go on! Stamps on the wrists we walked up to the entrance, but the bouncer took one look at me, flashlight to the face, and would not let me pass. Whaaaaa? I held back, my friends went on in, then I tried again and he still wouldn’t let me in. I thought he was just being a jerk so I went around to the other entrance, which unfortunately was already closed for the night. The ladies there directed me back to the bouncer, who still wouldn’t let me inside. He said I had started a fight earlier inside the club, kicked some girl’s face in, knocked over a bunch of tables, then ran out screaming F you! F you! F you! to the bouncers.

Uh, yeah. This was not me. I am a peace lover, which is exactly what I said to the bouncers. “I’m a peace lover! I’ve been outside hanging out with my friends!” They were not having it. 

“Well, it was some girl who looked just like you,” the bouncer admitted, though still not waivering in his duty to keep the crowd safe from short, blond, table-trashing maniacs. So apparently last night a 5′4″ girl in a blue tank top, black skirt, fluorescent yellow fishnets, black and white striped legwarmers and a giant fuzzy fake fur coat beat someone up at the Showbox SoDo, knocked over several tables and did not take names. And because of that, Shilo missed the show.

It would have been funny if it didn’t suck. My friends all assumed I had gotten back in to the packed club and was dancing up at the front- after all, why wouldn’t the Showbox Sodo have let me back in? I cabbed it home and was in bed by midnight. Now I am all about new experiences, and this was a certainly a new one for me, but when said experiences interfere with new music, I get a little ticked off.

So how was Atmosphere? One of oppressive security at the Showbox SoDo, of bouncers who must not score very high on the job-satisfaction list, of people who need to CHILL OUT. The energy at hip-hop performances is palpably different from that at other shows, fomented in large part by the security forces who prove the cliche true that if you are looking for trouble, you will find it. 

But last night they made a mistake. The Showbox SoDo kicked out a peaceful dancer, someone who calms down violent drunk guys outside of clubs, marches in anti-war protests, has a peace sign tatttooed on her forehead and happens to write for a Seattle entertainment website. Oops. I’m guessing the party in the van was the best of the night, anyway.

So if you are wondering how the performance really was, here’s a message I got this morning to whet your appetite: Honestly the show was kinda mediocre, definitely very rehearsedly-adlib-like. Tried to play it off that ‘just because you’re Seattle and you’re holding it down’ but it was pretty scripted… didn’t sound mixed very well either. Kinda mixed like they’re trying to impress you with loud more than feel or good sound. Anyway, um shit stop throwing tables and getting kicked out of places alright?”

So there’s your review; now I gotta go clean this blood off my knuckles. Just kidding- I think the Showbox SoDo owes me a show ticket AND cab fare. Anyone else out there actually see Atmosphere perform and want to add their two cents in?

If you are heading to the Nas show at the Showbox SoDo this Friday night, tread lightly- and watch out for those crazy table-throwing blond girls- they’re everywhere.

Last Thursday I showed up to Midtempo Madness at the new Pioneer Square nightclub Crimson C at 10PM, my normal time of arrival, being the total nerd of the club scene and all. I fully expected to, like usual, be the first one on the dance floor and get the party going. Pushing my way past the smokers outside to the heart of the club, I realized that this party didn’t need me to get it going- the dance floor was already packed! It had started like wildfire with NoiseMaker on the decks and this was no ease-into-it night: to my thrill, everyone was getting down. My purpose in life is to get people to get down, on the dance floor or otherwise, but this crowd, with a stellar female presence, needed no help from me at all. The sheer excitement for the lineup had everyone buzzing and smiling and dancing, club nerd one and all.

After yet a-whompwhompwhomp-nother inciting and enticing set from Seattle’s funky crunkbrother NoiseMaker, rapper Souleye and DJ team BLVD proceeded to lay it down thick; the dance floor went wild and minds were blown right out of that little club. You can always tell when the experience of new music has gotten under the skin of someone: moon eyes, mouth hanging slightly open, distinct lack of articulate vocabulary, palms upturned in a gesture of thrill and disbelief: what do you MEAN I have never heard these guys before? The combination of Souleye’s gritty and organic rap lines laid over the twisting electronic loops of BLVD is an anti-match made in deep in the human consciousness; we crave this variety. Sameness is a safe and warm feeling, but we don’t settle for contentment. We want to be on fire, and to light it we need originality, diversity, and risk. We need this music.

I can’t explain electronic music, but I can explain what it does. In this case, your mind starts drifting off to the ether-sphere of sound with the long, guitar-studded electronic mash of BLVD and then is brought back to earth by the gritty and genuine words of a poet. It’s the mix, the to-and-fro, the take-it-away and give-it-back-again that takes music from being a constant good thing to being absolutely great. The boys of BLVD and Souleye have discovered this thrilling melange of earth and ether. It speaks so well to the human audience because we too are part heaven and part earth, part spirit and part body, part electronic sound waves and part rap. The dance floor of Crimson C spread right up through the tables and bar area as no one could resist the hot gooey bass. And damn that boy can rap!

Then, holy Thursday night, came Vibesquad, a producer whose bass takes no absolutely no prisoners whatsoever. I thought the whole of Crimson C was about to shake right down to rubble, leaving only the dancers and DJ there- and no one would even have noticed, so powerful is the spell of this DJ. The twisted, mutated sounds; the crackles, beeps, growls, and thumps don’t just speak to us alive out here in the world, they insist that we open our eyes and move. In the presence of Vibesquad, you have no choice but to exist in the present. Everything else goes away and we lap up the sounds, like starving refugees from society, our bodies as our spoons.

I am an unofficial ambassador of crunk, you might say, and had been telling my friends about this show for weeks and insisting they go. All through the night people kept coming up to me saying, “Oh wow, Shilo, you were right, this is AMAZING! I can’t even believe it!” Then a little shake of the head and the aforementioned glazed look of new music discovery. That is also what I live for- to share with others the transformative power of music that I have experienced in my life. Why do I, why do we, love it so much? Why do we love the thick, dirty bass and the filthy beats so much? I may not be able to explain it but I sure as hell can understand it. I want you to as well, but be warned- once you go off the deep bass end, there is no going back. Once you put on the suit of Captain Crunk, no other electronic music will quite do it for you: not drum and bass, not dub step, and certainly not house.

So what is this blond girl going on about? Why is she so ’bout it-’bout it with this music which doesn’t really have a name but is seeping up and over the nation from the West Coast and Colorado and conquering dance floors wherever it goes? Find out for yourself at Dirty Velvet May 16 at Nectar when Noisemaker, Novatron, and Kraddy and OOah from THE GLITCH MOB start a musical riot in Fremont. Buy tickets now; the show will sell out, and it is quite possible that people will be falling from the balcony, going into spastic dance fevers, twitching their minds all the way over to new dimensions, and having so much fun their hearts explode and they wake up in their yard. It might even happen to you, so get ready for your next life-changing music experience.

Do I have to say it? See you on the dance floor.

The opening night of Cirque du Soleil’s Corteo found me in the twelfth row of Le Grand Chapiteau, a frozen monkey with mouth agape, sitting in a stilled silence except for occasional bursts of laughter and sighs of amazement. Now I am not the silent and still type, AT ALL, and it takes a big experience like the Big Top to render me so. My heart however was pounding like a giant psychedelic clown was attacking a tympani with a rubber chicken, only stopping it’s mad march for moments of absolute antici……….pation as I waited in a trance-like state to see what the superhumans on stage might do next. Would they spin in a hoop like a living metallic-blue Vitruvian man simultaneously with five friends? Grab onto a chandelier and swing up into the sky in their skiivies? Slowly walk a mile-high tightrope, upside down? Float out over the audience for the most graceful crowd-surfing experience Seattle has ever seen? Join a languid parade of playful angels, Tuba players, and ballet dancers from the most bizarre dream EVER?

Physical and dramatic performing artists who are the very best in the world create the incredible spectacle that is the Cirque du Soleil; it is an acrobatic, gymnastic, dancing, theatrical, musical, comedic, sparkling, magical, childlike parade of sensory enlightenment, an epic French feast of ‘Wow!”, a near out-of-body celebration of the absurd and the beautiful. The amazingly talented and no doubt insanely hard-working athletes make every tumble and turn seem effortless and just an extension of their humanity, like you and I might tomorrow flip backwards from bed to bed in a pillow fight out of childhood fantasy.

Corteo is the show now playing at Marymoor Park in Redmond under a fat yellow and blue striped Grand Chapiteau or Big Top that has seemingly sprung from the colorful mind of a five year-old, a mind that we all once had. The character Corteo is a ghost-clown reliving his better years, and while he revisits his childhood antics and purity of perception, you follow along with him, just as entranced as he is by the once-lived escapades.

I absolutely cannot believe I that had never been to the Cirque du Soleil before. Why didn’t anyone ever shake me and give me a swift kick to the rear and say GET THEE TO THE CIRQUE DU SOLEIL? In a land where the likes of Avril Lavigne and Britney Spears qualify as ‘performing artists,’ the insatiable American consumers of entertainment dismiss terms like ‘eye-popping’ and ‘jaw-dropping’ because we have heard them describe everything from new flavors of yogurt to random celebutante #9’s fashion choice for the afternoon.

So let me shake you and light a fire under you, because at the Cirque du Soleil your eyes WILL pop, your jaw WILL drop, and your heart WILL pound, certain that either your senses are deceiving you OR that someone’s about to bite it, bigtime. The