After so long locked down and kept away from the things we all love, Seattle’s opening up again. We all need to stay vigilant, my fellow travelers. But now that I’m testing new material and thankfully fully vax’ed against COVID, the time has come for an official announcement.
Grunge Redux tours start up again this week and will continue through September.
If you click through, you’ll see the specifics of twenty Grunge Redux tour dates scheduled from this Thursday (July 1st) through September 24th. This new tour calendar coincides with some special grunge-era anniversaries. Many keen-eyed observers will recognize the 30th-anniversary release dates for Pearl Jam’s first album (Ten debuted on August 24, 1991) and Nirvana’s single Smells Like Teen Spirit (September 10, 1991). I’ll finish up this limited run of dates 30 years to the day both Nirvana’s second album (Nevermind) and Soundgarden’s arguably best album (Badmotorfinger) hit record stores. I’ll feature exciting new material added to the stories told along my route through Seattle’s cultural history.
September’s also when I’ll drop the first episode of my new podcast - Seattle Redux. My first season of what the kids are probably already calling “SeaRe” (or probably not…) will focus on a saucy mix of the hidden roots and glorious off-shoots of Seattle’s musical evolution. This multi-episode historical tour of Seattle will kick off in the mid-1980s and crisscross the decades like a Tarantino script on steroids. My podcast will mirror the tour that digs deep into the places and the people that populated the world’s ongoing love affair with the Pacific Northwest. Love it or loathe it - “grunge” is a bumper sticker that’ll never be fully scraped off of Seattle history.
For those new to this jam, my original aim in devising Grunge Redux was to embrace an era's deeper roots rather than fall into cliched retellings. To dig, not bury. Call it generational arrogance, but I hoped a Gen X’er could deliver a friendly all-ages analog tour of one of the greatest regional American music scenes. Countless online magazines and cultural dumpster divers continually shovel glorious recap heaps of what happened in early-90s Seattle. I don’t set out to tell you what’s best in an inch-deep, barely-researched listicle. I’m a writer who moved to Seattle for grad school in the early ‘90s with an eye for authenticity and a semi-legendary memory for details.
When you take one of my tours, we’ll tromp out there where the proverbial meat hit the street. I’m certainly not the hardest working tour guide in the biz. 20 dates in three months? Yep - that’s what’ll fit in around everything else I have going on these days. This was a lovable side hustle from the get-go for me. I’ve been down this path of my own design nearly 100 times and met tour takers from 30 countries (before I stopped counting). Then I even took off for an eight-month swing through Africa when the buzz around Grunge Redux really was building. Oh, and then there was that whole pandemic. Meaning that over the past two years, Seattle’s venues and points of historical value have continued to disappear. As much as that sucks and in spite of my desire to preserve what I remember fondly, I’m not on a quest to lament what’s lost. I’m a guide and a music fan. In some cases, I’ll point you toward what was where back in the various eras (Seattle’s history has many worthwhile layers). In others, I’m telling you where to find what’s worth knowing in present-day Seattle. The way I lead folks around is a largely organic effort. Each tour is different. Why not take one and experience it for yourself?
With limited tour dates ready to roll (one already sold out while I was putting this post together), I’m probably going a bit deep on this post. Nonetheless, if you’re up for it, now’s a prime window to see where my storytelling time machine will take us. It’s a fleeting luxury I’m honored to share with a few inspired travelers. Come fall, I may hang it up again as other projects stretch me thin.
For those still reading (and my hard-working overpaid team of lawyers), I should say a few things about COVID and my adherence to the phased return to work in Washington State. In something resembling an order of importance:
1. I’ll say it again. I’m fully vaccinated. I would like to think that everyone who comes on my tour went down that same path as soon as they could. There have been, however, many challenging paths through this global pandemic. If you became infected with COVID but didn’t get the shots, you simply aren’t protected to the same degree as those who’ve gotten vax’ed. Don’t believe me? Take it up with Dr. Fauci. I care about you. So get the jab(s). Let me join the chorus - we all need to do our part.
2. On my tour, we will be outside and maintain proper social distancing. I will not encourage group hugs or give any piggyback rides.
3. We will, however, make a pit stop where adult or non-alcoholic beverage(s) may be enjoyed. In the past, that stop was always at the Back Bar of The Crocodile Cafe. Often we’d check out the performance space unless a band was doing a sound check for a show. The Croc has since shut down their original venue. The good news is that The Croc’s currently prepping a whole new musical wonderland in the old El Gaucho location a few blocks away (at the corner of First Avenue and Wall Street). Shows at the new Croc start in August. Until I can get navigate that soon-to-be-essential stop, our pitstop will be at the 5 Point Cafe in what some call Tilikum Place (a small square featuring a life-sized statue of Chief Seattle along Dexter Avenue near Seattle Center). That location has outdoor seating, which we will likely use. You may still be required to wear a mask if you head inside to check out their legendary jukebox or men’s room periscope view of the Space Needle (seriously). So bring a mask along. I will have extras in my ever-present bag o’ wonders, if need be.
4. If you’re NOT vax’ed, you should wear a mask everywhere. To be honest, you should make it easier for everyone and get vax’ed before you come to Seattle. Come here, as you are. Unless it is unvax’ed. In which case, come as you should be. We lead the nation’s cities in the rate of vaccination for good reasons. The first COVID cases in America were found here in January 2020 and the first deaths from the disease occurred in nearby Kirkland by the end of that February. Seattle and the surrounding communities took this pandemic seriously. We don’t want to go back to a lockdown situation. I got vax’ed and still wear a mask inside most places because I care about people aside from myself (who I also care about).
Here endeth my COVID statement-eth for the betterment-eth of all.
I’m excited about the new stories I’ve compiled in addition to the old favorites I’ve been dusting off as I get ready for prime time once again. I continue to be surprised by the people coming through Seattle with their own stories to tell about the music they love and what it means to them - no matter what era or place spawned said love. Seattle’s blessed by a reputation for a special musical sauce that continues bringing people here from all over the globe. I don’t subscribe to the maxim - “your band sucks.” In truth, everyone’s band sucks. To some other people. And who cares. Rather than offering the pollyanna-ish claim that everyone’s choice in music is equally valid, I head down the path that everyone can and should embrace their own brand of weird or nerdiness or gothic pessimism or mind-numbing cool. The one universal, however, should be an interest in learning more about the accurate history of where it all came from. Seattle’s a cultural onion worth peeling. That’s the cut of my jib. Once again, love it or loathe it, that’s how this tootsie rolls.
Most importantly, getting back to tours means getting a bit more back to the normal we all crave. I used some of my time in lockdown to think about why these sorts of cultural geography experiences matter. I won’t say that my thinking evolved - my appreciation for this sort of immersive storytelling is why I started this company. I’m just a bit more focused and tons more thankful for the opportunity to interact with folks on the streets of Seattle. Lob me questions, if they arise. Or just plunk down your hard-earned cash for a few hours of entertainment and maybe a few original thoughts to bring a nostalgic era back into focus. Get vax’ed. Then hug someone and tell everyone you know that you’re happy to see them. Get ready to rock. Here’s hoping to see y’all soon.
I caught the first of two reunion shows in Seattle for Treepeople last night at Neumo's on Capitol Hill. You're probably already Googling the band Treepeople, which will surely lead to the subsequent work of lead singer/guitarist Doug Martsch's next Boise-connected band, Built to Spill. Maybe you already know their further connections with The Halo Benders, and the incredibly influential K Records from Olympia. Heading down the ol' band genealogy road never fails to entertain me, whether or not it does much for you.
Yet aside from more of this "six degrees of Seattle separation" shtick, I'm actually more interested in bearing down on the pleasure to be had from a spirited show on a random Wednesday. The bottom line being that I still love seeing live music.
I'm not aiming to be mean, but I was also reminded last night of just how, um, let's just say weathered so many of my Gen X compatriots appear as our median age careens toward (or beyond...) 50-years-old. The joy, nonetheless, lies in seeing the varied shades of my graying generation truly bobbing along to noisy riffs. Let's face it folks - Gen X is heading toward AARP territory. I, for one, hope we fully steer into that skid.
My thinking about last night also loops around toward a rational view of why I even dare to offer something as inherently silly as a walking tour for the grunge-serious or at least curious.
To start, let's further call out Gen X's demographic shortcomings. We're the smallest population slice on the tray here in the good ol' US of A. Surely we play well with others, but that's a point still worth mentioning as the baby boomers and millenials and whatever the hell you want to call my daughter's generation are fighting for influence over the mainstream culture with numbers we simply can't match. Of my generation's serious cultural contributions, the most influential surely must be seen as the growth in the late '80s to '90s of hip hop. But the rock mashup that's become comfortably known as grunge has (at least in my mind) become harder to trace.
From another angle, I mean it as a compliment to the fans of Pearl Jam when I say they are more akin to classic rock fans than to that of any other genre. Their concerts are huge, their audience is global, they are followed like the Dead but with much nicer accommodations expected and found out truckin'. But aside from their admirable longevity and continued output of studio albums over what will soon be three decades, there certainly isn't a caravan of bands still out there applying salve to the souls of my generation. The simple logic of aging mean that other bands from the grunge era are increasingly relegated to retooling and reunions. At best. Which means that people looking to tap into quality sharable nostalgia from the '80s and '90s have to dig a little deeper. That act can be rewarding, though, when the beloved resurface.
Digging just a little deeper on last night, Treepeople added Troy Wright on bass, to fill the gap left by the tragic loss of Pat Brown in 1999. Pat's younger brother, Scott Schmaljohn, and Martsch were a joy to watch shred and connect and just plain bloom in the familiar spotlight on the stage. I've always focused an inordinate amount of attention on the drummer, and Wayne Rhino Flower did not disappoint with the way he chokes up on his sticks and drives so passionately through song after song. Theirs was a solid hour+ of grungy glee, shared by all.
Although my sample of what others thought of the show is limited. The best conversation I had was with an epic-length-grey-goatee-wearing superfan named Adrian during the break after the second opener. We started in with parkour jokes about Neumo's upper level, and effortlessly shifted to shared concerns over recently mangled joints and a grudging appreciation for yoga or whatever zen bullshit works best to keep us rock solid so that we can see decades of more adventures. Including these sorts of shows. Whatever others thought about last night, I hope to join them or their ilk out for more of the same very soon. Thank you, Treepeople. Thank you, Seattle. And thank you, too, for reading.
