Pages of Euphoria
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
  Bumbershoot: Where Soul Meets Body
Roll up a fatty jam-session J of music appreciation. In that paper membrane place with a green thumb a little Black Keys, a dash of Stone Temple Pilots, some T.I. swagger, and lace the contents with Death Cab for Cutie. Take that spliff to your ear canal, inhale with the lungs of your auditory cortex, and enter the land of completely sober music inspired euphoria. It's where Ive been the last two days.

S.T.P. played the last show of their tour at Bumbershoot and left it all out on the stage. It was my second time seeing them play, the third time seeing their front man Scott Weiland play. The dude is bonafied. A sultry, smokey, hypnotist of a rock star; his jeans were way too tight, he gyrated his hips with a smoothness that seemed to borrow from silk, and he sang his heart out. I am straight, but the thought of bearing his children sounds better every time I see him play. Throngs of people populated memorial stadium, and the space in front of the stage was a sea packed tight with Seattlelites. I some how managed to work my way upfront, a maneuver coming at the price of being soaked with sweat (only partially my own) and getting thrashed in the crowd. At one point Scott leaned into the crowd right where I was, his mic (which he was screaming into with a megaphone) was with in inches of my hand. I have never been that close to an entertainer in a crowd that big, and it was every bit incredible.

Death Cab for Cutie played the final show of the Bumbershoot music festival. The Bellingham band with the quirky name was my favorite. Their sound moves me along with bleeding hearts everywhere. I hear their music being played and I reflexively start to dance like a goofy white kid. They came on at 9:15pm sharp, exactly on time, unlike STP whose bus was seen rolling up 35 min late the previous night, the fucking rock stars. They came on, and the tingles and shivers of excitement and anticipation began shooting down my spine. The song "Bixby Canyon Ridge" started to echo out of their amps in phantasmal wisps of sound that sent tingles through my entire body. As they played and their tempo built up I felt myself smiling so hard I thought my cheeks would dislodge from my face. It has been a long time since experiencing that kind of giddy excitement for a band.

A completely enjoyable Bumbershoot experience it was, marked by memorable performances, T.I.'s attempt at blatantly selecting groupies from the crowd at 3pm on a Sunday afternoon, and attending with people like Larry (at right), who wears shirts like this. I feel like skulls and blue fire together are only permissible if you are tattooing them across your chest. If you own shirts like this, do yourself a favor and light them on fire, and place the ashes in a vat of sulfuric acid. It will just save a whole lot of unnecessary embarrassment. I disposed of my own collection of those shirts, along with my jean shorts about 3 months ago and have never looked back. In the end, there were far greater fashion travesties, and really, who the hell am I to say who looks like they were getting dressed in a garage full of gasoline fumes. More power to those folks who like to attract attention with ridiculous outfits, because I'm that guy deriving great joy from laughing at you. Two thumbs up to Bumbershoot and to supporting your local music festival!

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Location: Los Angeles, California, United States

I come from a small town north of Seattle, WA, where I learned that rain is a magical thing because it turns things green. I have had the chance to go a few places and see a few things of which all I have are pictures, memories and stories. I am currently living and learning about Los Angeles, California, and what it means to be an Angelino.

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