Though Sub Pop is claiming to be stronger than ever, the local label is about to lose another longtime employee -- and possibly its lease. Head of Publicity CeCe Stelljes recently announced she's leaving for the East Coast, but the real story is the rumor that Sub Pop, which has occupied the building on the corner of First and Virginia since April 1989, has to find new digs. A call to the front desk there summoned a swift "No comment." An inquiry as to whether there was anyone at Sub Pop who would like to comment got me another "No comment." Sometimes it's what you don't say that speaks the loudest, especially when it comes to Sub Pop.
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Experience Music Project founder Paul Allen was reported to have been whoopin' it up at the Rainbow Room in Manhattan at the Saturday Night Live 25th anniversary party. Paul loves his guitar, and wouldn't you know, he was jammin' with doofy Dan Ackroyd while Kevin Spacey, John McEnroe, Patty Smyth, Michael Douglas, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and Jerry Seinfeld looked on. Is it just me who finds this embarrassing?
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And now, a protracted word about North by Northwest: Would somebody please put it down? It's truly miserable. Every year I say it's got to be the last time for the three-day festival of bands and their hangers-on, and every year I get word that Portland's hosting another one. For me, last week's conference -- a mere skeleton of its former self -- was the last, whether it goes on or not. The panels were uninteresting (not just because they all were focused on New Media, and since The Stranger is printed on newspaper instead of a computer screen, we are Old Media), and out of the 300-plus bands performing over the weekend, there were less than 10 I really wanted to see.
Opting to blow off the first day, music editor Erin Franzman and I hit the Rose City's streets Friday night to see only one band, Portland's King Black Acid. But we were bad little girls who didn't pay attention to who was buying us drinks, because goddammit, somebody slipped us a Mickey. Despite consuming only four beverages in a four-hour period, I was seeing sideways throughout King Black Acid's set, and by the time I arrived at that night's after-hours party, I was seeing upside down -- or else I was upside down; I can't remember. The next morning as Ms. Franzman and I hung our aching heads over breakfast, we both felt our arms wanting to detach around the deltoid area and our spines creaking like we'd been on an Ecstasy binge.
We vowed to be moving targets Saturday night, traveling swiftly from club to club, and for Godsakes, bottled beverages only. Wm. Steven Humphrey joined us as we headed in and out of a succession of blast furnace-like bars until we found a place we could stay a while: the strip joint next to the Spot. Called Mary's Place, it was a sea of music geeks seeking cooler air and respite from the hyper-annoying Abigail Grush set. Mary's remained full until midnight, when the non-regulars filed back into the Spot for Death Cab for Cutie's stellar set. Down the street at some pizza place, Hump and I discovered a real gem in Herkemer, a super-energetic four-piece that I hope to see in Seattle soon. The other discovery of the evening was an electronic band from San Francisco called Pushy, fronted by two gals in hardhats: one very pregnant, one smuggling serious raisins.
