All in the Family

I've said it as much in anger as I have in pride: Seattle's music community is a small and close-knit society. We support each other as friends, but just as readily we fault each other for doing so, pointing fingers while claiming that those friends have been given undue preferential treatment. We've seen whole bands move to Seattle because they've heard our music scene is more supportive than the ones they came from, or because they wish to be better connected to the "outside industry," for lack of a better term, that keeps a trend-hopping eye on the Northwest. And we've seen truly, achingly talented people say goodbye to the city, leaving their friends and music behind because they've lost track of what it was that joined those entities together.

What it comes down to, however, is that all we have is each other. Because we're so absorbed in our small, close-knit society--purposely separated from much of the rest of the populace--we must always remember to look out for and take care of each and every one of us, because that's what community is all about. When Scotty Jernigan passed away in the early light of June 10, Seattle lost one of its best rock drummers (he played in the Whip) and most unabashed laughers. But more than that, we lost one of us, and at the wake held that afternoon at Re-bar (where Jernigan worked as a bartender), all pettiness was relinquished and the room was full of grief and love at once. I spoke intimately with people I knew well or hardly at all, including an individual who would have moved away in disgust (as I would have) had we found ourselves side by side in a bar or club five years ago. We may hate each other at times, but if this past week has taught us anything, it's that deep down, we recognize and therefore love one another as family.

In the days after the accident that claimed his life, Scotty's close friends organized benefits and requested that bands and fans donate money to be given to his family or set aside for future causes to be created in his honor. Last Friday night's show at Graceland was to have featured the Whip as headliners, and Pretty Girls Make Graves, who'd returned from tour the day Scotty died, headlined instead. They played a spirited show, but before the second song had begun I found myself in the club's lounge among people weeping in release because the fact that Scotty was gone had finally become tangible. A portion of the show's proceeds went toward renting a school bus and driver to shuttle people safely from Seattle to the K Records building in Olympia, where a memorial was held on Saturday night (K had a long association with Jernigan and his renowned band Karp). The building was filled with Scotty's oldest and perhaps most anguished friends, and the unimaginable pain felt by his parents hopefully was lessened, if only for a couple of hours, by the respect that flooded the room. Like everyone else, I broke down hard when his mother got up to speak, sobbing for her and every mother who has lost a son. Sitting on the floor, I felt the hands of mourners I knew--and some I didn't know at all--on my shoulders, offering comfort.

We're an amazing, fortunate family, joined together by a love of music and the inspiration we instill in one another to pursue our dreams. Let's continue to take care of and look out for each other and prosper, for Scotty's sake.

kathleen@thestranger.com