Oscar Wilde once wrote, "Most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one's mistakes." Luckily, that's rarely the case in the music world, where long rides in cramped tour vans, long nights of entertaining fans, and short fuses are much more commonplace than common sense. Behind most musical genius is a little bit of craziness. This year we asked some of our favorite musicians, record labels, and writers to recount their biggest regrets. Below is a list that ranges from Handsome Boy Modeling to the Hives and Rob Hampton. Happy New Year, and may 2005 bring only the good kind of regrets your way. --Eds

I regret being in the Dirtbombs this year. While rock bands seem like lots of fun and traveling to an outsider, being in one is like having four girlfriends at the same time without the incentive of sex.

I regret that Motel 6 is our lodging of choice. Every room is painfully similar--from the vomit-resembling blanket pattern and the instantly lost key cards, the only possible variation in store is the not-so-rare occasion you find roaches.

I regret not having a security guard. This year, the Dirtbombs have been privileged enough to be on the receiving end of at least three major thefts. In Bordeaux, our van was broken into and thieves stole all of our guitarist's pedals (except the tuner… we figured they probably saw the show), three of our matching "Team Dirtbombs" track jackets, nine CDRs of This American Life, a pile of Dirtbombs T-shirts, and a bottle of rum. A week later in Germany, someone stole a guitar from the stage. The coup de grâce of theft could only occur in Detroit, though. After our three week U.S. West Coast tour, our tour van was stolen from in front of the bass player's house. The only thing of value inside was my drums.

In the end, I regret that I rock so hard. I broke three kick pedals this year and bought five. I've broke/bought more cymbals and hardware than I can keep count of. Rocking is thankless, but it beats being a journalist. BEN BLACKWELL, THE DIRTBOMBS

1. That we just let our professional football careers go to waste. We had the talent but not the time. Sorry to the world of world-class soccer.

2. That left turn in February.

3. Voting for George Bush. Sorry America, but I can't help but feel that I am partly responsible for the fact that I fucked up your country and that you all now have to flee to Canada. I will take my punishment and check in to Republican detox. Hope you can forgive me. NICHOLAS ARSON, THE HIVES

In the world of being handsome it is often more about making decisions than sitting around full of regrets. For example, do you want to crack that bottle of Cristal with the Victoria's Secret girls or the Sports Illustrated swimsuit models? Only one group will fit in the G4; what is one to do? Yet, there are still regrets. The one that most often comes to mind is the time Chest [Rockwell] was at the final table of the World Series of Poker playing Johnnie Chan heads up. He took a break to go use the bathroom where he bumped into George Hamilton and a flock of lovely tanned ladies. Suffice it to say there was a forfeit that day… Johnnie was so jealous he just stormed off. We will never know how epic the actual battle between those two giants of poker would have ever been. The sport has never been the same. NATHANIEL MERRIWEATHER, HANDSOME BOY MODELING SCHOOL

We regret to inform all the fans of the Sabzi shuffle that our DJ will forgo his onstage dance routine in order to concentrate on his turntable duties. Geo regrets not losing all that weight before the "Freewheelin'" video shoot. Speaking of which, we regret having to shoot that video on a Sunday morning (very un-hiphop of us). We don't usually regret doing shows, no matter how bad they turn out. However, we must make an exception for a show we did in Spokane with about 20 attendees, one of whom decided to bum-rush the stage and attempted to freestyle during our set. Lastly, we regret the passing of our friend Stephen Nadal, who was instrumental in introducing Blue Scholars to a supportive community of labor organizers and progressive folks. Rest in power. BLUE SCHOLARS

Upon finding out the Bush twins were fans of my side project, the Postal Service, I regret not offering them a private performance in return for their father conceding the November election. Would this have actually worked? Of course not. But it would have been fucking funny, and plus, you never know what a man will do for his spoiled rotten kids. BENJAMIN GIBBARD, DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE/THE POSTAL SERVICE

A few regrets off the top of my head: Thinking I could survive a whole tour on a diet consisting solely of Krispy Kreme donuts. Eating Mexican food anywhere they pronounce the Ls in tortilla. Not following through on my Halloween costume idea of being a goth hot dog. Playing shows anywhere in the U.S. besides Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, and San Francisco. Oh wait… this is for a Seattle newspaper, huh? Seattle, too (wink wink, nudge nudge). Not making it more clear to that obsessive gay dude in that other band that I myself am not gay as well. Accidentally opening the curtain to the wrong bunk, only to catch a fellow bandmate vigorously masturbating. Not paying any of those parking tickets. Stealing a registration sticker off some stranger's license plate so I could drive around with an expired license and a couple warrants ('cause of those parking tickets). Letting our manager's drug-dealer friend come on tour with us so the other guys in the band could use him for free blow. Not making it happen with Darryl Hannah… I swear on my grandma's grave she was hitting on me, but I was trying to play it cool or some lame shit and totally blew it. Thinking I could make out with our merch girl and it wouldn't be weird for the rest of the tour. Being asleep at the wheel while our label and the rest of the band approved the worst music video I've ever seen… half naked girls and bar scenes? Who are we, Mötley Crüe? Not burning down our label's office for letting the video come out when I said not to. AARON NORTH, ICARUS LINE

Boy do I regret playing Ladyfest. We were asked to play the Saturday-night show and were told we would play with specific bands. It all changed hands and we got moved to the day show. And then the regretting began… I regret not paying attention and noticing the door price was $15… I regret being nice and saying no to the Vera Project's Mural show on the same afternoon even though the Ladyfest lineup sucked big titties for the price of $15 (and definitely not the good big-titty type sucking)… I regret wasting that beautiful Gay Pride afternoon only to suffer through an early load-in and hours of bands playing to no one… I regret that they didn't want to let the drummer's wife in for free even though NO ONE WAS THERE and one person paying $15 was not going to help with their losses (they did let her in after a not so fun discussion)… I regret the fuckers weren't even nice enough to say thanks at the end of it all. Regrettably, DENISE, XXXAUDIO

I, DJ W. Noname, regret many, many things, including but not limited to--straight-edge Stranger calendar editor Megan Seling said she would get drunk if George W. Bush won the election, and while I didn't graduate from the electoral college… I'm pretty sure Bush won and Megan remains steadfast in her sobriety. I wish I was man enough to make her chug whiskey; I regret the fact that I am not. I guess I also regret that Megan is a liar. DJ NONAME, THE END

Most of my regrets involve alcohol. This year they also involve coats.

1. A brand-new corduroy jacket that I drunkenly lit on fire with a cigarette.

2. A suede jacket that I've had for years that I ripped to shreds while drunkenly stumbling around a house party and insulting my sister's coworkers.

3. Lost: One favorite black fuzzy jacket. Where: ? When: ? Just gone. CHRIS MARTIN, KINSKI

If I were to second-guess, rethink, or regret any shit I passed through, then that would indicate dissatisfaction with my present place and I've got nothing but satisfaction. Okay, all shit aside, I have no problem pointing out what somebody else should regret… Sooooo, anybody with shitloads of expendable income not invested in 2004 should regret not investing it in RTX and its wicked road-ready 6-piece band. They could or would only be in a place of super satisfaction! And super satisfaction beats satisfaction any day… Fuck!!!! I guess I maybe should have looked for the investor! JENNIFER HERREMA, RTX

I regret witnessing all of the above incidents. LUCY ATKINSON, KINSKI

My biggest regrets of 2004 are similar to the ones of every year since the start of the Vera Project. I regret that I can't book all of the artists that deserve to play here, that I take too long to answer e-mails and return phone calls, that I can't remember the name of every volunteer, donor, and band member (even the ones I definitely should know), that I can't adequately thank people for their contributions, that most of my relationships to people I work with are virtual (e-mail), that I can't see all the shows and arts events at other venues that I want to see, that Vera can't do benefits for every organization and well-meaning person that asks us to, that our rules might come across as overbearing, that I can't hire every amazing intern we've had, that I drink most of the coffee that gets donated "for the kids," that more local bands can't get on good touring shows because booking agencies book clubs more than clubs do these days. SHANNON K. STEWART, THE VERA PROJECT

What could our biggest regrets be, um, let me see. Yeah, wait, I got it, naming our band something so inane, something so stupid as not to be taken seriously--yeah I think that might be it. "Are you guys from New Mexico?" Fuck no, the place is nice. The food is the best (Shout-out to Green Chili's). Would you name a band after where you are from? NO. Would we? Apparently. Even our closest friends believed we were a band from New Mexico that uprooted ourselves from the desert and transposed our band to the wettest region of the nation (I guess irony deserves a new pair of pants, waterproof pants). So we are starting over. Our new name is the Seattleites. ROB HAMPTON, THE SEATTLEITES (FORMERLY THE NEW MEXICANS)

My people (the Irish Catholics) have a time-honored way of dealing with regret--you turn it into guilt and assuage it with confession. So, no real regrets this year, but I do feel bad about some stuff. I'm sorry the Beastie Boys felt the need to censor themselves and sad that Cheap Trick is still touring.

I feel bad that the wind at the Gorge was strong enough to blow a record off the turntable WHILE I WAS PLAYING IT. I feel even worse that David Cross was such a dick to the audience that day. I'm ridden with guilt about getting so drunk at Joan Jett and putting the Showbox staff on red alert to find my missing purse (thanks again!).

I still lose sleep at night over the cowardly arsonist fuck that burned down my friend's house this summer and still hasn't been caught. I'm sorry I didn't have the chance to see my favorite uncle before he left this mortal coil.

The all-time worst thing to happen, however, provokes no guilt within me. I did everything I possibly could to prevent it, as did many others. The fact that George W. Bush has four more years to wield his diabolical power is truly this year's only regrettable event. May God have mercy on us all. KERRI HARROP, DJ CHERRY CANOE

2004, for me, was harbored in by one of the worst New Year's Eve nights I've ever been a part of. So I suppose my first regret comes from the first few moments of the year in question: I regret not leaving that party as soon as the clock struck midnight instead of staying there until the sky went light at the bottom edge.

I also have regrets about a kite I saw in a window somewhere while on tour. Its wingspan was at least six feet, and it had the body and head of a monkey (complete with fur and teeth). It was $75 so I didn't even really consider buying it at the time. But I've thought about it quite a bit, and it was worth the money. You see, I have a friend who appreciates a good kite, and this one was so much more than good.

And finally, I regret not waking up early and practicing the drums for a few hours, then doing some yoga, then returning for another few hours of practice. If I had done that, I have no doubt that every show I played and every record I played on would have been considerably better. Oh well. JASON BOESEL, RILO KILEY

This year [British radio DJ] John Peel died, which has left me shocked and upset. Aside from the fact that he presented the most challenging and entertaining program on the radio anywhere in the world, he was a huge influence on my life. He was not a careerist and he was not affected by record-company marketing campaigns. If he liked records, he played them on the radio. As a result, you heard music on his show that you would not hear anywhere else. I know this because I've rarely missed a program since the late '70s. If I've ever been away, friends have taped shows for me.

My biggest regret is that I never got to know him better than I did. People assume that I was one of his mates and, yes, I've been to several of his birthday parties, stayed at his house, and had curries with him in my hometown of Leeds, England. But there was always a certain distance between us. How can you be friends with someone who you respect so much? I am so used to hearing his voice coming out of a radio speaker that it was actually quite weird for me to hear it emanating from a human head. Even though he was always warm and friendly to me, I would go into a slight panic whenever he entered the room. Playing a concert with him in the audience was much more nerve wracking than playing to 20,000 people at the Reading Festival. I was actually much more comfortable talking to his wife, Sheila. When I explained why, she told me about some Chinese painting or other in which two people are bowing to each other out of respect to such an extent, that they never actually get around to forming a real friendship, and I regret that this has come true for me. DAVID GEDGE, THE WEDDING PRESENT/CINERAMA

I regret putting off my journey to Seattle by two weeks so I could see Tom Waits live, and then missing his show. I regret not being with my wife right now while she's pregnant. I regret not speaking to Jonathan Richman last night, but I'm always shy around my idols. I regret not being able to pay any of the wonderful contributors to both of my magazines, Careless Talk Costs Lives and Plan B, for three years now. I regret not pissing off Charles Cross more when I had the chance, but I didn't know that he was a full-on balls-out tosser of the highest order then. I only suspected it. I regret kissing Bob Whittaker in the Cha Cha Lounge last Saturday for five minutes straight. Okay, I don't, but I regret what I did later. I regret not moving to Melbourne at the end of last year. I regret the fact I can only ever visit the Pacific Northwest every few years now, because most of my dearest friends are here. I regret not joining my female guitarist in shedding all my clothes when we supported Yeah Yeah Yeahs in the spring. I sometimes regret having soul, but then I have strange wonderful evenings when sweet in-love young lesbian couples travel all the way down from Vancouver just to hang out with me (and see Iron & Wine) and I regret nothing. I am Everett motherfucking True. And don't you forget it. EVERETT TRUE, WRITER

It's been such a banner year here at Sub Pop Records that it's hard for us to really come up with any regrets. After 15 years, Sub Pop is still the industry standard for quality indie rock. Plus, due to the rampant alcoholism of the staff, any mistakes have long been forgotten.

But I personally regret listening to your demo. I have to tell you, man--your band sucks. It's horrible! Probably one of the worst things I've ever heard. Why would you even send this to Sub Pop? Have you heard the records we put out? They're always by top-notch performers and are guaranteed to literally sell tens, if not hundreds, of copies. At first, I thought someone had put your demo in my mailbox as a cruel joke, but then I realized that it was addressed to me. Listen. I know my name is on the website, but I don't send boxes of shit to people just because I have their address. So furthermore, I regret… wait, your demo? Whoa, my bad…. I never actually listened to it. JED MAHEU, SUB POP

Kane Hodder regrets being referred to by reviewers, writers, and even some of our parents, as a "screamo" band. Apparently our songwriting approach has backfired on us. We never knew being fans of hardcore, power-pop, and everything in between would get us lumped into such a trend as screamo. (Seriously folks… SCREAMO?) We also regret not being "heavy" enough for some people, and not "poppy" enough for others. We'll try harder next time.

In addition, Kane Hodder also regrets being grouped together with the likes of MxPx (great guys, really) simply because we're both from Bremerton. Just because we're two bands from the same backwater navy town doesn't mean we have much else in common. Don't fret, two of us Hodders have already joined the brouhaha in Seattle, with the rest soon to follow.

We also regret swerving into a light pole and almost totaling our van in Ft. Collins, Colorado. A bicyclist cut us off, and in order to avoid running him over, we swerved and hit a light pole instead, so I guess you could say we regret not taking his ass out.

Oh, before we forget--to the punker in Corvallis, Oregon who wrote to our mailing list, claiming that we "watch too much fucking MTV," we're very sorry. We regret that we lost our DIY ethics around the time we lost our subscriptions to MRR and HeartAttack. I'm sure we're making Tim Yohannon roll in his grave. We're guessing though, that since you're a "punk" from Corvallis, you have no idea who that is, so we'll just leave you with something you can comprehend: "Anti-Flag is SIC, brah!" KANE HODDER

Kimberly Chun regrets not jumping on the "Weird America" out-folk movement as soon as she heard the first strains of Joanna Newsom's harp. She also regrets not attending as many local renaissance fairs as possible, befriending our friends the unicorns, and making her own clothes on a regular basis.

On the other less folked-up fronts, she regrets the last election--and hopes the rest of her countryfolk make it through the next four years with their values, integrity, and sense of hope intact. She regrets not calling a personable Vincent Gallo on past quotes that bordered on bigotry and racism--and asking him if that really was a body double or prosthesis. She regrets not cornering a fast-moving Neil Young and demanding an interview. She regrets the long nights and early mornings spent writing about disposable music and lame movies; she regrets not giving a spin to various unheard supposedly great CDs; and she really regrets the lost summer and missed parties of 2004. Additionally she regrets not flirting more adeptly back at a desert-rat rock visionary when the flirting was good. Needless to say, she also regrets coming off like a bit like a groupie here; but then again, she also regrets going through the good-girl motions when the going got weird. And boy, 2004 was weird. KIMBERLY CHUN, WRITER

My biggest regret this year: My coveted Showbox guest-list spot being wasted on the Rapture. They were co-headlining the Showbox with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, and they totally spoiled my evening. Forty-five minutes of inane, borderline jock rock noodling (don't even try, if you were there you know I am right), sounding like "Where Are They Now," only they were the now band. It blows my mind that all those hipster kids in electroclash clothing, calling themselves punk rock, are into these noodleheads. I wonder when those people will actually realize they are latent hippies. I guess the night wasn't a total loss, because I did have fun making up alternate names for the Rapture, calling them the laserium version of Wang Chung--or Laser Chung for short. Still, when I do the math, I still lost about 45 minutes of time I could have spent getting voters to vote for Kerry, 45 minutes I will never get back!!! FRANK NIETO, 230 PUBLICITY

We regret how damn difficult this is to write. Maybe the Light in the Attic office is too often filled by the sounds of the happy-go-lucky, drug-infested late-'60s/early-'70s. Ain't life too grand for regrets? Well, we'll give it a shot.

The Light in the Attic release Wheedle's Groove: Seattle's Finest in Funk & Soul 1965-'75 may have landed in August '04, but we regret it took Seattle 30 years to recognize its deep funk heritage. How such a dynamic scene didn't flourish nationally is still a mystery, but we've got the loveable Wheedle in our corner, so the future's lookin' bright for Seattle's rich past.

On Halloween, we re-released the original soundtracks to Deep Throat I & II and threw a popcorn porn party to celebrate. The CD/LP continues to sell like hotcakes, but we regret two Deep Throat moments: 1. A pathetic turnout by those Nazi-anti-porn protestors (come on, it's a freakin' soundtrack!). 2. Letting Seattle's ultra-PC-climate get the best of us, when we chose not to plaster the city with giant penis posters.

We regret still not signing a rock 'n' roll band. '05?

We regret that the motherf*!?@&# who owns LightInTheAttic.com still won't give it up, so we remain respectfully yours, LightInTheAttic.NET. LIGHT IN THE ATTIC

I regret not being able to afford the 1978 Gibson Melody Maker I saw in New York. I regret missing Wolf Eyes when they came to town. I regret playing my guitar without a tremolo bar, and then discovering how great they can be if you hit them really hard and place a portable radio next to the vibrating strings. I regret being too drunk on whiskey to watch Modest Mouse when they played in Sweden. I regret not finding the time to learn how to play the trumpet. I regret not once filming an Ex show the whole time we were touring with them, and I regret sometimes forgetting how many good times the band has had over this last year. MIA CLARKE, ELECTRELANE

1. Saying no to Rose McGowan. 2. Saying yes to Rose McGowan. 3. Finding out the rabbit died. 4. Allowing Rose to name the kid Marilyn Manson Davidson. 5. Taking the DNA test, and now having to pay child support to Rose! Well, she did pay for the motel room that first night, so…. 6. Turning down the offer to play "the gay witch" (Aqua, "Warlock de Pink") on Charmed. 7. Ever liking women in the first place. 8. I regret that statement. ERIC DAVIDSON, WRITER

Korby: For a year, Seattle School had an alter-ego, the new wave spazz-bot band Subpoenaed Lemur. (Mike: And another band called Mad at Dad, which was more alter-id, no wave, and Cialis-esque.) It was an attempt to correct all the B.S. that is rock and pop music. (Except Linkin Park, who are red-state gods and at their wanton bidding, I'd eagerly devour an Olsen twin.) We were asked to play for a local nonprofit benefit, which was secretly an outgoing board member's attempt to say FU to the board. We at SS/SL love a good FU, so we happily obliged. (We are also partial to country gravy.)

This was not our crowd. After our first chord, the front row left. The remaining crowd was stunned, motionless, and humorless to our songs about genetic engineering, TV, and IPOs. No applause. We were totally hated. (Unbeknownst to Korby, before the show, I had let slip that I was a Chechen rebel waiting for a reason to slaughter jovial infidel audiences. My bad.) Realizing this was war, I summoned all the energy I could to grudge-rock their asses--and my guitar fell off and crashed to the floor. Then, for the first time ever, I totally forgot lyrics. (Unbeknownst to Korby, before the show, I had traveled back in time in my DeLorean and had erased his lyrics from his Lindsey Lohan journal.) The jury remained silent, anemic, nonplussed.

I wanna say I regret playing that gig, but really--every performer needs about five or six gigs like that. (Or in our case: 243.) As for the FU: I would say it was a complete success. (But success, like ridiculing fat people, is always somewhat regrettable despite the giddy satisfaction.) SEATTLE SCHOOL

I regret all my negative, unhippie, unjammin' hating on love and togetherness and community. If I had an ounce of it, I regret it. I regret every time I went back to my apartment and turned on the TV for a dose of ersatz do-goodery or fear when I coulda been jammin' with my brothers and sisters making music for the spirits. KID MILLIONS/ONEIDA

I wish I'd left my boyfriend way before it got to the point it did. I wanted to believe in something that, whether I liked it or not, was dissolving in front of my eyes.

I regret that my own thoughts had not been stronger in my own head. Seems as though I've been overwhelmed by the intentions of people who don't even care about me a little too much this year.

I originally thought I'd be regretting ending too many nights staring into the bottom of a glass of bourbon feeling like I'd made a fool out of myself. But when I think about it, I actually regret in some ways not allowing that to happen to me years ago. Because feeling as though I've behaved like a drunken asshole really does put a stop to the desire of wanting people to like you. As there's no chance of it happening. SCOUT NIBLETT

This was the girl who set my hair on fire in New York; that smelled like hell but it was a nicer way to meet than how we'd met the night before, which was just some beers and eh, you know. When she got to L.A. I took her to the most romantic place I knew: cliffs curled tight against the beach like knuckles to a palm, grass that crept right to the rocky edge, the full green moon sliding underneath a lonely old tree, and us all tipsy to follow likewise. But just as we got down to work and--I'm gonna push some of the situation together here--we stopped, heel of her hand pinching a fold in my shoulder, and she says, "But what if I never see you again?" She meant it kind of funny but it hung in the moment, and she looked, and I looked, and the big tanker ships out in the deep water sat still at their anchors, and it was so quiet I could pretty much hear that moonlight rustle like a line of ants over the grass at my ears. I felt I'd just been diagnosed somehow, and I thought what did I start for myself by bringing this girl out here? We rolled it up and left and slept together that night--just slept--and I drove her back to L.A. the next morning and yeah, of course, I never saw her again. CHRIS ZIEGLER, WRITER

Murdock was playing an all-ages show at the Vera project. Being the frontman I was thrusting my pelvis and undulating my body in the usual fashion. I didn't realize it at the time, but my fly was down during our entire set. Not being one for underwear, and unbeknownst to me, I was exposing myself to the young all-ages crowd… and all at face level. I don't regret that it happened, because it was all in the name of bringing THE ROCK! But I do regret thinking my friend Todd from Champion was just fucking with me while he was actually trying to do me (and I suppose the audience) a favor by telling me my fly was down. Come to think of it, I do remember it being a bit breezy that night…. P.S. I would like to thank the audience that night for not snickering. ALX MURDOCK, MURDOCK

Exploding eyes, melting skin, skeletons of man and beast alike strewn about the countryside in crushing defeat. Death to the 21st century! Death to the 22nd century! Yet I digress, the abject failure of our majestic Mount St. Helens left these dreams unrealized. Her wanton path of absolute devastation was not felt in this calendar year. That is what I regret the most. CALVIN LEE REEDER, THE INTELLIGENCE


Degree of regret I carry for not calling everyone I know and insisting they attend the skull-shattering Hot Snakes show at Neumo's: 91 percent.

Degree of regret I felt when I missed the reunion of Judas Priest at Ozzfest this year, despite multiple pleas with their publicist and the fact that I woke up at 7:00 a.m. to interview Rob Halford via phone from Prague: 88 percent.

Degree of regret I had that music editor Jennifer Maerz and managing art director Kelly O'Neil took the only comp ticket The Stranger was allotted for Ozzfest and left me alone to cry into my bong: 97 percent.

Degree of regret I felt for declaring that the new Von Bondies record "succeeds on many levels," when it actually failed on most: 71 percent.

Degree of regret I experienced by ignoring my initial reflex to dismiss the new Green Day record as more pop-punk-by-numbers when it was actually one of the best damn records released this year: 0 percent.

Degree of regret I have that I haven't acted on my fantasy to release a compilation of Seattle's great unheard music, including unreleased material by Hafacat, Rusty Willoughby, eXBeSTFRIeNDS, David Keppel, and Gerald Collier: 91 percent.

Degree of regret my liver absorbed after Bobby Bare Jr. spent a whole week in Seattle and I happily partied myself into oblivion with him: 67 percent.

Degree of regret I have that some punk-minded musicians believe they have an obligation and right to be raw and honest but that punk-minded journalists shouldn't be afforded the same voice: 100 percent.

Degree of regret I have that music journalists (myself included) sometimes forget that doing our job well ultimately just means turning people on to good music: 100 percent.

*All regrets expressed in degrees from 1-100 percent.

I regret that I am fucking terrible with names in a job that requires a face-recognition trigger like a steel trap. Mine operates like a sponge constantly getting squeezed of its contents.

I regret that no matter how much I love Led Zeppelin I can't get through the dry academic intro of Hammer of the Gods.

I regret that the Fun House hasn't been the same since Brian Foss left and that Pho Bang didn't return to a regularly scheduled event (and when/if that happens, please can it happen in a dive bar?). I regret that 2nd Avenue Pizza, one of the city's coolest mini-venues, shut down.

I don't regret that Lucky Strike is no longer hosting big events in Seattle. It felt sick having a huge cancer-causing company throw so much party money around Seattle. Beer companies can pick up that slack; second-hand alcoholism is a lot harder to prove.

I regret that despite the efforts of KEXP DJs like Lisa Wood and the Sonic Reducer and Street Sounds crews, there still isn't enough punk, metal, hiphop, garage, or fucked-up-sounding shit on that station.

I regret that coke addiction is rampant in Seattle--as is probably the case in a lot of music scenes--and that it's caused the deaths, suicide attempts, broken relationships, serious depression, and moving away of too many of my friends.

I regret that no matter how much comedy I try to put in my routine, Kathleen Wilson still outclasses me; she has one of the most astute senses of humor in this city. May she find a proper outlet for that ability to laugh--and make others laugh as well--and her bottomless passion for music.

I regret that I don't run my own music magazine yet. I regret that I regret anything. JENNIFER MAERZ, MUSIC EDITOR

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