The Pit

I'm apparently too sick to work, so since yesterday afternoon I've been stuck on my couch, bored and cranky. To help pass the time, I just watched the documentary Hype, chronicling Seattle's music scene, its rise to a national grunge movement, and everyone's total irritation about being exploited back here in the unwashed city. It was really well done, with some excellent concert footage from back in the day.

It's amazing how music brings back memories, both good and bad.

On the bad side: Around 1995, I took out of town guests to the top of the space needle, and most of the Seattle souvenirs they were selling involved Pearl Jam, Soundgarden or Nirvana. Much worse, I remember with perfect clarity the day in the summer of 1993 when my friend Howard called to tell me that Mia Zapata had been found dead. With slightly less distinction I remember sitting at work 10 years later, reading that her killer had been brought to justice, and really not taking any solace in it.

Mia's distinctive bluesy voice and the pounding puck rock of the Gits are among the positive memories, though. I spent nearly every Friday and Saturday night of the early to mid 1990s seeing PNW bands at either LaLuna or the XRay Cafe -- Portland's two main all ages venues of the day. If I left the gigs without an injury, it was a boring night. I would go into the pit (back then people were polite in their violence, if that makes sense), but usually spent most of the night working up to the front of the crowd, where I'd stay, my ribs crushed between the stage and the pulsating masses. I never got hurt badly -- a lot of nasty purple bruises, a few split lips, a nose bloodied by a stage-diver's boot -- they were just badges of honor back then.

The music of the time, of course, is the best memory that the film brought back. Now, many years down the road, if you gave me a list of artists who played live in Portland between 1991-94, I'd be hard pressed to tell you who I saw. But play a song of theirs, or show me a few minutes of live footage, and it's all back. I never got much into the Sub Pop publicity machine; their bands cost too much to see. My favorites were the ones I could see week after week for $2 at the door, sing along with, chat to after the show: Hazel, Crackerbash (listening to my original copy of Tin Toy on vinyl as I write this), the Gits, Cherry Poppin' Daddies (before the "swing" thing they tried, WTF?), Big Daddy Meatstraw, the Posies... I could go on.

Over the years I've made a lot of moves and restarts in my life, and I've always been able to walk away from the people, but the music has stayed with me. I can't say that I've talked to any of the best friends I went to these shows with in the last 15 years, but I've for damn sure listened to the music we so loved. People come and go, but music? Music is forever. Maybe that's why it stirs up so much memory and emotion: it's the best friend of all.