In Which I Get All Arted Up.

I think this is my ninth year of Bumbershoot. I'm pretty sure it is. That's hard for me to believe, because the entirety of my Bumbershoot experience just kind of blurs together into one continuous colorful panorama.

Not to say that it hasn't changed over the years. It has become less weird and more corporate, less relaxed and more regulated. Gone are the relentless background rhythm of the drum circle and the impromptu hippie dance party by the International Fountain. Now they search your pack for contraband (like water bottles!) when you enter the mainstage area, and the only entity allowed to sell CDs on the premises is the ever-overpriced Tower Records (sorry, buskers, you lose). Every year The Man clutches it a little tighter, and every year I like it a little less. But there remains so much to like that I'm still a long way from not liking it.

One thing that was new for me this year was making the pilgrimage alone. I stayed at Piri's, and she joined me at the 'Shoot on Sunday, but Saturday I had all to myself. It was different, not having anyone else's input to plan the day around. It had its advantages (easier for one small person to weasel her way to the front of an audience) and disadvantages (no one to distract me from the fact that I felt kind of lousy, physically speaking).

Laura Veirs was definitely the highlight of Saturday. She's fun to watch on stage; she so obviously loves what she's doing, and intermittently acknowledges the audience with a gentle, slightly self-conscious smile. I remember thinking that if grrlpup were an alt-folk star, her stage presence would be similar. The Rogue Wave show was nice, and that's really all I have to say about them: they're a nice band. A little bland, but easy on the ears. Under the heading of not-so-bland, both The Epoxies and Deerhoof opened their acts with the songs I posted last week! That made me absurdly happy, like I'd just won a prize or something. The Epoxies were really loud and frenetic and '80s-weird, convulsing and leaping all over the stage. Deerhoof was the most musically diverse band I heard all weekend, with as much diversity as possible packed into every single song. Their act eventually devolved into the kind of experimental music that leaves you wondering whether it's the music or the audience that's being experimented upon. (I admit it, Bomyguava: I didn't even try to see Of Montreal. Or Kanye West, for that matter.) Cloud Cult had, not one, but two painters creating art on stage during their show. I only managed to catch Lady Sovereign's last song of the evening, but I mean, come on, that's about how much consecutive Lady Sovereign I could have stood anyway. It was great to hear her holler "Thank you, Seattle!" in her adorable cockney accent, though. (If you're having trouble imagining it, replace the 'tt' with a glottal stop and you'll get the idea.) Two bands I ended up watching that weren't on my schedule: P:ano (pretty soft sleepy music with, yes, a piano) and The Can't See (fairly boring, actually).

Sunday was less about getting to the next show and more about just hanging out and enjoying time with Piri. After the intense crowd-immersion and dance fever of the New Pornographers and Spoon, we wandered around browsing booths and art exhibits until Vashti Bunyan played. She was well worth seeing, even though her fragile voice and warm, hushed music would have been better suited to a more secluded venue than an outdoor stage in the Seattle Center. We left after Vashti, skipping Mates of State because the day seemed complete without them (and I've seen them before anyway).

As for the art, there was the mesmerizing Fire-Pod, which was "played" by a keyboard in choreography with canned industrial music. Even more startling, however, was a fine arts exhibit called Softly Threatening: Artwork of the Modern Domestic. Okay: imagine walking into a velvet-draped room in which is crouched a pure white stag, his side gashed redly open, and blood and entrails spilled everywhere. I mean, more guts than could possibly fit inside one deer, and they're spread out and draped all over the floor, and even cover an entire chandelier. Now blink a few times, and realize that every piece is meticulously crocheted, knitted, stuffed, embroidered and beaded, from the stag's pearl-covered antlers to the beaded velvet liver at your feet. Is it beautiful? or gross? Or both?

The other highlight of the exhibit for me was a row of jars of homemade candies, each designed to communicate the personality of a specific member of the artist's family. The flavors were surprisingly eloquent, even without the brief descriptions that completed the portraits. Synesthesia never tasted so good. Oh, and then there was Knitta....

Of course, half the fun of Bumbershoot is the people-watching, which could be a substantial post all by itself. I know I'm not going to get around to writing that, so instead I'll just leave you with the best t-shirt slogan of the weekend: I put the sexy in dyslexia!