Arts & Entertainment

 

 

I Call It a Parasol: The 2007
Bumbershoot Arts Festival

Seattle, Washington, September 1 to 3

Luke Simcoe, OP Umbrella Connoisseur

 
 

(s. before I begin, a word to all
you plebes out there. If you’ve never
experienced a music festival with the
privileges provided by a press pass, I
wholeheartedly recommend it. For those
of you who went to Bumbershoot this
year lacking the auspices of the free and
fabled press, here’s how it went down:
while you philistines waited in line for
“Honeybucket” brand port-o-potties,

I waltzed into immaculate press-only
washrooms; while you emptied your
pockets along with the other rank-
and-file for the privilege of eating

out of some kiosk, I was treated to
complementary snack platters, freshly-
toasted bagels, and plenty of Sierra
Mist; while you commoners camped
out in line only to be denied entry to
shows once they reached capacity, I was
allowed aristocratic access to events
wherever and whenever I pleased;
while you fought your way through the
huddled masses for a glimpse of some
pop-tart or indie icon, I was ushered
into VIP seating, granted access to
intimate press-only gigs, and given

the opportunity to interview various
celebrity sensations; oh, and most
importantly, while you paid close to
$100 US to attend the festival, I got in
for free! In short, I was Howard Roark
to your Homer Simpson, Helen Mirren
to your Roseanne Barr, and Anton’s

to your Old Spaghetti Factory. Silly

proletariat... won’t you ever learn
that the many exist only to hoist the
exceptional few upon their shoulders?

Anyway, the show must go on, and
so then must this article.

Unfortunately, my chauffeur was
a touch late on Sunday morning, the
border guards classlessly refused my
attempts to bribe
them in order
to skip the two-
hour line, and
the concierge
at our five-star
hotel was a
bumbling idiot,
SO We arrived
at the festival
far too late to
catch The Shins.
However, having
seen them in
the past, I have
a sneaking
suspicion that
James Mercer
remained glued
to his spot on the
stage and looked
shy and nervous,
leaving keyboardist Martin Crandall
to handle the whole “stage presence”
thing.

I was, however, able to catch the
entirety of Menomena’s set on the
Sound Transit Stage. The smaller stage

“while you fought
your way through the
huddled masses for a
glimpse of some pop-

tart or indie icon, I
was ushered into VIP
seating and given
the opportunity to
interview celebrity
sensations.”

Photo by Luke Simcoe

Wu Tang Clan

offers some of the best views of the
Space Needle available on the festival
grounds, and Menomena definitely did
the place justice. Backed by a choir
that consisted of friends and musical
partners-in-crime from Portland, the
band’s multitasking and patently weird
approach to Northwest (see: The Shins,
Rogue Wave, or
most anything
on Sub Pop or
Barsuk Records)
indie rock really
shone on the
outdoor stage. The
three principal
band members
played numerous
instruments —
including a
saxophone—
manipulated
their sound
with a laptop,
and sang some
pretty intricate
harmonies. For
the most part
they precisely
duplicated their
studio sound, but the intricacies in their
tunes— particularly those in “Wet and
Rusting” —couldn’t help but come to
the fore in a live setting.

In an effort to avoid further contact
with the unwashed masses meandering

around the festival, I lounged around
the backstage area of the Sound
Transit Stage until Aqueduct arrived.
According to the literature provided
by the fine scribes at Bumbershoot,
“Seattle native David Terry, otherwise
known as Aqueduct, creates hook-laden
pop songs... using vintage synths and
blown-out drums.” I’ve never been
one to buy in wholly to the festival’s
write-ups, but regardless, Mr. Terry
had the privilege of playing one of
the best stages at the festival during
the sunset. His songs are embodied
with youthful naivety, tales of both
requited and unrequited love, and
almost always contain numerous uses
of the word “girl.” The crowd was
pretty stoked for the show, and a lot
of the couples in attendance began to
realize that the space between their
bodies was a problem that could easily
be fixed. Aqueduct played, and the
sun disappeared while hands clasped
and hips swayed in unison. Highlights
included a song inspired by The
Princess Bride, “As You Wish,” and

a rousing cover of R. Kelly’s “I’m a
Flirt.”

I was tempted to call for a golf
cart escort to take me to the larger
Esurance Stage for Gogol Bordello,
but in the end, I decided to remain
humble and travel with the people on
foot. Consequently, I got there a little

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