Tonight is the anniversary party for a beloved establishment. Steve Wells used to own the bar/venue and I was thrilled to received an invitation by him to attend the party. There are many stories going around about how the many artistic endeavors were birthed here, and I wrote the following in The Stranger Slog:

I launched two bands at Re-bar in the early ‘90s. Maxi Badd opened for Sister Psychic and my nervous-partner-at-the-time Tess played our first few songs facing the wall, her back to a full house. (A skiddish musician playing with her back to the audience was featured in ‘These Streets’ in 2013 by a character played by Hollis Wong-Wear).  Anyone who remembers the band knows that Tess’ stage fright didn’t last long, her playing and presence on stage was a force of nature! Maxi Badd enjoyed many many subsequent shows at ReBar. Especially Steve and Grady always made us feel at home and always welcomed us. After one of our shows I sat in a booth with Scott Griggs (who booked the music at the time), and my friend and fan of Maxi Badd, Alan Pruzan and his friend (soon to become mine), visual artist Eleanor Jones. Eleanor and Alan wanted to be in a band. Neither played an instrument at the time. We each had copious amounts of alcohol in our systems and in front of us while we discussed starting a band. Griggs had his calendar on the table and right then and there we drunkenly booked a show 3 months out. We laughingly dubbed ourselves PHuJ, an acronym of our last names (the “u” being written as a smiley face). We started practicing in Griggs’ basement. Alan on the bass, Eleanor on guitar and me on drums (an instrument I had never played). After two rehearsals Lisa Pritchard, who worked with me at CZ Records (home of 7 Year Bitch, Hammerbox, Gits, etc etc) expressed a desire to also debut an instrument. Adding her last name initial to the front of our moniker, we became PPHuJ, which was a little harder to say without spitting. Lisa wanted to play bass, so she and Alan split up bass duties thusly: Lisa on the D and G strings, and Alan on the E and A. Our entrance to rockdom too quickly arrived and Alan brought cupcakes to Rebar to hand out to our prospective fans, each sunk with a stick holding a piece of paper with our “logo” on it. These, he said, were to shield your friend when you said the name of our band. We had 3 original songs and one Sonic Youth cover. We opened for Butt Trumpet and the place was packed. It turned out that a writer from the punk rock zine, ‘Flipside’ was there to review the show. When his review revealed that PPHuJ was just another pretentious Seattle band who couldn’t play their instruments (this was during the Nirvana phenomenon and the corporate masses and cynicism were abundant) I cut out the review, blew it up and sent the lone piece of paper around as our press kit. PPHuJ went on to play a West Coast tour, and several shows around town, growing our set list, audience and our confidence. I was eventually kicked out of the band because I “already had a band,” Griggs replaced me on drums. The band later changed their name to ‘Isidor,’ after the wonderful man who checked your ID’s at ReBar. The rest- they say- is history…

I find myself in conversations with people of my generation lately: remember when we’d ride our bikes by ourselves all over town?; ‘member when we’d throw our books on the table after school and run out the door yelling, “bye Mom” and she’d yell back, “be home for dinner!”; ‘member romping around creeks and woods and investigating the landscape with our friends?; and remember listening to records?

I used to buy a record or two a week. If a record that I was waiting for was due out (usually on Friday) I was psyched –it was the event of the week. If no anticipated release existed for me, I’d rummage through the stacks at the local record store - located in the strip mall next to the high school- until I found what I wanted to take home. There were always records I craved as I built my collection, but records were expensive compared to my home chore allowance (until I worked at a record store while in college, where I used my earnings to buy record albums). I’d take the prized possession home. Peel off the plastic wrapper. Study the artwork. Take the record out of the jacket. Feel the weight of it. Smell it. Check the disc for warping. Clean it, careful not to touch any part of the surface with my fingers. Place it slowly on the turntable. Clean the stylus. Carefully place the stylus down on the spinning disc. And sit and listen. If the lyrics were included in the artwork, I’d follow along. At the end of the first side I’d get up, turn the record over and listen to Side Two. I’d sit back down and listen. When the record was over I would study all of the musicians’ names, the producer, and read the other details that went into making the record. Then I’d get up and listen to the record again until the music wormed its way into my heart, my brain, ear, into my psyche.

Records are making a comeback. I wonder if this expensive and limiting medium is an echo, or even backlash to this era where music seems, er…disposable. Music is so plentiful, so abundant that people certainly don’t pay for it anymore.  And artists feed us their music one song at a time, so the idea of the LP would require investment in a culture of fast-paced multi-tasking. Who has time anyway to even listen to a full song- let alone a 38 minute, two sided album? I attended a music symposium a few years ago where a guy on a panel delivered his research stating that the average listener decides in 10 seconds if s/he will continue to listen to that song.  I wonder if that statistic has gone down to 5 seconds in the years since I heard it? I understand that. My listening habits have changed and developed with the seeming near onslaught of music that I cannot keep up with. Compared to the 2-5 releases per week on average that came out during my tenure as record store employee in the 1980s, literally thousands of new songs/bands come out a day. Computer companies aren’t including CD drives anymore, so we are consuming most of our music on streaming sites. I love that so many people are making music. More art. More music. More passionate creativity and productivity is a great thing. But I ask myself, as I reflect on my own listening habits, and as I contemplate the medium on which I will deliver my new music, are we really listening?

[This is the first in a series of short essays on listening and the LP (Long Play). And how our cultural habits are shaping the way we listen. And how the way we listen shapes the way we think. The choices we make. I am investigating these thoughts for myself, and sharing them as a project in process. I invite your thoughts and comments.]