Lara Swimmer
Postmodern pretzel? EMP's controversial design has turned Seattleites into architecture critics.
Related Content
More About
A DRUNKEN CONVERSATION I once had in Portland came around to the subject of Pacific Northwest natives and their collective inability to play, or accept someone else playing, devil's advocate. If there's another side, people here don't wanna hear it. Or do they?
This psychological tic makes discussing the Experience Music Project about as productive as trying out your high-school French on a Parisian. Before the doors—are there doors?—have even opened, everyone in Seattle has an opinion about the strangely shaped, supersecret, somehow-Jimi-Hendrix-related music and technology theme park opening next week, and of course it's either love or hate. Love Frank O. Gehry's futuristic design. Or hate it. Love the idea of starting an alternative to Cleveland's Rock 'n' Roll Museum in the town that, coincidentally, started alternative rock. Or hate it. Love that Paul Allen has enough cash to build Seattle's latest and most ostentatious landmark (for upwards of $240 million). Or hate him for it.
Here's the crux of EMP: Paul and his sister Jody Allen Patton wanted to create a place for people to experience their beloved Jimi Hendrix and, in time, rock music in general, the way they do. BUT, and it's a very big but, the museum has spiralled off to become as twisted and complex and challenging to the imagination as the smashed-up guitar architectural statement Gehry chose to make with his commission. When EMP opens, visitors will step inside a museum that's also a technological showcase, an educational institution, a research facility, a brick-and-mortar (or rather steel-and-plywood) companion to the Web site emplive.com, and a musical amusement park. Or is it a concert venue, a restaurant and bar, and a tourist trap? In a town that doesn't like to be faced with conflicting viewpoints, EMP confronts us with a gaggle of facades, and its mission statement—"EMP celebrates and explores creativity and innovation as expressed through American popular music and exemplified by Rock 'n' Roll"—is now neither accurate nor clear. Still, it's difficult to judge something unless you've seen it from the inside, right?
MY BUILDING HAS EVERY CONVENIENCE
I've been graced with two preopening tours of EMP, once when the project was in its early stages and once for a media walk-though about two weeks ago. Despite its convoluted exterior, it's even more mind-boggling from the inside than from the outside. The first thing you notice is that the contours Gehry stresses on the shell translate to the interior; the architect used a 3-D electronic modeling program called CATIA that not only draws the blueprints but shapes the metal. On the recent media tour, our group entered between the southeast and northeast side of EMP and climbed an Alice in Wonderland-like staircase up to one of the marquee sections, Sky Church. This cathedralesque room will be the first one visitors enter; a monstrous wall of screens flashing fast-cut images and a bone-rattling sound system under an 85-foot-high ceiling give fair warning that EMP reserves the right to assault your senses.
From Sky Church you can access a hall leading to the galleries or you can pass through a courtyard and watch the Monorail scoot by overhead, then proceed to Artist's Journey, which sounds a bit like the Peter Pan ride at Disneyland, only starring James Brown instead of Tinkerbell. (EMP hasn't previewed the ride yet.) The main building (I think; with over 140,000 square feet, it's fairly easy to misplace yourself) houses a spectacular collection of rock memorabilia, plus exhibits dedicated to punk and hip-hop, an interactive music room ("Sound Lab") where you can live out your rock star fantasies, a Hendrix Gallery, and an entire section ("Northwest Passage") devoted to regional-themed items as wide-ranging as Kurt Cobain's handwritten lyrics and Paul Revere and the Raiders' gaudy period uniforms. Oh, there's more, but I'll leave some of the trickiest tricks for your firsthand surprise.
MONEY CAN'T BUY ME LOVE
In his business dealings as owner of the Seattle Seahawks and Portland Trailblazers, and as a cable mogul and high-tech visionary, Paul Allen doesn't seek out rifts, but that doesn't mean he avoids them. EMP has had a surprisingly smooth ride where public comment is concerned, yet behind-the-scenes sniping hasn't been this intense since the Nirvana-Pearl Jam credibility debate of '91. The artists and music industry players who created the climate that allows EMP to even exist in Seattle are decidedly split on the matter. Some have climbed on board directly. Among the many musicians and indie entrepreneurs who've gone to work for EMP are K Records cofounder Candice Peterson and Shuggie's Andrew McKeag. EMP employment can have its benefits; McKeag recently was charged with recording guitar licks played through effects pedals that originally belonged to Jimi Hendrix ("He didn't mind that too much," says a coworker).
Sub Pop owner Jonathan Poneman counts himself among those in EMP's camp. His label worked with EMP to develop CD compilations of funk and Northwest rock, and he says the museum's presence will improve Seattle's stature as a burgeoning international city. "If they pull it off, it's gonna be a boon to the community and to Northwest music," he says.
