Days of our nights

Thanks to the vagaries of newspaper publishing and federal holidays, you're not going to hear about Juno or Watery Graves or even Styx from us this week—the long Memorial Day weekend means we're turning this in days before those shows go down. Instead, we'll just ramble on like your old doddering uncle about other arbitrary things, so sit back, relax, and have a Werther's. . . . My, how time flies when you're big, purple-blue, and bulbous. We're not talking about Barney; the Experience Music Project is turning one, and that can only mean one thing: an anniversary party! But why have one party when you can have five? We, too, heard that the Artist Currently Known as Prince would be making an appearance, but sadly, that was just a rumor. Worry not, you're still in good hands. Say what you will about the joint's wacky walls and sterile environs; those kids at EMP pull in the hot acts. Starting things off on Tuesday, June 19, will be Little Richard. Yes, Little Richard. Yes, the Ready Teddy. Yes, the Georgia Peach. Wednesday night celebrates the '60s with Big Brother and the Holding Company, Quick Silver Messenger Service, the Doors' Ray Manzarek, and Iron Butterfly. A word to the wise: We doubt Iron Butterfly still think it's funny when people sing "In the Garden of Eden" instead of "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida"—it's their only big hit, so just get it right, OK? By Thursday night, you'll be looking for some '70s classic punk. How does Television strike you? That's what we thought. Friday night's bill is sure to stir up memories of last year's best Bumbershoot show—yup, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts will be back to cover Iggy tunes and make good on the '80s. Damn, we think she really does wanna be your dog. And for the finale? Believe the hype, baby. Saturday's show stars Public Enemy. Bring the noise! . . . Speaking of legends, guess who's getting nekkid, and for Playboy, no

less? Somehow Hef's talked Go-Go Belinda Carlisle into doing the full Monty for a, um, spread in the magazine this summer. We say it's either a canny ploy to sell God Bless the Go-Gos, the group's comeback record, to guys who were still teething when the band first blew up more than two decades ago, or just a chance for Belinda to show how hot the Mrs. Robinsons of rock can look. We say yay; a bare-ass sassy Go-Go is much preferred to a hardly covered, severely contoured Janet Jackson on the cover of Blender (that new music contender from the people who brought you the U.K.'s Q) this month. Janet, baby, fuck pilates and the Wonderbra for once, and just go enjoy a banana split and a sunny day. . . . Enough about the female flesh: On to the original indie boy-toy, Evan Dando. His recent showing at the Croc meant lots of those gorgeous goldilocks and plenty of It's a Shame About Ray-era selections. It was almost like the late '90s never happened. We said almost. . . . Last week's Pedro the Lion show was just what a Pedro show should be, but the real scene-stealer, so say witnesses, was the awkwardly named K Records upstart Get the Hell Out of the Way of the Volcano. After doing a little interpretive dance about her spleen, the Volcanic Khala sang some songs that reminded folks, in the oddest if absolute best possible way, of Phoebe on Friends. . . . Most bands work dang hard to make a name for themselves, and then there are the ones who try to escape the weight of their own monikers, for whatever reason. Case in point: Willis will now be known as the Actual Tigers, not to be confused, we guess, with tigers who are in fact counterfeit. Also, in other animal/name-related news, a gossipy little British newsletter claims that Weezer have been playing covert gigs under the name Goat Punishment. We bet PETA's not too happy about that one. . . .

Speaking of Weezer, we rushed home to catch them on Saturday Night Live last week, only to reel back in horror when evil pixie/supergroupie Winona Ryder popped up for a guest spot on the news segment. If they let that succubus anywhere near Rivers Cuomo, she'll snatch the soul right out of him. She's already had Beck, Pete Yorn, and Whiskeytown's Ryan Adams in the past year alone, and still, it seems, the beast is not sated. Say a little prayer for him, will you?

Contributors this week: Laura Learmonth

Send sightings, news flashes, and bitchy bits to nights@seattleweekly.com.

 
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