Rebel Rebel: One guest at last week’s Bumbershoot may have ingested more than the requisite Bumberdrugs of choice (marijuana, Maalox); then again, it’s more likely he was just following the crazy instincts that have made him such a cultishly adored musical figure in Seattle. Had we checked Labor Day’s police logs, we could have told you last week that accordion player/street performer/general madcapper Jason Webley purposefully mistook the Seattle Center International Fountain for a jungle gym, and was promptly arrested. According to his own Web account, “Sunday night, I led a large crowd of people into the fountain. I was pushed up and, much to my surprise, was able to climb to the top. There was much cheering and smiling. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, actually, because it caught me completely by surprise. When I came down, I was placed in an armlock by several officers and taken to a holding cell beneath the Center House.” The subsequent criminal trespass warrant means that one of the festival’s most beloved nonvenued performers is forever forbidden from darkening the Center grounds. And yet they continue to roll out the red carpet for those heinous drum circles. . . . We regained our post-Bumber equilibrium enough last Wednesday to hit up Coldplay‘s show at the Paramount Theatre, and damn, the kids were gagging for it! Unlucky-in-autos openers Ash (you may remember the van accident several weeks ago that put them out of commission for the final Area:Two stop at the Gorge) did a fine job, but the crowd obviously had some major “Yellow” fever—they wanted the big boys, pronto. Leaning heavily on tracks from their new album, lead singer Chris Martin (who is allegedly Gwyneth Paltrow‘s current boy snack) did obligingly bust the biggies, including the aforementioned “Yellow” (in which the intense blue lighting of the show was changed to, um, guess what color), “Trouble,” and an

encore featuring new, already-ubiquitous single “In My Place,” but not before investing one innocent little piano ballad whose name we’ve forgotten with bits of both Nelly‘s “Hot in Herre” (!) and Pearl Jam‘s “Alive” (!!). In keeping with the Britpop theme, we scooted up the Hill at show’s end to the big Parklife blowout at Chop Suey, where we nearly wore the soles off our dancing shoes. We hold high hopes for the night’s upcoming status as a monthly, rather than weekly event; the new math sounds much more amenable to Seattle’s midweek white-belt crew. . . . Apropos of nothing, we feel compelled to include this picture of Axl Rose from last week’s MTV Video Music Awards in our column. Is that really the same man whose snaky hips, encased in glossy white leather, once butterflied our adolescent loins in “Paradise City?” Admittedly, holding our hard-living celebrities up to a higher standard of aging is unrealistic (except for the amazing-looking David Byrne—skin like a baby’s bottom, that one), but how freaky is this picture? It’s like he joined the Mickey Rourke Super Surgery School of Aging—or at least had a major altercation with a syringe full of Botox. . . . Speaking of Guns N’ Roses (and surgery), the cosmetically enhanced raptress Lil’ Kim is set to star in a Western titled Guns and Roses (how’s that for copyright dodging?), about five female outlaws banding up to avenge a wrongful death . . . And speaking of loin-affecting ’80s rock stars, there’s an update on Nikki Sixx, whom we still love even after reading The Dirt: Confessions of the World’s Most Notorious Rock Band, the story of M�y Cre‘s mind-bogglingly icky lifestyle. According to the ever-sexy (really!) Sixx, the band are planning to adapt the book into a movie—which we imagine, given the content, will be about as TV-network adaptable as Showgirls and Scarface combined—by late 2003 or

early 2004. The film will be accompanied by a soundtrack and a massive farewell tour, but in the meantime, Sixx is at work on a blast-from-the-Sunset-Strip-past supergroup, featuring himself, Kris Kohl from Adema, Tracii Guns from L.A. Guns, and some vocalist called London. We are so there. . . . Another, slightly more updated supergroup also in the works features Wilco‘s Jeff Tweedy and Glenn Kotche with the omnipresent artist/producer/Sonic Youth collaborator Jim O’Rourke. The trio, calling themselves Loose Fur, will release their debut on Drag City in January. . . . Sheesh—you people are insatiable. OK, more Wilco news: Sam Jones, the director of their much-discussed documentary, I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, is busy putting together an additional 72 minutes of footage (including some 21 previously unseen performances) for the film’s DVD release, along with band photos, diary entries, and more. Take that, superfans. . . . EBay freaks and generally ghoulish types might have already heard that Kurt Cobain‘s childhood home in Montesano, Wash., is up for auction on the site, at cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll? ViewItem&item=1765388613. Though the house was appraised in 2000 at about $53,000, bidding starts at $200,000 (with the reserve not yet met), and the sellers insist little has been changed since Cobain lived there from age 11 to 15—including his “nautical look” bedroom, made to “look like a ship, with a rounded door and wood interior as in a captain’s quarters.” The enterprising couple bought the house last month for $42,500, without knowing its history. Ah, capitalism. . . . In other news of national pride, the good old U.S. of A. has proven you don’t have to go to Belfast or Beirut for a good bomb scare: Steve Morris, the guitarist for So-Cal pop-punk outfit Unwritten Law, suffered a concussion, hearing damage,

and injuries to his arms when two homemade bombs exploded at his home last Thursday. His 21-year-old neighbor, who was apparently involved in an ongoing argument with Morris over noise in the apartment, has been arrested and charged with the crime. We can’t wait to read the suspect’s sure-to-be- upcoming how-to book, Conflict Resolution for Total Psychos, and wish Morris a speedy recovery.

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