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All the music your sunburnt face can handle.
Despite the onslaught of sad news this month, the local scene kept pumping out gold nuggets.
The Seattle filmmaker’s 3-D turn distinguishes him in an excellent field.
Phoebé Guillemot’s unclassifiable sonic universe is like a safari through a mutant forest.
The indie mainstay finds new life in songs from another place and another time.
Given the silo-centric culture here in Seattle, the notion of uniting the city’s disparate scenes might also be considered “experimental”—an interesting new tack the festival is taking this weekend.
“I remember going to Disneyland with my homegirl,” she says, giggling on a U District patio. “We went to the Star Wars part, and I was tripping. They had, like, a synopsis of all the journeys and I kind of cried a little bit at the end. It was so good.”
Seattle’s dance music scene goes to Golden Gardens for a day party.
Within the next five weeks, Hartinger is unleashing not one, but two new EPs of original tracks unto the world.
The Seattle nonprofit radio station has long celebrated the musicians who defined a particular kind of pop music. Now it is getting used to mourning them.
In anticipation of the third summer of their weekly Wednesday evening dance party, Paradise Sunset Sessions hosted a little pre-launch soiree.
Activist hip-hop, occult rap, and weirdo punk made our month.
A Redditor named “CoogiMonster” beat AEG to the punch, but did it really even matter?
A firsthand account of the rapper’s hot-box bus stunt.
“I don’t think Uncle Ike’s is the cause of the problem,” Watson notes, “but I’ll be damned if it isn’t a perfect metaphor.”
The clearest and most incisive recent critique of the capital forces changing the Central District came last week in the form of a seven-years-in-the-making hip-hop record, Seattle’s Own, from Central District native and current South-Ender Draze.
Fainting Room Collective’s Triple-Six 7-Inch Box Set features records from Haunted Horses, Bali Girls, Stickers, He Whose Ox Is Gored, The Family Curse, and Transmissionary.
People drift in and out, chat, or meditate, and you might see someone popping a melatonin or asking if the bar has tea.
If NVM is Tacocat’s Nevermind—the album that brought them to the world’s attention—then Lost Time is their In Utero: heavier, darker, realer, and produced to pack a stronger punch.
It was the perfect recipe for an unforgettable evening—one that had many boasting it was their best night yet in 2016.