IN SEATTLE it often rains in just one place at a time. First in the far-gone reaches of the Eastside’s suburbia, then on Lake Washington, then the sidewalks of the Central District, then Capitol Hill where hipsters deliberate over white belts and whiskey brands. Next on the Paramount, then the downtown malls rich with emptiness and greed. Now in Belltown, now on Blanchard, now on junkies looking to score. Now the rain comes down on me as I stand on Second Avenue, almost forgetting what I came here for.
Pushing through the door of Shorty’s (2222 Second, 441-5449), the sounds of pinball slapping and video-game villains drown out the drizzle. The lights are low, and there are hot dogs and cheap beer to be had. A Sonics song, more pungent and powerful than anything else, blasts through the speakers, and I know I’ll spend the rest of the night considering how one substance can both kill rodents and stimulate rockers. I gather my friends from the Trophy Room in the back, and we down a quick one for the road, noticing our fun-house reflections in the Ms. Pac-Man game on the way out the door.
We walk as if on autopilot toward Bell and around the corner to Fourth Avenue. Huddled together like that might stop the rain, we move together to the Sit & Spin (2219 Fourth, 441-9484) and slink inside to catch the opening band. The Sit & Spin is to Seattle’s music scene exactly what the overused catchall phrase “right on” has become to the collective lexicon: It serves all purposes for all people. When you don’t know what else to do, give it a go: Grab a slice of pizza, throw in a load of towels, catch an up-and-coming local band, toss back a gin and tonic, hell—play a game or two of Connect Four if the spirit moves you. Right on.
Heading back toward Second, the rain has moved on toward the water, and we are not far behind. Our crowd splinters, some wandering off in the direction of the Rendezvous (2320 Second, 441-5823) to catch a couple crackheads and a punk band while the place is still in business, while the rest of us aim for the Crocodile (2200 Second, 441-5611), where an out-of-town indie-rock outfit has designs on becoming the next incarnation of the Grifters. A quick run to the back bar turns into a good 40 minutes of conversations with the usual suspects, and before we know it, we’ve missed the first two songs.
SEVERAL DRINKS and several songs later and we’re moving on. We walk past Shorty’s, where our evening began, and meet back up with some friends at the Lava Lounge (2226 Second, 441-5660). The jukebox isn’t half bad if you navigate around the butt rock and adult contemporary nonsense, but their beer-and-wine-only menu gets old real quick. Someone remembers that someone said something about meeting someone else at the Showbox’s Green Room (1426 First, 628-3151), and since the rain has left the immediate vicinity, we no longer have ammunition for an argument.
Fifteen minutes later, we’ve lost two of our members to the Nite Lite (1926 Second, 449-0899), but we’ve got fresh drinks in hand and a new setting to stir up. Straining to hear the sounds of the electronica set above us, we strike up a conversation about the usefulness of those dorky cell phone earpieces, and just when we reach the nadir of our debate, the bartender hollers last call. Before we know it, there are four or five cell phones out, each calling cabs of different colors and hoping that at least one will make it there soon.
Stumbling distance is not something one should take for granted. It’s not every town that loops together a pack of its rock clubs like pauper’s properties on a life-sized Monopoly board. And no, the system isn’t perfect; but if they moved Graceland (109 Eastlake, 381-3094)10 or 11 blocks down the Regrade, opened Gibson’s back up, and incorporated Linda’s (707 E. Pine, 325-1220), Industrial Coffee (5503 Airport Way S., 763-0354), the Cha Cha (506 E. Pine, 329-9978), and the Twilight Exit (2020 E. Madison, 324-7462) into some sort of late-night light-rail system, this really would be the perfect town. Well, except for the rain.
