The Slippery Fish: Posies concert recap! (Replete with sibling japery; tasty spring rolls; unexpected bathroom vermin; leaking pipe water; and pleasant encounters):

Sunday, April 18, 2010

My brother, George, picks me up at 9:15 p.m. I notice his very nice blazer and ask if he's teaching a seminar during the show and, if so, if he'll be handing out a syllabus later.

Without missing a beat, he looks at my cane and says, "You're the one dressed like Mr. Belvedere."

This is our way of greeting one another. Each of us would be disappointed if it were otherwise.

We have opted to skip the opening bands and grab dinner in Belltown instead, a few blocks away from the show's venue, the Crocodile Cafe. We find free on-street parking our first try and like Robert Duvall in Apocalypse Now, we smell victory.

At one of my favorite restaurants, we imbibe splendid phad thai, spring rolls and white jasmine tea. And because it is one of my favorites (the food, service, and ambiance are consistently wonderful) I will not mention its name when I note the furry creature that scurried behind the waste basket when I turned the light on in the women's room. After I return to our table and spritz with much hand sanitizer, George offers me one of the two packs of Pez he is sporting in his aforementioned nifty blazer.

It is raining during our walk to the show and I unfurl my umbrella, which is met with stares slightly less hostile than might greet a Klu Klux Klan hood. It should be noted that said gawkers uniformly have straight hair, thereby disqualifying their opinions here.

At the will call desk, a guy asks for my I.D. (the tickets are in my name), finds us on the list, stamps our wrists and waves us through. He looks puzzled when we don't budge. "You stuck my license in your clipboard," I point out and he sheepishly returns it. I have squelched his burgeoning drag act. Or maybe he was just tired.

George and I can hear the Posies onstage and make our way into the main room. They have just launched into their upcoming disc, due in September, that they will begin recording in Spain in 48 short hours. Ken S. and Jon A. harmonize beautifully, per usual.

After completing the new material to enthusiastic response, the band steps backstage for roughly two minutes.

When the Posies return, they tear into their seminal Frosting on the Beater in its entirety with the ferocity of a bull goring a downed runner. George and I saw them play Frosting several times contemporaneous to its release and agree they fucking slay with the same maniacal energy they brought the first time 'round.

Halfway through this set, I feel a large glob of water splash on my head. At first, I think it is an errant drink rivulet, but then I'm splashed again and realize the pipe above me is leaking. My umbrella cannot save me now. I step aside and the guy in front of me inadvertently gets wet. Which will make for a lively answer when each of us eventually gets asked, "So, how did you get hepatitis?"

A few feet ahead, I spot my pal, Chris Burlingame, of the excellent music site, Three Imaginary Girls. We chat a bit and I introduce he and George to one another.

Shortly thereafter, I realize George and I are now standing by Eric Corson of the Long Winters, a band I've written of roughly a thousand times. Pleasantries ensue.

Near 1:30 a.m., the Posies wrap up their encore and the audience applauds heartily for an evening well spent.

Ken S. has asked me to say hi after the show and I do and introduce him to George. Which is fitting, as George introduced me to the Posies in 1989.

George drops me off around 2:00 a.m. I write this now while I'm still cogent, knowing I might be immobilized large portions of Sunday. (See "cane".)

If you missed it earlier this week, you can read my Seattle Weekly Posies feature here:

The Slippery Fish