My dream of Seattle was a place where everyone has a band, and what you do on a Friday night is you go to your friend’s rock show at a seedy bar.
Tonight I did exactly that, and it was everything I dreamed it would be and more.
The bar was The Mix in Georgetown, which looks like the sort of bar that frat brothers might throw together in their basement. Picture a black box theater with some cheap graveyard-themed ornaments and a handful of old arcade games. I had a Shirley Temple; the skinny, surly barmaid was incredulous.
The band was Rocinante, a trio that includes one or two people from Seatown Sound. This may not be their day job but they were absolute pros. To my uneducated (and earplugged) ear they sounded a lot like Pearl Jam … like the real deal, not like an amateurish clone.
I already wore a hoodie in the drizzle, got sponsored by Starbucks, and drove to Vancouver, so I’m getting close to the bottom of my Seattle stereotype checklist. I think all that’s left is to visit the Pike Place Market when someone is actually throwing a fish. Oh, and eating geoduck. Ew.