a teaching

A Teaching from my Mother
(1995)


My Christmas present to my mother (and myself) was a week long retreat at Plum Village, Thich Nath Hanh's spiritual community in France.  One of my Dharma friends had suggested that I go there as I was relating to her my hesitation between visiting my folks back home, going on a meditation retreat or taking a beach vacation to Baja.

The idea sounded great. I wondered, however, how my mother would react to such an invitation, since she is not a meditator, has never gone on retreat and does not like to be around too many people.  To my great surprise and delight, she accepted and said it would certainly help her relax if nothing else!

Last year she had a mastectomy, underwent chemotherapy, is on anti-depressant and sleeping pills, and has attempted suicide at several occasions.  She tends to constantly be on the go and seriously prone to depression.

Suffice to say that after her accepting my invitation, I began to wonder if I had made a good decision. Could I stand being with my mother for a week, and in a retreat environment?  I had made reservations, the dices were rolled.

We arrived before dinner on a Saturday and were quickly shown our rooms.  A permanent resident briefed us on the daily routine, rules and code of conduct - a familiar world to me since I have been a Buddhist practitioner for several years. 

Meals are an integral part of mindfulness practice. The first half of every meal is taken in silence. Since food is a major part of my mother's life, she quickly forgot the meal rules and started eating before the first Mindfulness bell indicating the beginning of the meal, and started talking to retreatants seating next to her.  Her attention span is very short and she already had forgotten the rules.

I immediately tensed-up, like a parents watching a child doing something forbidden. Anger arose in me and I quickly reminded her of the rules and the reasons behind these rules. A new world for her.  That night, as we were going to bed, she confided to me that the place felt a bit like a jail!  I was able to lovingly say to her that such a place is called a monastery!

For the first couple of days, there were several other tense moments, such as when, during the walking meditation led by Thigh Nath Hanh, my mother began walking twice faster than the group's pace, passing everyone until she found herself right behind the leader, and got right into his foot steps.  It was both hilarious and unnerving but there was really nothing I could do. I had to let go, begin releasing my judgments and trust that the community would take care of her.  I began to relax.

Other events triggered feelings of embarrassment, anger, impatience and shame. Each one became an opportunity to watch all of the invisible ties that link me to my mother. Each time I saw that it was time to give her and I our freedom.

People in the village quickly embraced my mother, admiring her for the fact that she came to Plum Village with no prior meditation experience. The village soon became a mother to my mother, and I could be free of the responsibilities that I dreaded. I began to breath and enjoy my retreat, and so did my mother!

I watched her doing her walking mediation early in the morning. She joined a Christmas choir rehearsal.  She attended all the Dharma talks and even asked questions.  She befriended a Tibetan nun, and a Belgian woman who regularly comes on retreat.

People were touched by my mother's realness, curiosity and innocence. They could also feel her tremendous pain. They responded compassionately to her, enjoying her company, sharing laughter's and always demonstrating patience, kindness and joy.

Another striking memory was during a tea ceremony. Cookies and tea were being passed around. Everyone was waiting for everyone to be served and for the bell to be rang. I heard crunchy noises behind me, and as I turned around, realized that it was my mother eating her chocolate cookie, oblivious to the outside world. I looked at her with disapproval in my eyes. As I turned back, a seven-year-old girl across the room was also absorbed in eating her treat.  Noticing her, I smiled and quickly had a powerful insight. My mother and the child were doing the same thing. Why was I smiling at the child and frowning at my Mom?  My mother is like the seven-year-old girl, totally pure and innocent. She is not doing this to piss me off.  As I contemplated these thoughts, a wave of love rushed through my heart.

From that moment on, my time with my mother took a different color.  I had so much more space for her.  She received a lot of attention from many of the nuns and long term retreatants. She got more love than she probably ever got in her life.

As with most older folks, the fear of the "sect" thing was probably in her mind before she went to Plum Village. To her great surprise, she found people extremely tolerant, compassionate and kind. As we left a week later, the whole Village sang her a beautiful song. She cried, and everyone came to hug her.

I can't say enough about how it's probably touched her life and gave her hope about humanity's ability to love. She now talks about healing with great enthusiasm. That short stay helped her see things in a different light and she made new friends.

Without my friend's suggestion, I would have probably never dared sharing such an experience with my mother. I would have been afraid of being judged for my spiritual views, or not wanting to be burdened by her presence during a retreat.

We now have a new topic of conversation and a much stronger and loving connection. I will certainly go back with her. She was a great teacher for me.

Hugo

SCUD

Jell-O Building Shaky? -- Belltown Quivers With Activism Over Artists' Hq

Seattle Times Staff Reporter
Notices of Proposed Land Use Action (a part of the Master Use Permit initiative) are as common in Seattle as lattes. But when one went up on Belltown's "Jell-O Mold Building," at the corner of Wall Street and Western Avenue, the ensuing outcry surprised even its residents.
"We didn't even imagine anyone cared,"says photographer Cameron Garrett, who has lived and worked there for 12 years. The notice in question advises that his home, a shrine to Seattle community, arts and history, is being razed to make way for a new high-rise.
In a reflection of Seattle's profile, which now stretches 'round the world, passers-by, callers and e-mailers are reacting with anger. From Berlin, rock stars like Blixa Bargeld (of Einsturzende Neubauten, whose name means "Collapsing New Buildings") want to know: Does it actually have to happen? From London, author Kathy Acker asks how to complain. Call up a string of influential folks - from rocker Iggy Pop to cartoonist R. Crumb - and they all voice similar inquiries. Why would Seattle even think of killing the building?
Speaking from Los Angeles, building resident Steve Fisk says it makes him chuckle. In Northwestern music, Fisk is a linchpin figure, both as an artist and a record producer (Screaming Trees, Nirvana). What shocks him is not the building's death knell, but the sudden outpouring of objections. Says Fisk, "Rarely has Seattle understood what's good about itself. So it's real surprising to know they care. When artists like us move into low-rent buildings, we always know things will get better or worse. And, if they get better, we're always out . . ." The "Jell-O Building" has become a mecca for both Seattleites and visitors. It has been filmed for MTV, Comedy Central, PBS, AT&T. Musicians from the Foo Fighters'Dave Grohl to the members of Soundgarden frequent its Cyclops Cafe. One Seattle bus tour even rolls by its decor - which is also lauded on the World Wide Web (try http://seattlecafe.com/larry/kich2.html).
Behind all this is an artists' collective, now 12 years old, incorporated as "SCUD." The acronym meansSubterranean Co-operative of Urban Dreams, and was created by one of Seattle's more colorful characters, Hugo Piottin. Piottin was a French physics student who left college to explore Alaska, but who ended up running a club in Pioneer Square.
In 1984, Piottin joined two close friends, videographer Steve Itano and photographer Cam Garrett, in a search for some communal artists' premises. Says Itano, who now lives in L.A., "Our whole concept was to unite resources, and then find a place we could all live legally. And when we did unite, it was pretty unique."Why? Because the trio convinced Harbor Properties Inc., the monolithic land development firm, to lease them a building. It had been Western Avenue's Catholic Printery (formerly something known as Wizard Products Supply), and before that, it was a rooming house, the Sound View Apartments. The apartments were a successor to the Sound View Hotel.
"Here," says Itano, "was a large corporate entity partnered with artists and the artists had strong ideas."From the beginning, they included him, Garrett, Piottin, metal-sculptor Louie Raffloer (founder of Belltown's Black Dog Forge) and singer Ben McMillan (now of the band Gruntruck).
Five-strong determination was required, for the Sound View was almost totally derelict. Their newly formed corporation, SCUD, spent six months just making the building livable. It meant hauling off almost nine tons of garbage, then re-wiring, plastering, repairing roofing and plumbing. Piottin wanted to try running a cafe, so he both designed and built Free Mars, situated on the ground floor. Free Mars would serve as a metaphor for the structure's future. "At first," says Piottin, "it was kids and artists. Then the neighbors started coming in. Then - because we got reviews - the yuppies came. But it was fine with me; I wanted interaction."
Interaction suited the history of the building. Built sometime between 1908 and 1912, the Sound View Hotel once housed Beat writer Jack Kerouac. Plus, Belltown, where it sits, is a Seattle bohemia. Says Larry Reid, who has run three Seattle galleries, "My dad owned a gas station at Second and Bell and, right back to the '40s, that neighborhood always had artists. It's not like the artists suddenly came in with the '60s. Practicing artists were natives."
An ideal place for art
Certainly, SCUD joined a wealth of artists' houses, shared loft spaces and performance haunts. But, perhaps because of its hotel origins, its facilities proved ideal for art. "It was like a family house," says Ashleigh Talbot, an art-book maker, who joined a five-month-old SCUD. "We celebrated Christmas and Thanksgiving together, we shot videos together, and we made our art. Every time anyone else threw a party, we got just one invitation marked `To SCUD.' "
By 1992, condos were stalking Belltown, and landlord Harbor Properties wanted to re-paint the building. The co-op's "color committee" suggested purple and green. Laughs Itano, "We never thought they'd do it. We were ready to settle for blue and gray." But purple it became, with SCUD's contributed labor. Then, artist Diane Sukovathy added the Jell-O molds, gluing them to the wood of the structure.
Before long, says Itano, the molds were aproblem. "Harbor didn't want the building to be recognized, to turn into any kind of lovable landmark. They always wanted the option to pull it down quietly." To settle the ruffled feathers, Sukovathy offered trees - which, in bloom, she felt, would obscure the molds. SCUD collected $1,000 from each other, bought five trees, broke concrete, and planted them.
Many Seattle notables lived and worked at SCUD, like designer Art Chantry and photographer Alice Wheeler. Right now, 12 working artists fill the space happily. In addition to three initial founders (McMillan, Roeffler, and Garrett), there are Fisk and Seth St. John (both musicians), Lori Smith (a painter), Wilum H. Pugmire (a writer of Gothic horror), Kathy Hughes (a fabric artist), Gregory Musick (a set designer), Arthur S. Aubry (a photographer), Katherine Wolf (a sculptor) and Clint Cleveland (a computer artist at Headbone Interactive).
`Magical', says Crumb
Spaces like Garrett's and Fisk's are monuments to local history, to the creativity that makes Seattle resonate. It is spots like this that have fed the Newsweek pieces and lifestyle sections. Here's that couch where Kurt and Courtney used to sit; there's the table where William Burroughs held court. Like R. Crumb says: "It's a magical place. Like a treehouse of artists."
It remained so, even as the condos rose. Piottin sold Free Mars in '87 and, for two years, it was the Mars Cafe. As it closed, SCUD filmed a "testimonial", and their last interviewee was Gina Kaukola. Kaukola was then working at the Re-Bar, and planning her own Jack Kerouac-style road trip. But the camera sparked a revelation: Gina bought the cafe, instead of a pickup truck. In April 1990, she became SCUD's new tenant - with a restaurant she named The Cyclops Cafe.
Cyclops added to Piottin's vision. Free Mars had been favored by the Grateful Dead. Kaukola's cafe was home to grunge rockers, to MTV visitors, to a new cast of characters. Its regulars ranged from a Harborview pathologist to Greg Escalante, curator at California's Laguna Art Museum. Pearl Jam, who used the Cyclops as a frequent hangout, even gave Gina one of the band's gold records.
That was then and this is now. But the demolition Harbor now proposes comes on the heels of some special public summits - held by Denny Regrade Neighborhood Planning. These meetings solicited residents' views on their neighborhood's future (the invitation pamphlets read: "What Do You Think? Your Input Is Crucial. We Need Your Validation!"). And the central mission statement they evolved now reads:
"The Denny Regrade Neighborhood is an urban community concerned with quality of life built on 1) social equality, 2) economic viability, 3) environmental stewardship, 4) security and 5) respect for its cultural and historic traditions." Garrett Cobarr of its Committee for Commercial and Residential Uses points out the statements symbolize an ongoing process: "We're in the midst of discussing preservation of artists' housing - and one of our three Belltown examples is threatened! Plus, there's an overlapping concern: low-income housing."
Harbor Properties says its plan is to tear down the SCUD building, then replace it and the adjacent parking lot with a seven-story structure (one story higher than the building it will face). This will include retail space and 80 parking units, but "be sensitive to the needs of the area." Spokesman Denny Onslow stresses it is "apartments, not condos." But Belltown's present towers are festooned with banners, most of which read something like "LUXURY VIEWS: AVAILABLE." Many residents blame their size and "soul-lessness" for displacing locals and adding to the crime rate.
Plus, some are already needing repairs, wrapped in plastic shrouds and scaffolding. One of these is the Elliott Bay Plaza, directly opposite SCUD's building. Elliott Bay is about the age of the Jell-O molds.
Inside SCUD, the residents remain confused. They have long been used to living month-by-month. But now, every day, someone's calling about their future: from TV or radio, the Eastside or Holland. Says current resident Arthur S. Aubry, "This possibility has always hung over us. The larger issue is how others feel. And local people seem to feel they're being used. They think the city's being gutted against their wishes."
Locals like James Crespinel do feel strongly. Crespinel is a well-known artist-muralist, famous in Seattle for his large-scale Orca whales, Gravity Bar scene and larger-than-life Shawn Kemp. Recently, his work was on the front page of USA Today. He has been affiliated with Harbor Properties, but he hopes they realize SCUD is special. "I'm good friends with the guy whose name's on the notice board. But that doesn't change my feelings at all. To me, it matters just as much as Pike Place Market.
"They can leave that building," he adds. "Just incorporate it into their superstructure. And they ought to; it really is historic."
One group which is acting on such feelings is Citizens for the Preservation of Unique Communities. They contend the current proposal ignores its surrounding community - not just SCUD residents, but all of Belltown. Says committee spokesman R. Scott Lankford, a landscape architect who heads his own firm: "That building could be set anywhere in the world; it has nothing to do with Seattle at all. Yet you could build right around the existing structure; you would even save money by doing that. So why kill the goose that laid the golden egg? That building helped create an incredible draw. Plus it remains a viable, rare community."
There are other factors. "Jell-O molds may not a landmark make. But this is different. This is a 1910-era building, made out of old-growth, vertical-grain, solid fir lumber. It's built out of 500-year-old trees; and it's one of our most solid buildings."
Like many locals who are joining them, CPUC wants true consultation with the local residents. They want time to review the plan's true impact. And they want protection for the artists' community.
In L.A., fresh from a shoot for Nike, Steve Itano says he fully agrees. "If people just understood how that building functions, then they'd realize - it's a great model. It's self-made, self-run and self-policed. Rent is never late, there has never been trouble. They should look and say, `Hey, this thing worked out! This is a great model; let's see how we adapt it.' "
Like other SCUD artists, Steve Fisk says he's touched. "If I had one thought, I guess it would be wonder. Like, `Wow, it's all really pretty incredible. This funny old building, people have come to love it.' "

Press Clips




 

May 13, 1983: The Metropolis


What Seattle then needed most was a place for the wild kids.
In the spring of 1983, the civic environment here was hostile towards teenagers. Seattle had then acquired a reputation as a progressive city welcoming to adults and small children, but teenagers — especially those with countercultural tendencies — had a rather rough time here. Our local underground music scene then catered overwhelmingly to 21-and-over patrons — leaving teenagers shut out of the scene.
Enter Hughes Piottin, also known as “Hugo.” Piottin is best known in Seattle today as the founder and guiding spirit of the Metropolis, the legendary all-ages music venue that helped foment Seattle’s underground music scene from May 1983 to March 1984. The Metropolis was crucially much more than a mere music club: it was conceived not as a business, but rather as a community hub where Seattle’s creative youth could not only congregate as an audience, but also learn how to harness their own nascent creativity.
Born in Lyon, France, Piottin came to Seattle in 1982 with the intention of creating just such a place. That dream would reach fruition on the date in focus here, when the Metropolis held its first official concert. Located in Pioneer Square at 207 Second Avenue South, the Metropolis — despite its brief existence — had a major impact on Seattle’s music scene, mainly because it was all-ages and collectively run, in contrast to the city’s typical music clubs of the time. It was also a magnet for many of the young local musicians and scenesters who would later go on to become major scene players during the grunge era — including Mark Arm, Steve Turner, and Jeff Ament, who would later form Green River, which would later splinter into Mudhoney and Pearl Jam.
Using money he’d earned from fishing in Alaska, Piottin opened the Metropolis with the partnership of Gordon Doucette, a local musician who was then the singer and guitarist for the band Red Masque. Doucette was largely responsible for booking acts, while Piottin oversaw the operation of the venue. Other bookers there included Maire Masco and Susan Silver, two women who would later play major roles behind-the-scenes in Seattle during the grunge era. Piottin would later explain his vision to Clark Humphrey, author of the definitive local music history book Loser: The Real Seattle Music Story:
“The Metropolis was my first creative venture. I was 23 at the time. I came from the background of a frustrated artist without knowing it. I was studying math and physics in Europe; I quit, and became a commercial fisherman in Alaska. In the winter I was teaching skiing in the Alps. I moved to Seattle and really decided to create something to bring people together. I had ideas but they were really fuzzy ones. The space came together out of my control in a way. It had a life of its own, very strong. I loved the shows, getting together in a club. I wanted a non-oppressive environment, a non-alcoholic environment. The kids needed a place to go and be safe and not be exploited. I never had a show that cost more than $4 (except for touring acts). I had a strong desire to give, in a creative place where people could meet friends, and maybe get exposed to ideas in art and music that inspired them. I think it worked.”
Hugo at the Metropolis, circa February 1984
The Rocket, March 1984 issue
Hugo at the Metropolis, circa February 1984
 
The Rocket, March 1984 issue
Touring acts who played at the Metropolis included Hüsker Dü, Violent Femmes, the Replacements, Gun Club, D.O.A., John Cale, Shockabilly, and Bad Brains. Local talent featured there included Red Dress, Student Nurse (in their final incarnation as the Nurse), the U-Men, the Accüsed, Spluii Numa, 10 Minute Warning, Life in General, Beat Pagodas, Room Nine, Mr. Epp and the Calculations, Colour Twigs, Red Masque, and Cinema 90. Among the regulars was future Sub Pop Records co-founder Bruce Pavitt, who DJ’d at the Metropolis when Sub Pop was still a column in Seattle’s monthly music newspaper The Rocket, and not yet a record label. Pavitt later reminisced for the Seattle Post-Intelligencer about what made the Metropolis such a special place:
“[The Metropolis] was an amazing opportunity for young people to perform in front of their peers. And I DJ’d there, which was a lot of fun, spinning Minor Threat and Run-D.M.C. records. I remember Mark Arm came down, Steve Turner — Mudhoney guys, Green River crew, they came down. Mr. Epp I believe was performing at that time, that was Mark’s band at the time, so anyhow a lot of younger people, 17, 18, who later went on to really help blow up the Seattle scene, got their start at the Metropolis. Having all-ages venues is crucial, I think, for cultivating any scene. Getting young people involved with art and creativity, and giving them a chance, is really important.”
Most crucial to the uniqueness of the Metropolis was the collective nature of its day-to-day operations. Many of its young patrons helped organize and run concerts there — typically receiving free admission in exchange for their work. By helping with cash-handling, serving non-alcoholic refreshments, and loading bands’ gear, teenage music fans learned at the Metropolis how to be not only spectators, but also participants in creative entertainment — which was Hugo’s intention from the beginning. In late 1983, at the peak of the venue’s local popularity and influence, Piottin told The Rocket about his long-term goals for the Metropolis, which he then hoped would thrive for several more years.
“What I want,” Piottin said, “is a fusion of ideas, and [an] inspiration ground, people being exposed to [other] people’s ideas. We want to stimulate this crowd toward a smarter world.”
Despite Piottin’s plans for expansion of the venue (which would have included its daytime use as a coffeehouse and meeting place for political groups), the Metropolis closed abruptly when the developers of a condominium next door pressured its landlord to evict it. The final show (featuring English goth-rock act Alien Sex Fiend) took place on March 6, 1984. After that show, Hugo and Silver would stage several more concerts at several different venues in Seattle, Portland, and Vancouver, B.C., under the name Metropolis Productions through mid-1985. Piottin would eventually abandon music promotion for other creative pursuits. He currently lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where he participates in community urban farming.

Sources: Ann Powers, “All Ages,” The Rocket, December 1983, p. 18; Clark Humphrey, “Loser: The Real Seattle Music Story” (Feral House, 1995; MiscMedia, 1999, 2016); Leah Greenblatt and James Bush, “In Memoriam: 20 Clubs That Came and Went,” Seattle Weekly, May 3, 2001; Jacob McMurray, “The Metropolis: Birthplace of Grunge?” seattlepi.com, November 19, 2009; Stephen Tow, “The Strangest Tribe: How a Group of Seattle Rock Bands Invented Grunge” (Sasquatch Books, 2011); Mark Yarm, “Everybody Loves Our Town: An Oral History of Grunge” (Crown Archetype, 2011); Keith Cameron, “Mudhoney: The Sound and the Fury from Seattle” (Omnibus Press, 2013).









City Bright

The Metropolis: Birthplace of Grunge?


In the last few years I've been conducting filmed oral history interviews with people involved in the development of the underground music infrastructure in the Pacific Northwest from the late 1970s to today. All of this material adds to our existing Oral History Program archive, of which we currently have nearly 800 filmed interviews, and as many hours and more of amazing footage. It's been one of the most enjoyable parts of my job to sit down with folks and listen to them reminisce about when they were teenagers listening and creating music that was by and large ignored by mainstream culture (but would later indelibly affect and influence mainstream culture).


Seattle in the early 1980s was definitely not friendly towards punk rock and youth – very unlike the situation we have today where I work at a museum dedicated to music, the city actively promotes its rich musical history and we have all-ages venues like the VERA Project that are heavily supported by the community. In many of the recent oral histories that I've been conducting, something that nearly everyone that was around at that time talks about is a small all-ages club called the Metropolis. It was started by Hugo Piottin, an eclectic, artist-friendly, jack-of-all-trades, and even though it was only open for two years, the Metropolis had a huge impact and enduring legacy on music in Seattle, mainly because it was all-ages and it was a stable venue. Because of this access and stability, the teens that were interested in alternative music and culture had a regular destination to go see local and national punk bands and hang out with their peers, all within a city that at the time generally ignored the cultural needs of youth. In retrospect, the Metropolis was a creative epicenter for many of the musicians and scenesters that would go on to be major players in the Grunge era. Here are some oral history snippets:



Bruce Pavitt (founder of Sub Pop) - "The Metropolis opened up in the late spring of '83 I believe, opened by a gentleman named Hugo, who was helped by Susan Silver who later went on to manage Soundgarden. And it was an amazing opportunity for young people to perform in front of their peers. And I DJ'd there, which was a lot of fun, spinning Minor Threat and Run DMC records. I remember Mark Arm came down, Steve Turner - Mudhoney guys, Green River crew, they came down. Mr. Epp I believe was performing at that time, that was Mark's band at the time, so anyhow a lot of younger people, 17, 18, who later went on to really help blow up the Seattle scene, got their start at the Metropolis. Having all-ages venues is crucial I think for cultivating any scene. Getting young people involved with art and creativity, and giving them a chance is really important."


Nils Bernstein (publicist for Sub Pop, Matador Records) – "I started high school in '82, by that time I had been going to shows. There was a club called The Metropolis, and that was my freshman year of high school, and we'd go there a lot. Violent Femmes, The Replacements, and this band Three Teens Kill Four, and they were from New York that I used to always say was my favorite band. I thought they were really huge because their show at The Metropolis was really big but they weren't."


Matt Cameron (Skin Yard, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam) – "I felt like the bands that were playing in Seattle at the time I moved up in'83 were really good, original, creative bands and there was a lot of really neat clubs to go to. There was some all-ages clubs which was kind of a new thing to me. I just saw it as a really vibrant interesting local scene. There was a club called the Metropolis that a lot of the early rock bands cut their teeth at. And it wasn't necessarily just all kind of rock bands, either. There was a lot of really interesting, trippy kind of experimental music bands as well. Going to the Metropolis, I saw just some killer bands – there's this one called Student Nurse that I just always loved. They were just really trippy and weird. Then there was The Accused. I always liked the Accused."


Jason Finn (Skin Yard, Love Battery, Presidents of the USA) – "In '83 there was a really cool burgeoning little punk club scene downtown – mostly the Metropolis was the main one that I was going to a lot. I'd go to these shows a couple times a week and you'd realize that there are a lot of the same people showing up to these shows. You start talking to them and maybe one of them plays guitar or something. I started a band called Bad Credit with some people I met at Metropolis, one of whom was Mike Wells who was later in the Walkabouts. I was in the eleventh grade and bands like the Sharing Patrol, D.O.A. used to come down from Vancouver all the time, four or five times a year, March of Crimes, Bundle Of Hiss, which is the old band that Kurt Danielson from TAD, that was his first band. Dan Peters was in that band too, from Mudhoney. The Altered, Silly Killers, Deranged Diction – which featured a very young and punk Jeff Ament."


Ben Shepherd (March of Crimes, Soundgarden) – "Most of the shows I ever went to were either at the Showbox, The Eagles or The Metropolis. The Metropolis was the main place. That seemed like the culminating point, with the music people were playing and the age of everyone at the time and what was going on."


Mark Arm (Mr. Epp, Green River, Mudhoney) – "I remember in the Metropolis days Krist Novoselic [who would late be in Nirvana] would come into town with the Melvins guys. I knew Buzz and Matt really well and every once in awhile they'd have this tall dude with them at a Metropolis show. And then later on it was like, "Oh, that tall dude who's the Melvins' friend is in a band."


Charles Peterson (photographer du Grunge) – "And actually, the Metropolis is now a Teriyaki joint that I go and eat lunch at occasionally. And it didn't dawn on me – I had been eating there forever – and then one day I was sitting there, and I looked at the brick wall, and I was like, "Oh my God, this is the Metropolis!" That's the wall that the bands played against, you know? The Replacements, the Violet Femmes, Really Red, I think I even saw Scream there, you know, Dave Grohl's band, and the U-Men and Gun Club."

And this is just a fraction of the stories that I've been collecting. I find it fascinating that huge cultural events that have impacted mainstream culture, like Grunge in the early 1990s, can stem in part from small, seemingly inconsequential things like a tiny, all-ages punk venue. It really gives you a sense of what can happen when you just decide to Do-It-Yourself.

Posted by Jacob McMurray at November 19, 2009 12:12 p.m.

Check out the Metropolis page on Facebook that was created by Alex Shumway (of Green River) – amazing photos!