…and partly answers, the musical question: “Grunge Bands: Where Are They Now?”

The Newspaper Guild’s looking into midwifing a Post-Intelligencer employee buyout, which, at the paper’s recently-announced financial burn rate, would obligate each of the paper’s current employees to $80,000 or so in annual losses. On the surface it sounds like a no-go from the get-go; but an employee buyout, perhaps with outside backing added, could be one way to keep the paper (or at least its Web site) alive through the long process of hashing a new business model together.

Meanwhile, Hearst is rumored to still be considering a small-staffed online P-I, but is still weeks away from announcing anything.

And, from way back in December, here’s David Byrne comparing what’s happening to the newspaper biz these days to what happened to the record biz in the ’80s and ’90s—consolidation, buyouts, corporate debt, layoffs, and an institutional death spiral.

I’m tempted to say the piped-in-music giant wouldn’t have gotten into this trouble if it had kept its HQ in Seattle. The reality is it was leveraged-bought-out, in a deal that saddled it with debt and coincidentally took its HQ out of Seattle.

…today to Blossom Dearie, the legendary jazz artist of the lilting vocals and the assertive piano playing, as heard in dozens of albums and several Schoolhouse Rock shorts.

Pearl Jam guitarist Mike McCready tells state legislators about his gastrointestinal sufferings.

“On A Wonderful Day Like Today” by Johnny Mathis.

(No, this probably won’t become a regular feature): Ultravox’s “One Small Day.”

The Dutchman band practice space and Calleye recording studio burned early Thursday morning. There’s a fund drive to help out its fiscally wiped-out owner.

…of Snowtopia ’08’s final flourish of flurries, we must say goodbye to Eartha Kitt, Ms. “Santa Baby” herself. I had the privilege of seeing her at Jazz Alley sometime in the mid-1990s. She was still as sultry and saucy as ever. I knew I was in the presence of a living goddess; and so did everyone else in the room.

…they could get away with appropriating the music of Bruce Springsteen and Jackson Browne. But now they’re learning a bigger lesson–you don’t mess with Ann and Nancy.

After all the hate-mongering on Wednesday, McCain himself showed up on Thursday evening with a semi-informal, drab sequence of remarks. Some of it was conciliatory and even “friendly.” But the basic branding was still there–more war, more drilling, more giveaways to the rich, 9/11 and POW fetishism, offers of “bipartisan” cooperation with anyone who’ll totally accede to the far-right agenda.

I felt like I was watching a victim of some delusional syndrome such as intermediate senility, occasionally lapsing into lucid human speech before reverting to nonsense.

(NO, this is not age-bashing. The late George Carlin was just a few months younger than Mr. McC., and maintained his wit and sensibility to the end. My mother’s older than Mr. McC., and could undoubtedly out-debate him.)

…to my longtime pals Garth Brandenburg and Tor Mitskog. They’re in a big Seattle Times color pic. It’s due to their participation in a house rock band at the Perkins Coie law firm, which goes off to a “Battle of the Corporate Bands” contest in L.A. this weekend. Knock ’em dead!

…the International Channel. It aired blocks of programming from all different countries, right on basic cable, with ethnically-targeted commercials and everything.

Part of what I loved about it was the music shows. Samba, Bollywood, tango, Afropop, Hungarian operettas, Japanese techno, and much much more. And it was all curated by and for folks of these various ethnicities themselves! It was the real stuff, not Paul Simonized for baby-boomer comfort listening.

Some of this joyous cacophony is back, thanks to the National Geographic Channel. It’s got a post-midnight music block, Nat Geo Music. The block runs in Italy as a 24-hour channel; Geographic’s talking about launching it as a separate channel here.

The show compiles music videos (remember those things?), documentary shorts, and concert clips by lots of different people in lots of different places. Sure, the show’s got mellow folkie stuff, reggae, salsa, etc. But it’s also got digital cut-up music and raucous celebratory stuff and dissonant percussion. (And, in good National Geographic tradition, they’re not afraid of a little artistic nudity in the videos.)

About all you won’t hear on Nat Geo Music: Elmer Bernstein’s bombastic orchestral theme from the old National Geographic network specials.

Utne Reader has discovered Seattle Sound’s item about an online sub-sub-genre of “slash fiction,” this version involving the likes of Kurt Cobain and Dave Grohl, among other bad-boy duos of rock.

“Slash” fiction, for the uninitiated, is a four-decades-old shtick in which mostly female writers imagine guy-pals of celebrity or fiction as if they were hot n’ heavy gay lovers. Most observers believe it started with Star Trek fan fiction.

I’d go back earlier, to the college English profs who’d give an easy A to any student essay that “proved” the major characters of any major literary work were really gay.

Cobain, as many of you know, sometimes claimed to be bi; though there’s no knowledge of his ever having had a homosexual experience. I used to figure he’d just said that because, in Aberdeen, to be a “fag” was the worst insult you could give a boy, while in Olympia and Seattle, upscale white gay men were the most respected “minority group” around.

Fiction based on real-life celebrity caricatures is also nothing new. The New Yorker did it in the 1930s. South Park has been doing it for a decade.

Anyhow, there are further slash frontiers out there than Seattle Sound or Utne have bothered to explore. They include “femslash,” women writing about female fictional icons as if they were really lesbians. It might have started with fan-written stories about Xena and Gabrielle. It’s spread to include other SF/fantasy shows with at least two female cast members, and from there to other fictional universes. The grossest/most intriguing, depending on your tastes, might be the stories imagining half-sisterly cravings between Erica Kane’s daughters.

The Kress IGA Supermarket should finally open sometime this week. The pre-opening VIP gala occurred Monday evening.
(Yes, you may ask why I photographed this event, but didn’t try to get into many SIFF-related parties and didn’t photograph the one I was at. I won’t answer, but you can ask.)
At the gala, the store’s many local suppliers (particularly in the deli and to-go-meals section) showed off their products. Reps from the city and the Downtown Seattle Association were on hand to wish the store and its Whidbey Island-based owners well.
I think it’ll succeed, even though it’s opening at a time when retailers in general are facing rough seas, and even though it’s in a basement, and even though it has no dedicated parking, and even though independently-owned groceries have taken a dive in this state (concurrent with the decline and fall of the Associated Grocers co-op).

The place just feels right. It’s not gargantuan (without the prepared-meals section, it’s about the size of an old ’60s-era supermarket), yet it’s got a complete selection. Prices are at least competitive with those at the big chains. (IGA is a member-owned franchise operation, whose presence in Washington has ebbed and flowed over the decades.)

Even the deli part, which is obviously intended as the store’s main profit center, serves up a lot of honest grub at honest prices. (Though I don’t understand why there’s a whole olive bar. But perhaps I’m not hep to the whole olive revival thang.)