I WAS ONCE one of those who scoffed at the Folklife Festival as the “Forklift Festival.” That was back during the apex/nadir of smug boomer culture, when I’d come to define myself by my rebellion against the hammered dulcimer and everything it stood for.

But in my own creeping middle age (birthday next Tuesday, hint-hint guys!), I’ve come to appreciate the festival’s broad range of acts. The costumed dancers, the bagpipe players, all the accordion players, the tile artists, the butoh and kabuki troupes.

Besides, folk culture is the original DIY culture. It’s by the people, of the people, and for the people. And it’s the original bastion of female creativity.

So let’s all be, as the cable show says, queer as folk.

Finally saw a complete episode of American Idol. Like most “reality” shows, it constructs a very specific, detailed fictional “reality.” This particular show’s fabulist conceit is that the banal rehashing of ’70s soul music is, and always has been, the main and only form of popular vocal music in the U.S.

A few years back, some baby-boomer intellectual wrote a book in which she whined about Those Kids Today, whose music didn’t got the same soul as that old time rock n’ roll. I don’t know if that author’s an Idol viewer, but the show’s conceit might fit her idea of a musical utopia, in a “be careful what you wish for” way.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, KOMO-TV anchordude Dan Lewis has started each 11 p.m. newscast on the station’s roof. This serves no journalistic purpose. I can only imagine three non-journalistic purposes for the ongoing stunt:

• To make the broadcast seem Important and Relevant, even though it’s usually a rehash of the most gruesome personal events already exploited at 5 and 6:30;
• To show off how Lewis’s carefully sculpted hair can remain perfectly in place, no matter what the weather;
• To let Lewis repeatedly drop the name “Fisher Plaza,” the station owners’ block-long, massively under-occupied office development.

…almost-vaguely-sort-of, for some of its past pro-war cheerleading: “…We have found a number of instances of coverage that was not as rigorous as it should have been.”

Elsewhere on the same shovelware site, our ol’ pal and Oly indie-pop legend Lois Maffeo defends the right of oldsters such as herself to keep going to rock shows, and the right of youngsters to make their own music even if the oldsters don’t approve. (Here’s the original essay to which Maffeo’s responding.)

…yet most charming, piece of protest music this year comes from none other than Mr. “Look on the Bright Side” himself, Eric Idle.

LAST FRIDAY, a “Broken Record” party occurred at the Crespinel gallery space in Belltown.

It was a promo event for our ol’ pal Peter Blecha’s new book Taboo Tunes: A History of Banned Bands and Censored Songs. The book’s a scholarly, yet gripping, saga relating many of the myriad ways people have tried to silence other people’s creative expressions over the years.

Strictly speaking, Blecha doesn’t write about the censoring of “music” per se. He writes about the censoring of music-related creations—lyrics, band names, album art, and dancing.

At the exhibit (still up for the next week), the words and images associated with music are carefully preserved and protected, in the form of framed album covers, sheet-music covers, and posters. It’s the music itself that gets trashed, in the form of irreplacable 78s smashed around the gallery floor.

I disapprove of this destruction. I say: Be kind to your old 78s. You might be one yourself one day.

Among those who had a “smashing” time: Guest DJs Mark Arm and Krist Novoselic (above), Squirrels fun-popster Rob Morgan, and jazzman Maurice.

…a “new” celebrity category—the non-singing, non-dancing, music video model. I guess the NYT finally got cable, some two decades too late.

“Have a moisted weekend! (April 30 to May 3)This weekend is all about taking it into low gear going out, but maybe upping the attention on personal appearance just a touch. For instance, your feet. Are they a nasty shade of tallow white with yellow toenails? Maybe it’s time you got a pedicure. You can’t wear boots all year round. (Please don’t). Anyway, take a long draw from your favorite beverage, get yourself moisted, because it’s going to be a fabulous, fun weekend.

By the way, I’m thinking that FREE is really in right now, so this week’s column is going to be devoted to free and cheap.

FRIDAY, APRIL 30: It’s your last chance to party it up right this April, so here’s an idea. (This next one I cribbed from Mike Nipper at the Stranger, who, if you’re a usual reader of my column, you realize is the cutest, most unavailable, somewhat androgynous writer this side of the Rockies. And he’s got good taste).

‘WOGGLES, GIRL TROUBLE, LOS PELIGROSOS (Fun House): Fuck YEAH! I swear, even though they’ve been beset by the tragic loss of their ace ax man George Holton (AKA Mister Montague), the Woggles have rebounded respectfully and gracefully and have been workin’ some of that sweet, fine Wogglin’ ass right the hell off! And dammit if the Woggles don’t always impress me, not so much for their fucking ace of a stage performance… which is heavenly… but for their cool, always clean and perfectly executed, sweat drippin’ ‘n’ riff rippin’ ’60s-style garage rock. And, by the way, their latest LP, Ragged but Right, is a damn fine testimony, Woggle style!’

The only problem with this show is that it’s at the Fun House, which is basically Zak’s. That place was gross. I’m not sure how I feel about its reincarnation. If you’ve been there, email me and tell me whether I should check it out.

Another idea is to see a fun show at Patti Summers (great place for the first day of summer!) Blank Its are having a record release party there, and will be joined by the Dead Vampires, Leatherboy, $5, 21+. This show has the advantage of being close to Le Pichet and The Alibi Room, both of which are great places to whet your whistle.

SATURDAY, MAY 1: Despite what calendars say, May 1 always feels like the beginning of summer. You crave freshness. So, check out DJ Superjew (Marianne)’s opening (sounds like it’s FREE):

Pattern vs Happenstance opens Saturday May 1 7-11pm at the Black Lab Gallery (4216 6th Ave NW at Leary in Ballard) Show runs May 1-24. **also starring Dawn Cerny, Tory Franklin, David Herbert, DW Burnam, others… see http://www.sublevelthree.com for more info.

You’ll also want to go to Linda’s anytime in the evening (at least by 7:45 p.m.). Besides the usual patio and pool fun, there’s a birthday party for this really great guy named Paul who works for the Stranger whose last name I can’t ever remember. Anyway, you probably know him. If not, I’m sure you guys would get along great (he’s very loveable).

Lastly, I hope to end up at a ‘monumental’ brit-pop night at Mulleady’s Pub (on Dravus St.; 9p.m.-2a.m.; free; 21+). The host, Coulter, claims he has rare Morrissey for us. For those of you who drink Guiness, this would seem to be the night for it.

Just so you know, if you’re in LA this weekend, don’t bother w/ Coachella. Apparently that is not the thing to do. The thing to do would be to go to the SMELL (one of my favorite clubs in LA) to see Old Time Relijun. They are from Olympia and for someone who isn’t really into that whole Olympia thing, I really like this band.
SUNDAY, MAY 2 at 10:00pm, episode one of DOOMED PILOT will air on channel 27 (the pubic access station). Per Christian, ‘Doomed Pilot is a half-hour collection of short experimental film and video curated by yours truly, featuring work by Jon Behrens, Sebastian Del Castillo, Ryan Adams, William Weiss, and  crimsonclover- essentially a who’s who of bed-wrecking cinematic pretentiousness.’

Who could resist that?! I hear there may be a screening party. Drop me a line if interested and I’ll see what I can do. slowdiva@yahoo.com

MONDAY, MAY 3: OF MONTREAL, THE MINDERS, TERRENE (Sunset). Elephant 6 is still so cool, and it’s a nice little venue. Let’s go, shall we? It’s only $7. That beats the pants off of Snow Patrol at the Croc for $12. Come ON, Croc. Ever hear of capitalism? It’s based on competition for people’s cash. Might want to try it sometime.

Whatever you do, have a great time. And don’t drink and drive with disgusting yellow toenails. If you’re going to run the risk of going to jail and wearing those jail flip-flops, you need to get your nails done.

Love, Heather

P.S.:  For those of you who think “moisted” is not a word:

MOISTED, a. Made moist. Also (occas.): that moistens. 1549-62 T. STERNHOLD & J. HOPKINS Whole Bk. Psalms cxvi. 8 Thou hast deliuered… my moisted eien from mourneful teares. (Thanks, Catleah).

…to our, and just about everyone’s, fave mondo-movie re-releaser, Mike Vraney of Something Weird Video, on the occasion of his really cute widower-and-son profile in the P-I today.

Heather Rogers, who derives more enjoyment from drag shows than I do, contributes the following second installment of personal entertainment recommendations:

“Hello you pretty people,

Today’s Earth Day, so cut the whole “I’m so over the whole PC thing… I gave up recycling in ’94 along with my Birks” attitude. Today’s a great day to do something good. Like make a window box of flowers. Or get your soil tested for lead and arsenic and report the results to the city (it’ll help you with your lawsuit later on!). And you know what—you’re helping the environment RIGHT NOW—by reading fabulous online media (although I know a lot of you print out my column so you can read it in the bathtub while touching your “special place”. But I forgive you, you dirty doggies!)

Speaking of special places, you need to read Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. It’s Hedwig chilled and served with a slice of baklava. It’s a fuller Bildungsroman. It’s fabulous. I know I mentioned it last time, but I don’t think enough of you are actually reading it yet. Plus if you want to be part of Nerd Out book club, you need to read it. Our next meeting is May 9 at 3 pm. There will be a special screening of Hedwig following the meeting, featuring erotic food. Email me for more details at slowdiva@yahoo.com.

Now, onwards to what the hell are you going to do this weekend:

Make time this weekend for the MC5 True Testimonial film at the Little Theatre. It’s playing April 23-29 (no show Mon.) at 608 19th Avenue East, $7. Dir: David C. Thomas. This will also go along great with Middlesex because it, too, will Detroit race riots in the late ‘60s, albeit from a very different perspective. Plus, a rare MC5 photo show following the film Dial 206- 675-2055 for more info.

Tonight: Rest up—you’ve got a busy weekend ahead of you.

FRIDAY NIGHT, the favorite choice is the BIG GAY DANCE NIGHT at Chop Suey. Or you could check out the Turn-Ons and Film School at the Croc. But I think we all need a little big gay dancing right now. (Oh, underagers—you could go see a cool band called Holy Ghost Revival at the Old Firehouse. But I’m mean and don’t like that venue, and I don’t go to the Eastside. Sorry! I’m a West End Girl now (see below for details).)

SATURDAY NIGHT, the music isn’t really making my slot go ca-ching, but I know what will… and you heard it hear first. Check out the window peep show at Salon Dewi, right by the Baltic Room. Travis the Waxing Diva will wax a girl’s private area (that is, PUSSY!) in public. Ooh, Naughty Naughty. Anyway, it starts at 10 pm and it’s free. Perfect—you have some din-dins over at Machiavelli, then watch some poor innocent girl (he always seems to talk some clueless little thing from the suburbs into this action—it reminds me of that sexy ravishing-of-the-innocent-girl scene in Interview with the Vampire. Yum.) have her icky old hair removed, exposing her oh-so-tender, flushed, peachy flesh… Then go to the Baltic Room after you’re all charged up and dance sweatily to house music with someone hot. OK!

Monday is actually the BIG NIGHT this weekend (or week, whatever). You have to choose between Kraftwerk at the Paramount and BLACK REBEL MOTORCYCLE CLUB and the Rapture at the Showbox. Whatcha gonna do now?  Huh?  (Tho’ I love BRMC and the Rapture, the correct choice is obviously KRAFTWERK. Duh. They’re playing only three American cities, I heard).

So, I’m moving to West Seattle this weekend, so I’m going to rely on my gentle (and rough) readers to give me the skinny, because though my ear will still be to the ground, the vibrations will have to travel farther to get to me. So, fork over your fab events and if it sounds cool, I’ll tell everyone.

You know what? I love you. I really, really do.”

BLENDER MAGAZINE thinks the worst song ever recorded is Starship’s “We Built This City.” I still stand by my declaration that no song other than Paul Anka’s “You’re Having My Baby” deserves, or might ever deserve, this status.

Heather Rogers has offered to post a weekly entertainment guide on this site. Here’s a sample she whipped up. Lemme know if you find it useful, and if you’d like more of its type:

“To-Do: Kill Bill Vol. 2 + shards of melted glass

OK. I admit it. I copped out. There were so many amazing things going on the past couple weeks that I just decided against ALL of them and stayed in reading Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides, which is wonderful, by the way. I hope you had fun doing your whatever it was you were doing. And happy birthday to NOLAN REYES (former promoter of Start! and good friend of mine)! That’s my one regret-not making it to Nolan’s b-day/welcome back from the Bay area deal last night. Sorry No-No-Nolan… school night.

Anyway, now I know you want to know what’s going on this weekend! So I’m gonna tell ya!

Well, tonight is a big night. There are a ton of fun things going on. But a can’t miss for me is Kill Bill Vol. 2. Kill Bill Vol. 1 was my absolute favorite by QT to date, so I’m thinking tonight will be super fun fun fun! I hope to go en masse with my crew, so if anyone’s planless, do give a ring-a-ding.

Continuing the theme of fab film, after Kill Bill Vol. 2, how about heading to the lovely Majestic Bay Theatres (2044 NW Market St in Ballard) at midnight to see a hilarious collection of shorts? I know you’ll want to see David Miller’s “Pickup,” which is a short adapted from his longer film “Shoot the Girl” (of which I’m a huge fan). It’s one of about 15 or so terrific pieces by respected and/or emerging and/or none-of-the-above artists. It’s $10 gen admission. For more info, check out http://www.artisttrust.org/events/Reel-movie-poster.gif. I’m such the early bird these days–hope I can stay up because I know it will be well worth it. Hey, SHORTS–much better than longs. If one should happen (which it won’t) to be boring, it’ll be over and on to the next thing in what, two minutes?

So, Saturday night, I’m going to the ‘secret’ U.S.E. house-party. (It’s like that stupid joke: how many Cha-Cha patrons does it take to screw in a light bulb? What, you don’t already know????) So, I’ve been instructed not to post the address all over hell ‘n halfa Georgia, but if you email a request to me, I’ll probably tell ya. Oh, and in case you wonder what U.S.E. is – wake up and go request United State of Electronica from KEXP or come to this party. They are literally the funnest band in Seattle to date.

Oh, and if that gets too crowded, Mama Casserole is spinning at Kicks! at the Twilight Exit. It’s free, 21+ and it’s always a good time, huh kids?

I’m sure there’s plenty of other things to do, but you’d have to be a goddamned moron not to want to do the aforementioned things. Because I’m pretty sure it’s all going to blow our minds to tiny little shards of melted glass before it’s all over.

Love ‘n lovin,

Heather Rogers”

I’ve avoided reviewing Fred Moody’s personal-essay book Seattle and the Demons of Ambition: A Love Story in the half-year it’s been out.

Perhaps I didn’t want to potentially hurt the feelings of Moody, a former acquaintance (and a fellow member, with me, of the dwindling breed of humans who still remember how to run a CompuGraphic phototypesetter).

Of course, Moody would cite that reluctance to criticize as part of the Old Seattle mindset, a zeitgeist marked by reflection, introversion, and near-fanatical politeness. To that, he contrasts a New Seattle, both dominated and demonized by rambunctious corporate go-getters out to unwittingly fulfill the city’s original name of “New York-Alki” (“…Pretty Soon”).

To his credit, Moody acknowledges the superficiality of this dichotomy. He also acknowledges his contradictory affections toward each side of this divided ideal. Too bad he doesn’t acknowledge some of the other holes in his narrative, and in the image he constructs of himself as your near-perfect Mr. Progressive Seattle.

Throughout the book, Moody tries to psychoanalyze his former home as if the city was one collective entity. He may have learned this limited perspective as an early staff writer at Seattle Weekly. He spends a lot of his book’s verbiage waxing about Weekly founder David Brewster, a benevolent dictator who’d imposed a singular ideological vision on what was, for a decade, the town’s only major “alternative” rag. Brewster’s vision of Seattle, to which Moody writes about eagerly agreeing, was of a town in which white, upscale, professional-caste baby boomers (such as Brewster and Moody) were the only people in sight, or at least the only people who mattered. Moody admits the paper’s myopia caused it to miss out on Seattle’s biggest arts story, the rise of the local rock scene—even though the Weekly and Sub Pop Records were housed in the same office building, and future Pearl Jam member Stone Gossard worked as a barista in the ground-floor cafe!

All these little prejudices were fundamental to the “Old Seattle” Moody nostalgizes about; or rather to the transitional Seattle of Moody’s local-journalism heyday, between the Boeing-dominated past and the Microsoft-dominated present. And squarely in that middle era, as big as the shoulder pads on an old Nordstrom office dress, lie the roots of the ambitious Seattle Moody rues.

Moody writes, with no little degree of self-congratulation, how he spotted the Microsoft phenom almost from the start, and got plenty of work from it for his typesetting enterprise in the pre-laser-printer years. Imagine, right there in Seattle’s prefab Eastside suburbs, an outfit not just surviving but getting rich and huge, all from this ephemeral “software” stuff, stuff made by writers, and employing writers to document it all! Ex-English majors were making enough money to buy houses, and even move to Bainbridge! How cool! So what if this home-computer technology would make phototypesetting obsolete; Moody would simply bounce back by writing a couple of books about the whole e-revolution.

But soon enough, it got out of hand. Dot-com hustlers raised millions in venture capital based on faulty or nonexistent premises, went bust, and left behind hordes of overmortgaged, overqualified ex-employees. The bad old days of the 1970 Boeing crash returned, only this time the food-bank lines were filled by NPR listeners and Weekly readers.

Moody sees the high-tech depression and the jobless recovery a well-deserved comeuppance for Seattle, a collective spanking for the city’s previous lusts for wealth and glory. He even sees the 1999 WTO riots (in which mostly out-of-town protesters ranted about out-of-town conventioneers) as a rebuke to Seattle’s will to “world class” status.

But that’s a silly overgeneralization, one of many in Moody’s book. He chides the city’s political/business nabobs for trying to artificially inflate their own importance, as he artificially inflates the importance of his statements about them.

He frequently admits, in a doth-protest-too-much type of confessing, how he, as a dutiful member of the Seattle establishment’s favorite constituency (upscale boomers), got caught up in the hype he was supposed to be covering. But even his mea culpa moments seem hyped-up, in that smug Big Chill-generation way.

I know Moody; I’ve read his prior books. I know he’s capable of better stuff than this.

Which is what I’d say to Seattle as well. The city doesn’t have to be World Class. But it can still be the best darned regional gathering place it can be.

And that’s not putting anybody down. That’s criticism meant to instruct, to improve. It’s something Moody, Seattle, and I need.

THE BRIT WEBMAG The Register has devised a dandy name for the major record labels (and, by extension, to much of the global-corporate realm): “Pigopolists.”

YOU KNOW cross-platform marketing synergies have gone too far when a Virginia outfit launches NASCAR Ballet!

Last Saturday, yr. ob’d’t web-editor was invited to “More Music @ the Moore,” a talent revue starring nine of the region’s top teen pop and jazz acts. It was structured like one of the old vaudeville shows the Moore used to host–each act got no more than ten minutes onstage, and the headliner was billed next-to-last.

In this case, the headliner was Seattle’s own American Idol semifinalist Leah Labelle (above). Like all the performers this night, she was strong on skill and spunk, a little light on originality.

Labelle was quite nearly upstaged by the act appearing just before her, ultra-tight Auburn rockers Mechanical Dolls. They’ve already played Graceland and EMP; look for ’em at an all-ages gig near you soon.

Other crowd-wowers included neo-soul combo As 1 (above), and sultry diva-ette Aleteena Mobley.