hot avocados photography :: blog edition

hey. hi. how's it going? rad. me too. life is busy busy busy. here's some highlights from the last month or so in my world:

the forces of whatever decided to collide, and I suddenly found myself with a recurring gig for city arts magazine as of january '10. (I know!) so there'll be a little bit of a posting delay as I have to wait for each month's ish to go to print before I can post, but I promise, they'll be well worth it. case in point, the song show at the triple door -- love love love. so much fun. such great artist, such great performances, and more hometown whole-heartedness than you could shake a stick at.

earlier that night, they sent me out to the croc to cover the school of rock's recital -- kids doing covers of northwest bands after completing a semester of music school. we heard a few cuts from built to spill, death cab, and most notably a tremendous rendition of "more than shapes" by the long winters, featuring a real live long winter -- total cute overload.

next up was the mayor's inaugural party at showbox sodo, where I got to spend my night shooting on an all-access pass (read: our mayor is rad, and he likes to chill out in the green room, ps) with the kids from fences and hey marseilles. there's a whole slew of shots from the night up on flickr, which I'll link back to here (along with the rest of the sets I shot for city arts) after the print release comes out on tuesday.

and this is my desk.

and this is my 'hood.

and I rode a train with a bunch of people, and they all took their pants off.

I'm just saying.

up & coming: a leg down to LA for chris pureka's closeout residency show at the hotel cafe (with a little love from fences), another gibbard / farrar / roderick set (showbox, this sunday), and whatever february decides to bring besides rain. and prefunking sxsw. and keeping my fingers crossed for a pass to wilco. and some kind of all-out sad bastard fest for valentine's day.

yours in the anti- of all things hallmark,
viva*

Blog now, or forever hold your... photos, I suppose. Let's do what we can to clear the cache for 2010:

Hey there. How's it going?

Seriously. Not that I mind seeing photos of my two favorite lead singers ever (in the history of ever) every time I drive by the site, but you're all probably sick of them by now. So here's the rest of August & September:

First off, Frank Black Black Francis at the Triple Door. No bigs. (Obviously I'm joking. This was so good, it bordered on life-altering -- check it here and here.)

Then, I got to kick it imaginary-style at Marymoor for the Flaming Lips -- holy crap. The show these guys put on can only be described as what church would be like if people like me went to church. All love and music and leafblowers rigged up to shoot an endless supply of confetti. And a million balloons. And just all-around goodness. And Wayne. And then more music. And maybe some people in furry animal costumes. And more confetti. Which is my new favorite word, PS.

"Confetti."

Then some lovely people I work with got married, and we all drove out to the middle of nowhere to celebrate. Apparently Becky makes one hell of a cake(s). Amazing, edible sugar-flower laden, magical, kitchen-diva-esque cakes. The cake toppper kind of freaked me out, but whatever. Drop me a line if you want Becky to make you a cake of unicorn-like proportions for your next party.

I'm serious.


Heartless Bastards and the Avett Brothers blew my mind a few weeks ago. You can read all about it here.

Harvey Danger had their last show ever (ever) (for real ever) (not having another one next year -ever) at the Croc, and the place was so jam-packed full of semi-rabid fans that I couldn't get more than halfway through the room. Thus the shots from mid-floor. But Laura rocked the hell out of the earlier set and graciously posted her shots for our gawking pleasure.

And two weekends ago, ISB shut down and we all bus-tripped it to Fort Worden for my company retreat. The room pretty much looked like a jail cell that had been warmed up a bit, in reality we were staying in some revamped Army barracks. Except they didn't revamp the original One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest-style metal hospital beds. You could have shot a whole depressed -rexo/heroin addict American Apparel ad in our room, or maybe an album cover. It kind of sucked. But the rest of the place was magically pretty.

I'm off to ACL next weekend on an imaginary press pass, which will be my last trip in a series of crazy trips that fall under the justification of "I have a real job with sick time and a steady, decent paycheck." (I'll just have to make do with the bands that decide to stop in Seattle for fall tour. Poor me.) Until then, I'll be out soaking up the rest of the sun that our fair city has seen fit to bestow upon us to end the season -- I'm ready for fall, but I'm being told to go out and get it while I can. Apparently I'll be clamoring for days like today a few months from now. Still, it's weird to be drinking a pumpkin spice latte when it's 86 degrees out.

So I'll see you when it starts raining. Or something like that.

*Victoria

Did I really just type that? OhmygawdIreallydid. This all actually happened. Let's take it from the bottom up:

Last weekend I went on a little road trip. Air trip. See, Glen Hansard was playing what turned out to be an almost split-show with Sam Beam, for a benefit. In Austin. I talked myself into covering it a while back, not thinking prior to about how I'd be in Texas in July, or where I would stay, or how the logistics would work out. It was a hundred dollar difference in my plane ticket from the already quasi-ridiculous plan I had to go to Chicago for back-to-back Wrens shows. I mean, really. Glen. Hansard. And I'd never been to Austin. And what's a girl to do, anyway, after hearing about a show like that? Put a hundred (or two) bucks in the bank and be happy about how good it felt to be financially responsible? No way. So off I went.

I wrote all about it rather reservedly here, and posted the pictures as per usual. But if you want the whole truth -- you guys, really: it was fucking staggering. I almost threw up, a couple of times, watching the entire set wedged behind the stage-left speaker stacks out of view from the rest of the crowd. Glen was disheveled, and undeniably true, and about ten feet away from my face, and had the same guitar with the same holes I'd seen so many times, and he just screamed and yelled and laughed and sang his sad-bastard Irish heart out. Literally screaming, song-screaming, through the anguish of "Leave" all half-bent over with a red face and those achy, heartbreaker eyebrows... guh. Unreal.

And that was more than enough, but to boot he juxtaposed all that achy-breaky with some Pixes and some lighter notes, notably the blissy fun-ness of lines like I don' like drinkin'... I fouckin' LOVE IT... laughing and yowling and bouncing his voice throughout the venue during the chorus of a children's song for the encore. To be so close for all of that, like we were back at the Paradise, and all the disdained, broken sounds his voice made at the ends of his sentences, just piling up in little batches at my feet, and the chills that it sent up my spine in the three-figure temperatures -- it's still only an arm's length away, along with the buzz of the air conditioner and the sway of the soft motel bed, all freshly embedded in my mind. Over a week later, still stunned with the sweetest show hangover, not to mention crying through several songs in Sam Beam's set, and some elbow-bumping afterwards at the local bars.

And before I forget - the rest of Austin was great, too. Per Patrick's recommendations, I stayed at the Austin Motel, grabbed coffee at Jo's, swam in Barton Springs, and drove all over the place digging on the downtown. It was beyond hot, but then I don't know if it would have felt right without all the hot, if that makes sense.

So right before all that, there was this:

I know. Right? Jesus. I'm still crushing.

Ditto for these kids: there was much restraint of pen and a batch of shots that came out onto the imaginary internets earlier this week -- but with the equal force and blown-away-edness as I stated for Glen Hansard's performance, let me just tell you: the two nights I spent with the Wrens were positively life-altering. Both nights ruled the school, on Friday Stephanie and I got pulled up two songs into the set to play piano; Saturday, three encores and a bunch of shit off Secaucus. Friday, hang-time with Kevin and Greg; Saturday, chit-chat and an assload of complimentary merch from Jerry.

Every minute of the sets were sweaty and loud and tremendous, the energy was positively electric, and all four of these guys were just completely adorable in a rocked-out, grown-up band-guy kind of way. It's always so funny with them, to chit-chat before the set, everyone's so nice and so happy to be playing, and then cut to full-throttle freakout for the performance. Shift back to chit-chat post show, like nothing ever happened -- they're the same guys, and we're left totally reeling, wide-eyed and giddy and all wasted with show. Like it's effortless, the full-throttle plugged-in purposeful deconstructedness, like it's tuning in and out of a radio station or something. All simple and perfect and fantastic.

Speaking of radio stations, or whatever, the rest of Chicago was rad, too:

I find it quite amusing that as I type about the Wrens, I get Pfizer spam in my gmail. Awesome.

But yeah - Chicago kicked ass. The subway system was fantastic, I felt at home, I got to spend a nice chunk of time checking out Wicker Park with Mary Jones... and I stayed in the nicest hotel I think I've ever been to in my life, ever. It was gorgeous and pristine and modern and I felt like I needed to be dressed up to go to bed or something. See also: greatest shower in America, with glass walls and lit-up mirrors and fluffy bathrobes like they have in the movies. No joke. The room even had an iPod docking station with the most excellent surround sound system known to man.

It must sound like I'm exaggerating. But really - the whole thing was tremendous, start to finish.

And then right before all that, there was this:

View chicago time in a larger map

did I mention already how excited I am about chicago?

seven days & counting. interview confirmed. tour guides in place. and me, attempting not to throw up on my shoes.

I know. STFU, right?

Right. Not kidding.

Get this:

So Chris asked me if I wanted to shoot the soundcheck, and of course, I was all over it. After will call not having our information, and waiting around for what seemed like forever, one of the venue guys came out to tell us that it was time to head inside -- for a private press performance. This was Tori with accompaniment, full-on full production, doing a private performance for the press. And by 'press' I mean Zune, Spin, and us. Yup. So, we got a private show. A good six or seven minute song, during which I shot close to a hundred and eighty pictures, and tried not to throw up on my shoes.

The actual real-time performance was as exquisite as our prequel - you can read all about it here.

Another groovy thing I got to do a few weekends ago was shoot a bunch of Joni's art. I've made the poor gal wait just about forever to do this job for her, and it's finally done. We did some huge hi-res cropped files that she can make prints out of, for the pieces that were too big for her scanner. I've got to say, the set really came out nice. I'm so excited to work with new friends, and of course to have more juju for my portfolio.

One more thing: the Long Winters (sort of) played a show (set) at the Sunset last week, a super lo-fi surprise bag of goodness. Between Medicine Cabinet Pirate, Car Parts, and Cinnamon -- and the fact that it was happening at a quasi-private semi-secret gig (with a stage two feet off the floor and about just as far from where I was standing) makes it all the more rad. I didn't have my camera with me, but I did shoot a little mini-clip of a video that we posted up yonder. It ruled!

I'm off to rest up for my big self-inflicted birthday present trip-a-tron 2009, wherein I will fly to Chicago next Friday, see the Wrens play back-to-back nights, sneak in an interview, geek out around the city, leave Sunday for Austin (where it will be a cozy 110 in the shade, I'm sure), dig the city, go to the Glen Hansard / Iron & Wine benefit I talked myself into getting comped for, and hop a flight home Tuesday at 6am. Bonkers, right? I should have enough time to blog all about it with all the airport action happening, so stay tuned.

Holy ____.

Hearts, fastened seatbelts, and top five lists,
*Victoria

What an excellent, excellent pair of shows to be hitting up the blog with this week. Really.

I just about lost my cookie over the Tripwires / YFF set at the Tractor two Fridays ago - it was a tremendous set of sets. I'll spare you all my adjective -- you can watch me gush all over it in the most imaginary of ways here, and dig on the full set of pictures here. Too sweet.

Then, last Tuesday, I had the good fortune of seeing my friend Tom Brosseau for more than a passing moment when he came into town for a show. Typically it's show-leave, or arrive-show-leave, but this time around it seemed like an honest-to-goodness visit: an in-studio at KEXP, a Mariners game, dinner, a gig at the Tractor, and then the leave. Phew! It feels like Tom has officially transitioned from a musician I've become friends with to a friend that's a musician... I'm so lucky to have crossed paths with him and Mary (and now Ethan and Shelly as well), and I'm as equally pleased to have a fresh new album of his in my hot little hands, Posthumous Success.

I'm quite sure I'll take some of my time with Tom into further discussion on my personal blog, but for the sake of avocados (and because I can't write about friends over at 3IG) I've got to spend a moment talking about the evolution of Tom's sound -- it's been quite the journey to witness. We chatted for a while about his stride, musically I mean... it's great to sit down and determine from an observer's perspective that there's nothing Tom sounds like but Tom. Layers of Tom, growing and passing through life and travels Tom, skeletons with and without clothes. People ask me about his songwriting (you know, "so what does he sound like?") and I always launch off into this diatribe about it: earnest young man from North Dakota with a suitcase full of punk rock records-plus-insanely observant storytelling-plus-this haunted, otherworldly sound... a good kind of crazy, an identifiable kind of disturbed that leaves most audiences slack-jawed and wanting.

That's our TB. For me, anyway.

It's still too sunny out to post much. But I'll make it back over here soon, promise.

*Victoria

This was a rad show.

See the date on that? April 4th. Really. Like, two and a half months ago. It's partially me being hung up on sun, and partially having to save up for my photo editing software. However - the proverbial game is on, as they say. Except for the sun being out and me not wanting to spend any time at a computer... well, what I do take the time to post will be good. And the projects I'm going to get into this winter are going to be pretty outstanding, as far as I can tell.

So, yeah. "Awesome" + Tullycraft (!!) + Iji = mega goodness. And the posters were tight, too.

This is from my boss' seats at Safeco. That's right - my new home field. You know, Not Fenway. It's super bonkers to be backing up another team, but I want to get behind my city now, you know? Apparently due to the transplant rate, you get a pass for cheering on the Mariners and then backing up your team when they're playing anyone but the Mariners. Case in point, we were at the Sox / Mariners game on my birthday weekend, and I cheered for the Mariners. I've been told that this is punishable by government torture, but I'm doing it anyway.

And I still hate the Yankees. If that counts for anything.

And last but not least, I got to cover Neko Case for 3IG. I was super-stoked for the achy awesome echo of deliciousness that she rings out, you know, the shit that makes you pull the car over - only this night, not so much. The sound was off, the stage was kind of lost in the hugeness of the venue, and it sort of felt like we were at practice for an MTV Unplugged session. There were a handful of moments where she found that thing - where I caught my breath and got lost in the silence that followed her notes - but they were the exception, not the rule. As Kristin likes to put it, "We could have stayed home and just put the album on real loud." But I'm happy to have gone all the same.

So, for the up & coming... I'm much too tired to actually get up and get the book out, but there's a handful of things off the top of my head - Tom Brosseau has an in-studio next Tuesday and a show at the Tractor next Wednesday, and hopefully I can get to both (well, I'm shooting the Tractor, but I really want to go down to the station too). The Tripwires are playing tomorrow night - Friday - at the Tractor, with the Young Fresh Fellows - super low-key famous dudes doing full frontal rock & roll, two feet in front of my face. Woot! (And I think I might have a +1, too - double woot!) I'm hoping to get in for the Avett Brothers, Harvey Danger's Last Show Ever (Ever) is at the end of August, and a ton more stuff that I know I'm spacing on right now. More Pearly Gate, maybe sneaking in to the Triple Door for Rodriguez - I'll put a calendar up early next week when my boss is out of town.

Oh, PS - I've been putting up songs for my friend Eric's slideshows on his photography blog. It's rad. I feel a little self-conscious about it, since we're both really laid back about the writing (well, I think it's stupid, and Eric loves all of it, so laid-back is somewhere in the middle of those, I think). After a few more posts go by, I'll send the link along so you can point and laugh at how I describe getting all achy over the Long Winters or whatever.

Off to the races - brb, promise!

*Victoria

better late than never, n'est-ce pas?


We'll skip the part where the crowd from 88 Keys kind of ruined the show, and just leave the pretty pictures up instead. Looks like a great show, right? Right. There definitely wasn't a patch of chicks that mistook the Crocodile for a bachelorette party stop, and they definitely didn't ruin the vibe, and J. Tillman & Co. definitely didn't turn up beyond loud to kill the din of people at the bar and eventually walk off the stage in disgust.

In all seriousness, Pearly Gate killed it, and it was almost a really awesome show.

Related news: I've got LightRoom. There's much more to follow, as soon as we run out of sun.

x.
vvb