History sometimes requires preservation over renovation
History is not always beautiful – but that does not mean it is not worthy of preservation.
I’ve been thinking about what we save, what we discard, and what that means moving forward a lot recently. It was, I suppose, initiated by the news that the dressing room hallway, which had the signatures, backstage passes, and messages of admiration for the venue of almost every performer that strode across the stage, had been painted. All those names, all those memories, gone. In the interest of full disclosure, I worked, for a time, at the Miller, so those memories were my own as well. But those signatures were history and, sadly, some of those performers are no longer with us. I know, for instance, there was a Kris Kristofferson signature. Gone.
Was the hallway lovely to look at? No. It was a jumble, drawing the eye this way and that. For every Chris Isaak signature – which included a beautifully-rendered cartoon of himself – there was the multi-colored boasts of the lucky-to-be-there R&B act that claimed far too much real estate. That was the recent history of this incredible venue captured. We haven’t scrubbed the hard-scrabble handprints off the walls of Cueva de las Manos in Spain, and they have been cluttering up the joint for almost 10,000 years.
The loss of these signatures and, I am guessing, the tradition of collecting them, has me thinking about what we save, what we discard and the reasons why. The decision to save or destroy, after all, is not binary. It’s a complicated decision that involves what those memories mean versus the need to move forward. I have heard that some of the signatures have been photographed, but that’s not really the same.
With that in mind, here is this week’s Magic Three, each of which touches on the idea of conservation versus destruction.
The Corner Grocery
I’m not sure there is anyone left that remembers when the brick building on the corner of Central Avenue and Monte Sano was a grocery store. In fact, it probably came as a surprise when, during the building’s restoration and remodeling, the remnants of a hand-painted sign emerged along the roof line. A surprise that prompted discussion. Where do you go from here? Will the sign be covered back up? It might clash with the beauty store that is planned for that space. It certainly wasn’t included in the architectural rendering I saw. So yes, probably. My preference, obviously, is that the sign is stabilized and kept for all of us history heads to enjoy. I suspect, however, that it will be covered back up. Maybe that is ok, as long as it is left to be rediscovered in another 100 years.
A Modest Proposal
I understand that we are all sick of sticks. The landscape is now dominated by stacks and piles of sticks, logs, branches, and stumps. Every commute is marked by these painful reminders of what was lost.
But here is the thing – some of them are kind of beautiful.
My thought is this, what if we commissioned some sort of public work – in my mind it is a bronze statue – depicting a once proud tree sawed off and on its side. Something that feels both figurative and abstract. Something permanent that reminds us of this historic moment but still allows us the catharsis of clearing the lumber from our lanes. I see it as a way to preserve the memory while still moving forward.
Return of the Conquering Chicken
I was enamored, from afar, with the music coming out of Seattle in the early 1990s. This was, in part, due to my personal connections with the city, but I also loved that very particular sound that combined punk, 1960s garage rock, and big hook pop. While some of those acts – Nirvana, Sound Garden, Pearl Jam – found real success, others remained more obscure. There are hundreds of reasons why. Breakups, bad deals, and never quite developing that sound that would distinguish them from the feedback masses were, more often than not, to blame. Those are sad stories. But not as sad as the story of one of my favorite Seattle acts from this period – the Gits.
The Gits had real promise. Catchy, but with real edge that made the band and its songs feel authentic and immediate. The songs were smart, confessional, and engaging – fight songs for a flailing generation. Much of the credit goes to the band’s charismatic lead singer Mia Zapata. Sadly, just as the band was beginning to catch the wave that might have garnered it real success, Zapata was raped and murdered in 1993. Her killer was not captured until 2003.
And while the band was remembered fondly, and even reformed occasionally for certain special causes, Zapata’s loss was, understandably, the end of the band.
So it has been nice, this week, to spend a little time with the newly remastered records –released by Seattle’s Sub Pop. Of particular note are “Frenching the Bully” and “Enter: The Conquering Chicken,” released after Zapata’s death. Crystal clear but without sacrificing any of the DIY dirt that made the Gits sound special, it’s a time capsule of what was and a speculation on what might have been. History preserved – thankfully.