Wait until the music's over

60. Jukeboxes, corn and braces

Seattle is not Los Angeles and First Avenue is certainly not the Sunset Strip, but walking this street that almost entirely crosses the city from north to south is the best choice if you want to enter the heart of the Emerald City. And if you want to meet a musician or an artist of any kind, the area between First Avenue and Pike Street, before the market, or the border area between Belltown and Downtown, are the ones to keep an eye on. Not because of the live music venues, which certainly are not lacking, but because here you can find the ideal combination of goods and services particularly sought after by the just mentioned category: sex shops, pawnshops, second-hand shops, record shops, drug dealers and, above all, places to eat and drink super cheap. Whether they're signed to a major label or not, the average musician here is perpetually broke anyway and couldn't survive without places where they could get a decent meal for a few dollars. Many wonder why and how this fervent music scene developed in Seattle, bringing into discussion college radios, fanzines, independent labels on the one hand, isolation, cold, rain and not having shit to do but staying at home and listening to or making music on the other. In my opinion, however, there would be no Seattle sound without the cafes, diners and bars that feed and quench the thirst of the broke artists who have lived here forever or moved there to be part of the scene.

The Frontier Room is one of those holy places. It opens at six in the morning it could very well knock you out by half past seven. Drinks are cheap here and the bartenders are known for having a heavy hand. I'm at the bar with Layne, for a second round after the first round of introductions, small talk, and booze with Demri and Heather. I must say that girl is not bad, she is not even what I expected. I don't know why, but from the name, I pictured her as a sort of sex bomb all boobs and perm... not that I have anything against boobs or perms, God forbid! And I don't even mean that she's ugly, on the contrary. She is a beautiful girl, tall and thin with legs fir miles, blue eyes and dark hair, she could easily be a model and she would kill it, even walking the catwalk with the white sweater and the jeans she's wearing now. She also seems likeable and down to earth. In short, she would be my type. If I gave a damn. Layne walks off with gin and tonic for him and Dem, while I watch the bartender mix the two whiskey and coke for Heather and I at the same time. He basically fills whiskey glasses half full, then grabs the coke, and as he turns to talk to another guy, he doesn't notice that most of the drink he pours misses the target and ends up soaking the rag over the counter. When he finishes the exchange, he notices that the glasses are still just short of half empty so he tosses in some more whiskey. This is the secret of the Seattle sound: the places that give you more whiskey than coke, I hope live forever.

I grab my glasses and make my way over to my friends' table when I spot a smooching going on right between Layne and Demri. Nothing exaggerated, but enough to make me take a small U-turn in search of a diversion, which materializes right in front of me in the form of a jukebox. I set the glasses down on the machine and flip through the titles to waste some time, sorry Heather! I skip a lot of country music, not because I don't like it, but because I'm not in the right mood. Garth Brooks, Bob Seeger, there's a bit of classic rock, but I keep scrolling, partly because I want to be sure to find separated lips when I come back, partly because nothing particularly strikes me. Eagles? Ugh... Scorpions. WAIT. I stop there, for a double reason. Number one: I love this band. Number two: Angie hates this band. I don't think I've ever heard her say a bad word towards anyone other than the Scorpions, Bon Jovi and...um, well, yours truly. There is Love at first sight, easy, there's Animal Magnetism, which is my favorite album, there's also Crazy world, the latest, a good work, but certainly the most commercial. And I totally fall for that right now.

Wise man said just walk this way

To the dawn of the light...

Kenny Rogers finishes just as I get to the table with the drinks, Send me an angel begins and my three evening companions moan almost simultaneously. And they're not the only ones because I can almost hear a single moan run through all the people in the bar one after another as they listen to the ballad and reflect on the meaning of their lives. A little too depressing maybe, huh? The evening seems suddenly quieter and colder and perhaps not even the supercharged whiskey and coke is strong enough for this song. I think I've officially ruined everyone's night, at least until Heather gets up, at which point I think I've mostly ruined hers. And Dem and Layne's too. After all, they only want me to socialize like a normal person and I don't think they're asking too much but why has everything gotten so hard all of a sudden? Anyway, the girl doesn't pull up her jacket and bag to just up and leave with an excuse as I thought. She just takes a couple of coins from her pocket, winks at me and with a few strides reaches the jukebox. With the same grin on her face she scrolls through the titles, inserts her quarters, presses the buttons and returns to the table, while my song fades, leaving the bar in almost total and surreal silence. Heather doesn't sit down, but she looks at us, looks around and addresses the whole place judt as Rudolph Schenker starts playing some grittier chords.