For those of you not familiar with the Boognish, allow me to introduce you. The Boognish is that spiky-headed fellow you see there looming in the top left portion of the frame of the above the band. Cute Little guy, eh? He's kind of what the Dancing Bear is to the Grateful Dead. Only if you had your back up against the wall and some twisted weirdo was going to slit your throat in a dark Detroit alley, the Boog is the one you want to have your back. Whereas the bloodshot eyed little Dead Bear would most probably just offer the hell bent attacker some dope and a sheepish grin. He's quite a little ass kicker, that Boognish. A suitable totem for one of the most rockenist bands to ever emerge from the right coast of our continent.
So, if you don't know Ween. I'm sorry I can't help you, your just too damn lost. It's a journey one must navigate on his or her own. But for those of you that do know the band I must say that they truly rocked Seattle to its' very soggy core. I've been going to these shows for about a decade now, and I can honestly say that they have actually gotten tighter. Deaner's guitar playing has always been vicious and Gener's vocal range impressively wide & powerful. But this last show truly blew me away. Here's the setlist:
1. Fiesta 2. Take me away 3. Transdermal Celebration 4. Waving my dick 5. Richard Smoker 6. Learnin 2 Luv 7. Voodoo Lady 8. Yer Party 9. Spinal Meng 10. Buckingham Green 11. Happy Colored Marbles 12. Mutilated Lips 13. My Own Bare Hands 14. Touch My Tooter 15. Gabrielle 16. Zoloft 17. Johnny on the Spot 18. Object 19. Bananas & Blow 20. Little Birdie 21. Hammer Down 22. Final Alarm 23. Ice Castles 24. Mollusk 25. Booze Me Up 26. Ocean Man 27. Pony 28. Fat Lenny ENCORE 1. Lullaby 2. Drifter in the dark 3. Mucuss Off my brain 4. Fluffy
When we arrived at the Paramount Theater in downtown Seattle, I was a little nervous about the actual existence of my press pass. I showed my I.D. to the guy in the will call window, and just like that I got my envelope. In it was one ticket for the show - absent a press pass. When I inquired of the missing credentials, I was curtly informed by Mr Will Call that there was nothing else in the envelope, but all cameras are allowed in and that I should get the hell out of the way. Fair enough, I got a free ticket to see Ween. And this allowed me to give the tickets that I had purchased to a couple of friends.
Off to a long line and a pat down. When it became my turn to get groped, my camera was immediately put into question. "Yo, what'd they say 'bout dese cameras?!' 'My, the ape can speak,' I barely kept from spilling from my mouth. After a bit of confusion and a couple of radio transmissions later, I was ushered over to a leathery old woman who handed me a pen. They wished me to sign the typical consent form stating that I was not to sell any of these images for profit or else forever suffer torment, eternal damnation, etc. I signed my mark, printed my name and went to turn away when the raggy old lizzard croaked, "Ya signed where you were supposed to print your name!" I looked at the page, pointed at the ineligible scribble above the signature line and asked, "Can you read that line?" "No, " she hissed. Tapping my finger on the line above the please print name I reply, "Then this one is clearly the printed name." I walk away and wonder why everyone is trying to stop me from getting a beer.
The tickets I got for my friends were Balcony, G/A. I had a floor seat. It wasn't a tough decision. I would much rather enjoy this show with my friends than elbow my way to the front just for a couple of pictures. I've seen these guys before, and I've got some great images from those shows. Besides, Leslie had the flask of whisky and I wasn't going to stray far.
We grab our beers and head up to find a seat. Immediately we are turned away, no beer allowed outside the lobby. What kind of show are they running in this place. It's like walking into Burmese embassy. The moment you step inside, your rights are automatically revoked. We slam our beers, and head on in to catch the show, already in progress. Standing on the balcony, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I take out my camera to snap off a couple of frames. My arm is instantly seized by some sort of Amazonian tree dweller. My camera almost fumbles to the ground. "No!!" she screams. I'm a little confused, and a bit light headed from slamming an full cup of I.P.A in like 42 seconds. I ask her what the hell her issue is. Then regrettably think that may be too long of an answer that I care to hear. Luckily she dodged that arrow, and asked if I had a press pass. "As a matter of fact, I do!" I retort with as much smugness as humanly possible. Then follow up with, "I got it from the band manager, Greg." Still thinking that I'm trying to con her, she demands to see the pass. Shit. I explain that I signed a consent form when I came in and that no actual passes were issued. Just like that she said "OK." That's it?! No 'Oh sir I'm sorry I grabbed your arm and almost made you drop your camera then yelled into your face. I march up the stairs, find us some seats and Leslie hands me the flask.
Fuck it, I was there to have fun. And we had a blast! Josh & Leslie got to see their first Ween show. Afterwards, we went out for Sushi. Then Josh did the Hula. Good times were had by all.