Projecting The Light Fantastic -- The Psychedelic '60S Art Form Makes A Dazzling Comeback, Turning Music Into Theater

The light show started during the 1960s as a visual aid to the psychedelic experience. As psychedelic culture waned, so did its vibrant rays. But they now embellish a new entertainment arena, all-night "rave culture," with its digital dance beats. Raves renewed the art of exotic projections - and Seattle now boasts a range of expert practitioners.

By day, they are photographers, video artists and filmmakers. As the creators of light shows, they use exotic names: Oracle Dream Theatre, Stray Voltage, Seer Media. Theirs is the art of transforming mere event, turning music-driven moments into theater.

Their light shows differ from the ballroom shows of the '60s, when a technician's tools were slides, small film projectors and pools of liquid. Now they incorporate video loops and computer images. Yet one very human link binds revival and roots - a lighting guru who helped shape the art's Seattle comeback.

He is Michael Laton, a veteran of the legendary San Francisco scene (in Tom Wolfe's "The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test," Laton appears as the Topless Shoeshine Barker). Once a student at UCLA - where he studied cinema alongside The Doors' Jim Morrison - Laton soon migrated to North Beach and Haight-Ashbury.

There he learned the light-show trade from Ray Andersen, proprietor of The Holy See - a company that handled lights for the Fillmore Auditorium. There clients ranged from the Jefferson Airplane to Traffic. Laton, who had majored in drama, split his time between directing, day jobs and working on light shows. In spare moments he shot pool with Janis Joplin and was chauffeured by Jack Kerouac's traveling buddy, Neal Cassady.

Now Laton lives a quiet family life in Lynnwood, once more working by day in a restaurant. His sprawling house may be filled with '60s relics, but his record collection is up-to-date. Laton, one discovers, is one of life's enthusiasts, sprinkling every tale with exclamations. "Two times in my life," he exclaims, "I stared at my stereo. Once was when I heard Hendrix. Next time: the Sex Pistols!"

Laton moved to Seattle in 1980, where he fell in love with the band Red Masque - and began to create its light shows. These were seen by another band, Room Nine, who were soon demanding their own projections. These he did as "The Dream Machine Light Show." With a different title ("The Rebellious Jukebox and Dark Show"), he was also working a club, the Metropolis.

What did Laton's early projections look like? "Sometimes they were directly hooked into the music. Other times they would be film clips, like Montgomery Clift beating up John Wayne! I did literal soundtrack translations, using Jorge Luis Borges and J.G. Ballard. I always try to have a plot with my light show. After all, I came from the theater!"

One of Laton's first fans was Cam Garrett, then a music photographer for The Rocket. By day, Garrett made slides for an optical company. "At work, I was always listening to music. So I was sort of doing slide shows in my head."

Because Laton's art seemed familiar to Garrett, he wondered why no one else was trying it. So he introduced himself and asked some questions. But fate intervened in their blossoming friendship, when Laton's eldest son was killed by a drunken driver.

"I stopped working with anyone," says Laton quietly. "All that onstage pain just seemed too contrived." With his wife and their two younger sons, Laton retreated, rarely venturing far from home.

His disappearance served as a spur for Garrett, who was convinced the light shows should carry on. Basing his technique on seeing Laton's, he began to experiment with friends. Garrett used his own pictures, plus slides from his job. "My approach," he laughs now, "was seat-of-the-pants."

In the '60s, light shows were keyed to "liquids": oil and watercolors, warmed in shallow bowls. As projections, they created "psychedelia." Laton had always used them, but Garrett found mastering liquids tricky. "I use every oil from hair gel to glycerine. But as they heat up, oils sort of come alive. Either you use them to the rhythms of a drummer, or you let them rotate and form organic patterns."

Garrett's self-education was scrupulous. He attended not just raves but the exhibitions of Magic Lantern Societies. There he learned another side to slide-show history: how it had been utilized in vaudeville. "Look at this!" he gestures excitedly, waving the program from one vintage showcase. "This goes back to the turn of the century: `See chromotopes and mechanical slides - Indoor Fireworks!' "

Garrett's home is a testament to Laton's lessons, stacked with different bulbs and strung with colored lights. Piled among his cases of slides are glass clock faces, which he uses to hold and heat the liquids. Like a sorcerer's cave, the place exudes possibilities.

A different dawn

As Garrett started to fool around with oils and slides, Seattle's music scene was expanding. More bands wanted lights - so Garrett worked with them. But he never forgot his inspiration; Laton received an invite to every show. After a few years, Garrett's persistence triumphed: Laton joined him as a partner.

They took the name Stray Voltage and forged a style, a new light scheme showcasing both their skills. This time, they took cues from emerging bands: from Love Battery to Seven Year Bitch. Laton and Garrett tailored their show to order. Where Love Battery wanted "new psychedelia," Seven Year Bitch wanted hard images, black liquids.

Back in the rock orbit, Laton noticed social changes. "There were chemicals, as there were in the '60s. But the way people used them was different. In the old days, setting was everything; it was a key to the psychedelic trip. These kids didn't see that as important. They just took the drugs, and music evolved differently."

It was something that often gave him pause. "I would stand on a stage with Green River, or some other band who later made it big. I would stand there, 15 years older, and think, `You're young! You're fit! You're handsome! Why are you doing this?' "

Rave aesthetics

By 1990, the "rave scene" had reached Seattle. This was much different from the concert circuit. Raves featured DJs, who mixed recorded music, and they emphasized communal, total experience. For the light shows they were a fresh opportunity.

David Kushmerick heard about them in Eastern Washington. At The Evergreen State College, with his friend Jonathan Seraphim, Kushmerick had mounted light shows for parties. But after graduation he moved to Soap Lake so he could film a bird called the Western grebe. Seraphim headed instead for Seattle - and he urged his pal to come and work the raves.

Toward the end of 1992, Kushmerick did. First, he and Seraphim went shopping at school auctions and Boeing Surplus. They bought secondhand projectors and screens; they shot slides and made up video loops. Then they went to work, starting with a rave in a Mercer Street warehouse. Word-of-mouth soon brought them other dates, so they formed a company: Hyperion Muse.

As the rave scene flourished, light shows attracted more artists. One was Glenn Fajardo, now systems manager at The Stranger weekly. With some colleagues he established the light show Tigger. Fajardo's views on raves echo Laton's '60s aims: "Raves should be positive, not fronts for drug dealing. We see them as a temporary autonomous zone. Someplace people can be free to act as equals."

Tigger started mounting raves such as "Free Vibe," held outdoors in the woods above Issaquah. With Kushmerick they also ran The Chocolate Factory, at an indoor venue in Pioneer Square. But where others concentrate on liquids or altered equipment, Fajardo's technique is digital: He hooks video decks and computers to a mixer. "What I do," he says, "is more like a DJ. I fade and switch so the images are continuous."

In his new loft home near the Kingdome, Kushmerick offers an apple juice. Kushmerick's light shows work in a less digital mode - but rave culture did bring him close to computers. Now he runs Seer Media, a 2-year-old company whose clients range from magazines to Microsoft. He, too, is not uncritical of the rave scene. "I've been in it, and I've been outside it, and it's a lot like the Mariners' winning streak. That was a great party, but it's not the only one I'll ever go to."

Raves brought Kushmerick's interests together; his light shows fuse nature, film, art and computers. (At one huge rave on Halloween, Kushmerick came rappelling down out of the ceiling. While projected images flickered over his body, he did battle with a giant, spider-shaped pinata - which eventually spilled forth candy and condoms.)

Seer does light shows for the band Sky Cries Mary. But while on tour with the group, Kushmerick also tests Web sites for an ad agency. He has finished one commercial video ("The Chill-Out Zone"), and now plans an interactive Shakespeare project. His initial partner, Seraphim, also now runs a company of his own: Oracle Dream Theatre Productions.

Says Kushmerick, "I can't draw and I can't paint, but the light show gave me a form of my own. And it led me into multi-media."

New environments

One other team is changing the light-show landscape: Steve Hawks and Cully Ewing. Though they lack a flamboyant title (they usually are billed as "Cully and Hawks"), both came to the rave scene as established artists.

Hawks and Ewing are watched carefully by promoters. This is partly because their aims are so ambitious. They are working to "de-centralize" the light show - and to create a happening in-the-round.

Says Ewing, "In the '60s you had just one focus: the stage. What people now want is something that's more immersive; they need 360 degrees of entertainment." Since they met just 18 months ago, Ewing and Hawks have successfully combined their skills. Both are known as video artists and videomakers; Ewing is also an experienced musician.

At early gigs the pair would "play" adjoining walls. But they soon learned how to "jam" together. Now each knows the other's strengths and tastes. Says Hawks, "Cully is better working to the beats. I'm more into trance and ambiance."

Their visual balancing act did not come easily. Says Ewing, "I use big overhead projectors, which disperse light over an immense area. I could easily wash Steve out completely."

Hawks laughs, but his own tools are impressive, ranging from a strobe-lit mandala to doctored bicycle wheels. Like most all light shows, Cully and Hawks marry low technology and its higher cousins.

This pair sees the light show as an agent of change. Says Hawks, "Young people want a new kind of nightclub. So pamper the audience; give them more to think about." Their philosophy brings diverse commissions: from "lobby lighting" (a new trend at formal concerts) to Bumbershoot's Red House ("like working a shopping mall"); from a "Chill Out Lounge" for stars Massive Attack to dance evenings in small downtown clubs.

Light-show artists see more changes coming: everything from holograms to eight-stage concerts. Says Kushmerick, "We're working to cross the concert and rave. To have visuals, sound and motion all night long."

Such a change would cause little competition, for Seattle's light specialists are big in spirit. Says Ewing, "Most people who do light shows just started out from scratch, so we all have very different styles. We know each other's work and we respect it."

All this pleases Michael Laton immensely. With Cam Garrett, he works a lot of raves. It's all-night work, just like it was in the '60s. But he feels the effort is rewarding. "It's like our own seminar in visual arts. But everybody passes. There's no term paper. You just dance yourself silly and enjoy it." ----------------------------------------------------------------- How to reach them

Stray Voltage may be contacted at 441-0319; Tigger at 323-4304; Cully Ewing and Steve Hawks at 285-8541; Seer Media at 726-4505 (e-mail: seer@glacier.com). URL for the Seer Media Web site: http://hyperreal.com/raves/nw/seer