Commentary -- Bumbershoot '96: A Look Back At Why It Was Great

Last night, when the final electric blast of the heavy metal-punk band Gruntruck stopped reverberating and the last die-hard lawn drummer packed up his conga and headed home, Bumbershoot 1996 was history.

But before the end-of-summer revels at the Seattle Center evaporate completely, let us preserve a few memories. Here is my Top 10 list of reasons why it was worthwhile braving big crowds, lousy parking and nagging inertia to attend Bumbershoot 1996:

10. The Mingle. At what other cultural event in our compartmentalized society can you boogie down with people of all races, creeds, and vintages - from babes in arms, to spry senior citizens in their 80s?

I admit to some apprehension when One Reel Productions, producers of Bumbershoot, decided a while ago to woo young people by adding more grunge and hard rock to the folk, jazz and blues-dominated festival lineup.

Now I say: Viva la mix! This year there seemed to be more teens around than ever, comporting themselves well and merging right in with the geezers, tykes and all of us in between. In their neo-hippie duds, fuchsia and green hair, their tattooed and pierced everything, the flamboyant youth made people-watching all the spicier this sunny Labor Day weekend. And their presence gave squares like me a risk-free excuse to dabble in alien noise, including . . .

9. The Sex Pistols. I missed them when they were hot, young, and truly dangerous. But my 22-year-old stepdaughter spurred me on by saying the pioneer English punk band "is for us what the Beatles were for you guys." OK, so I lasted out only two songs of their stadium set - long enough to feel the buzz, get bored, and have my first look at a writhing mosh pit. Then, being an old folkie at heart, I moved on to . . .

8. Phoebe Snow. Going from headbanging stadium rock to the Opera House certainly flipped the channel. Oddly enough, Snow's bluesy-folky first album topped the charts in 1974, right before the punk movement revved up. Twenty years on, Snow's kept her sense of humor, and that amazing voice still swoops and soars across three octaves. Her band was uninspiring and her newer material can't touch those sensitivo oldies like "Poetry Man." But Phoebe continues to swing and sooth and let the good times roll. In another way, so does . . .

7. Tracie Morris. The sassy New York poet joined forces with a fine acoustic blues guitarist, Marvin Sewell. Her hip-hop-talk-poems were pointed without sounding strident, tough but not nasty, and that one about seeking a lover who likes dirty feet . . . well, you had to be there. Or at . . .

6. Isaac Hayes. Sugar pie, honey bunch, I couldn't help myself. That big bald man in the gold lame shirt, and the all-hours shades, and the low-down voice, with four backup singers pouring on the slick-'70s, make-out R & B schmaltz won me over. And the crowd of kids waiting for the Spin Doctors, too. Some things are so retro, they're always in vogue. Including . . .

5. The Space Needle. It makes a cool backdrop from almost any angle. And this year it got into the act, when the intrepid aerial dance group, Bandaloop, dangled from it. They were new to me, as were . . .

4. Paul Cebar and the Milwaukeeans, and the Jackmormans. One of the Bumbershoot treats is to find, amid all the so-so stuff, some rousing bands you've never heard of. And to rediscover Northwest faves that still thrill, like Duffy Bishop, Laura Love, the Picketts. But then there's . . .

3. Eric Bogosian. Ready for a dark, dark, dark take on reality?

The standing-room-only audience at the Opera House was, and got it in spades from a performance artist who is a master at making it hurt when you laugh. Quite unlike . . .

2. Nanci Griffith and the Rankin Family. Told you I'm an old folkie. A mountain-stream voice like Griffith's and a band of rockers as ethereal as the Celtic-Canadian Rankins, a little sunshine, and I'm flying. But really it was . . .

1. Those Bumbershoot Vibes. How can multitudes of strangers rub elbows for days on end without creating more tension, chaos and mayhem? Maybe it's those darned drums after all.