Kube Jam: Party Over Here!

GEORGE, Grant County - One of the smoothest rappers on the bill missed his flight out of New Orleans. Even if he had been able to get to the Gorge Amphitheatre from the Big Easy, Nas might not have noticed much of a difference.

Extreme heat and new heights of debauchery nearly upstage the actual show at Summer Jam every year. And, like Mardi Gras, the indulgent are willing to do anything and everything to get into the party.

It starts months before the tour buses even roll into the Gorge. The hopeful call up radio station KUBE-FM 93.3, desperate to snatch one of the 20,000 tickets to Summer Jam, the biggest hip-hop and R&B show of the summer.

Listeners pathetically beg DJs just for the price of admission. No matter how low, they are ready to go to KUBE's party and benefit for the Northwest AIDS Walk. The attraction is in the lineup: big names like this year's Busta Rhymes, Naughty by Nature and Ginuwine come to pay homage to the only commercial hip-hop station in the Seattle area.

Fast forward to last Thursday, the day before the show, when the caravans descend upon Gorge Town. On Interstate 90, SUVs packed with bikini tops and baseball caps cut in dangerously, risking collision just to sneak one car length closer to the scene.

Eventually, a sprawling camp melts over the grassy field north of the amphitheatre. It's less a night in nature than the biggest tailgate party imaginable. Endless rows of cars, RVs and tents stake their territory with competing sound systems, and signs like "Party Over Here!" and "Show Me Your (Breasts)" to break the ice. Between the thumping bass, drunken hooting and the crunch of glass and cans underfoot, the camp has its own deafening soundtrack.

By 3 p.m. Friday, the lawn of the amphitheater is so packed you can barely see any green. Eighteen is probably the average age around here, and the bared skin is mostly vanilla. But the teensy tank tops and bare chests reveal the entire spectrum from sunburn red to the deepest chocolate.

The scoping is out of control, as the honeys wear barely anything at all and binocular-equipped dogs are peeping everywhere but the stage. Jeannie Kashani, 19, is with her sister and friend; they're strutting in mini-skirt and strappy tank ensembles, glitter shining all over their tan limbs. "Hella dudes out here tonight," Kashani screams, "and they looking good."

They're not the only girls flaunting it: "I think the designers for bikinis aren't making them skimpy enough; I need to see a little bit more. I want to see it all," says a playful Jack Osara, 23.

The live beats finally get kicking. KUBE DJ Bobby O strips down to a neon yellow Speedo, and the floor is packed.

Flapping arms ripple over the top of the steaming pit in front of the stage, as a steady stream of kids pops over the front into the security trough, while water hoses spray the rest.

One security staffer, his shirt ripped and soaked, estimates that he pulls 50 to 60 people out of the pit each hour. Stephanie Gaines is one who's been yanked over the wall, looking a bit shaken and clutching her camera and sunglasses.

"It is horrible. It's fun, but it's frightening and out of control," she says. "We tried to stay (in front), but it's not cool. I'm going way out there." She points to the hillside, which is just as crowded but not nearly as kinetic.

Not everybody is smashed in the throng. Jack Polik is 51 and keeps a highly prized box seat near the sound booth. He's chilling to the R&B sounds of the show's only girl group, Blaque.

"As an old guy, I wouldn't want my 16-year-old daughter running around here. But on the other hand, I probably did the same thing in my own era," he admits. He also thinks that it's a relatively tame scene, full of well-intentioned party-goers.

"I'll tell you, it's a lot better crowd than Dave Matthews. . . . Three weeks ago, I bet I watched six or seven people get carried out on stretchers, And I think a lot of drugs. . . . Everyone here seems to be here to enjoy the music and get to meet people, and that's great."

Good-time rap group Naughty by Nature rocks the party; R&B crooner Ginuwine woos from the scaffolds in black fedora and red silk shirt.

Meanwhile, the backstage area is a chaotic mess of tube-topped and spandex-bottomed young thangs trying to get closer to model-turned-singer Tyrese, roadies hustling gear, sneaky fans trespassing celebrity ground.

Big Smooth Sam Perkins is kicking it, as is Digital Underground's main man Humpty Hump, who likens the scene to Woodstock II.

"It was a little conservative at first, but then we got a few of them to get naked. So then we acted stupid and pulled our booties out," he says of his mooning tactics. "The police told us that if we did frontal nudity, they would cut us down and carry us off stage. Otherwise, I would have let it swing."

Everything else seems to be swinging backstage, as groupies are coming out of the woodwork.

This slip of a girl, Jaden Peterson, 15, blond, blue-eyed, stands around with a half-dozen signatures scrawled across her white tank top.

"I got taken back here by Naughty by Nature," she says. "I'm having so much fun. I've met every single person here."

She's so excited she can't remember who signed her on the back. Busta's autograph is on her tummy. "I was, like, freaking out."

A little after 10 p.m., Busta Rhymes, dressed in cartoony golf wear, ends the show, the lights come up and the pit is nothing but a muddy stomp of empty water bottles, abandoned clothing and girls hunting for their shoes.

Missing flip-flops are the most serious casualties: the First Aid station reports that more than 50 or so people were treated for dehydration or alcohol ingestion, but no overdoses and only one assault injury.

The red taillights queue toward the freeway, while the pedestrian mass exodus streams back to the noisy camp. Whether they're on the highway or in the tents, there won't be sleep for many more hours.