Yeah, it sucks in the most epic, unequivocal way imaginable that The Funhouse is now history. The inevitability of its prime real estate falling into the hands of the usual rich-developer suspects doesn’t make it sting any less.
But glass half-full time, folks: The club served up nine solid years of loud, fun shows, in a rough-hewn-but-loving environment that gave young bands a chance to cut their teeth. And it provided strains of music underrepresented by the current indie-rock scene: Sturm-und-drang heavy metal, loud-fast punk, and dirty-fingernailed garage rock all found a welcome haven within the venue’s venerable walls. Plus, co-owner Brian Foss repeatedly stated his intention to open a new venue somewhere in town that continues to live up to The Funhouse’s credo of loud fun over fickle fashion.
The lion’s share of the recent press surrounding The Funhouse has gone towards its Halloween farewell. But I’m glad I also visited the club on its second-to-last night (Tuesday, October 30), arguably The Funhouse’s last evening of business as usual. The venue’s ever-savvy bookers populated that night’s bill with five bands that leaned towards the metallic end of the spectrum. The Holy and Brokaw proffered an art-punk-metal sound, taking cues from the twisty noise of vintage Amphetamine Reptile acts like The Melvins and Unsane. No World threw down some prog-metal, with their very black-metal-sounding rhythms contrasting crunchily with some extremely textural guitar.
The Grindylow, a power trio featuring former Bloodhag members Brent Carpenter and Zach Orgel on guitar and bass respectively, sounded like an anthemic metal band bum-rushed by a bunch of Comic-Book conventioneers. And the sublimely-named Brain Hornet eschewed vocals entirely, bashing out impressive instrumental rock that took whiplash turns into goth and spaghetti-western soundtrack atmospherics.
Last Wednesday’s Halloween Night Farewell Bash sold out handily, and with the majority of the packed house decked out in full costume it felt more like a party than a wake. Whether you were in the mood for people-watching or for getting your world rocked, the locale fit the bill handily.
The music for The Funhouse farewell delivered: No surprise, given the place’s booking standards. What did surprise was the variety of acts on display, and the fact that each band included at least one Funhouse employee (nepotism, in this circumstance, earned a major pass).
CCAA opened the night with ambient electronic dance music a la Daft Punk, Tight Lies presented a set of Hammer-of-Thor grunge with brute efficiency, Blood Orange Paradise brilliantly rubbed Dischord art-school noise up against shoegazer guitar textures, and The Downstrokes bashed out winning punk-pop that threw the audience into a frenzy.
Seattle punk vets Last Gasp brought home alternately vicious and hilarious hardcore that reminded me of Suicidal Tendencies, and Poop Attack continued the party with catchy Ramones-esque odes to drinking and, well, partying. Closers Glenn or Glennda were a cross-dressing, ass-kicking wonder, delivering a batch of sublime Misfits covers with optimal showmanship and heaps of energy (bonus points for their awesome Misfit-ed reimaginings of David Bowie’s “Scary Monsters” and Hall and Oates’ “Maneater”).
I spent most of the night jammed at the front of the Funhouse stage, shooting pictures while shielding my camera from the pogoing and slamming of my fellow audience members. The energy was as upbeat and friendly as it was charged-up–no elbows to faces, no blows thrown, no assholes. Slam-dancers maneuvered the center of the floor with a strange sense of frenzied courtesy, as though everyone was conscious of everyone else’s well-being even as they went crazy.
It had been ages since I’d been at the epicenter of a punk show, and yeah, this one did sorta feel special. Hell, when I lost my glasses during Glenn or Glennda’s set, I was even able to retrieve them–scratched but intact–from the floor below with the ready cooperation of my fellow front-liners. Let’s hear it for punk rock karma.
