July 15-21, 2005

The Last Waltz

This week, a very special episode of Suckotash...

Last week, I talked a little bit about inspiration and how last month's hiatus helped me find it lurking in some unexpected places. Of course, the other thing the time away gave me was a little perspective, and that perspective made one thing all too clear—that my time doing this column must come to an end.

When I started writing Suckotash a year and a half ago, my goal was to take a broad, inclusive view of the D.C. music scene, critique what it offered, shed some light on all the amazing shit that goes on here every week, and maybe try and put the best of it—as well as, inevitably, the worst—in some kinda context. In the process of doing this, I saw dozens and dozens of fantastic shows, many of which I sadly didn't have time or space to write about, and came away more convinced than ever that the D.C. music scene (or, more appropriately, its many scenes) has an impressive collection of amazingly talented people in it and that the relative ignorance of the for-real "music biz" of that talent is nothing short of a blessing. I think the effect of that ignorance—The absence of the poisoning that the trickle-down promise of major-label fame creates—helps keep the powerful sounds of D.C. music decidedly singular, unmolested by the homogenizing influence that the cash-driven search for an ever-wider audience always seems to carry with it. And we all are the happy beneficiaries of that blind eye—long may it remain closed. Of course, as I also stated in my first column, 90 percent of everything is crap, and nothing has made that clearer to me than drinking deep so many different acts in such a short amount of time. Because there was only so much space each week (and I know that I often stretched the bounds of that limit), I did my best to focus only on the truly exceptional, both good and bad, and avoid the broad, bland middle that no one needs much of a warning about either way. Did I cover everything that I wanted to? No, but I think that I did as much or more than I should have been able to.

And beside, I gotta leave something behind for the next person to write about.

This, of course, brings me to the big question that friends have asked me when I told them that the column and I were parting ways: Why now? And truth be told, I can't say that it was a simple decision. I love going to shows, and listening to and writing about music, and anyone who knows me personally knows that having a soapbox from which to spew forth my opinions on a regular basis is basically my own little version of heaven. Unfortunately, that heaven comes at a cost.

In a world where I had limitless time and untapped energy at my disposal, I'd be able to keep writing the column. But we all have things we want to do and only so much time we can do them in, and like most folks, I have a whole lot more of the former than the latter. One of those things had to give, and chiefly for reasons that no one but I could possibly care about, that thing had to be Suckotash. As far as the column is concerned, I feel like I've said what I wanted to say and talked about the bands I wanted to talk about, and there's little room for growth by continuing to carry on doing it. And best of all, if everything turns out the way I hope it will, this departure will give someone else the chance to take up the baton and throw some new opinions about local music out there. Who knows, maybe it'll be one of those kids who wrote me all those e-mails to ask why I was ignoring the thriving scene at TT Reynolds.

There isn't much else to say, but before I let them close the curtain on me, I think some thanks are in order. First of all, I'd like to thank all the bands I wrote about, for putting on some great (and, OK, some not-so-great) shows and for just existing. And to anyone I gave a less-than-rave review to, it wasn't personal. Of course, I meant what I said, every fucking word of it; in fact, in a lot of cases I probably meant some words that were even stronger than what I wrote.

But still—it wasn't personal. It was business.

And, for that matter, the same thing goes for those of you who got good reviews. It doesn't mean I like you, much less that I like like you, so please, can we end it before it gets any more complicated? This just isn't working for me. No, no, it's not you, it's me.

And though it seems somewhat predictable and offhand, I'd sincerely like to thank all of you, the folks who read this thing every week, or at least once in a while. I'd especially like to thank the many of you who bothered to send me e-mails. Your encouragement, nearsighted nitpickery, scorn, and death threats helped make me a better writer. Fat lotta good that does me now.

And, of course, I have to give a hearty thanks to the many occasional contributors—the Man From the Future, KC, and the many, many cooks who managed to get better and better recipes into your hands, most especially Richard, who single-handedly provided enough fantastic recipes to fill his own cookbook. I couldn't have done it without you. Well, yeah, I could have, but it woulda sucked.

And finally, I save the biggest thanks of all for last, for my editor, the funniest man in D.C.. Can't remember his name just now.

See you at a show.

The Sure Thing

I don't have any show picks this week, but I do have another offering for you all. To help appropriately mark the passing of Suckotash, my metallic-bodied, silicon-brained overlords at the Washington City Paper were kind enough to commission the services of a prominent indie-film soundtrack team, Alton Danzworth and Silo Tartford, from the U.K., if I promised not to make some cheap joke about their teeth or the weather. Like I'm that hackneyed. So, without further ado, I give you their work, "The Love Theme From Suckotash."

I don't know if it's really a sure thing, but for the kinda money that was dropped on it, it oughta be.

And be sure and bless Fort Reno with your presence all summer long.

Column number 69. Sexy! Suckotash@WashingtonCityPaper.com

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