Big Easy Concert House
919 West Sprague Avenue
by Julia Lipscomb


On my bookshelf I noticed a picture of me at sixteen with my best friend from junior high, Shawntelle. I was listening to the Side Project's first album, which began with ''Break it Down.'' That evocative piano chord refreshed my memory. I stared back at the picture frame.

When I go down, way down / I don't see it coming and I feel like I'd be stuck that way./ When you go down, way down / you don't see it coming and you feel like you'd be left astray.
- The Side Project, ''Break it Down''

There was something about that photo that seemed out of place, some small detail that was on my shirt. Shawntelle and I were both lying across a mattress, so the only line that I could see on the side of my shirt was ''Tour 2004.'' It was from the Calling's stop at the Big Easy Concert House. It was the same night that I was introduced to the Side Project.


* * *

Clinton and I stood in the center of the dance floor around the edge of the all-ages crowd that had gathered around the stage. I could hardly contain my excitement. There was nothing on the stage but track lights and a mural of a historic downtown street going straight through a vanishing point. My brother told me about when he saw Damien Rice at the Big Easy earlier that year. The songwriter was amazing, but the bar crowd during the set was so uproarious that Rice had to ask them to calm down from the stage several times. I felt a similar vibe waiting for the band. Most of the noise was coming from the back of the venue in the bar. The insight made me nervous and even more anxious to push my way closer to the stage. The lights dimmed. Something was happening. I watched several people onstage set up a canvas and paints alongside electric guitars and keyboards. Clinton asked if I knew the name of the opening band. ''I don't think there is an opening band,'' I replied. ''It's just the Calling. They're playing an acoustic show!''

''Well, that's definitely an electric set.''

It was the first time I had to wait this long for a major concert – actually it was my first major concert. My brother and I were in the middle of the pit, and everyone towered over me. At sixteen, I had reached my projected height at five four. I arched my neck toward the ceiling to see a sliver of the performers' faces. The only scenes I could make out were changes in tone. The stereo blasted Jeff Buckley's ''Hallelujah,'' and at one point the entire venue was singing along. I remember looking over at my brother to see him crack up and also chime in to the mood. He would always make fun of me for the music I liked, but there – he liked it there. In that moment, we were in it together.

A band filtered onstage, and it was not the Calling. They called themselves the Side Project. A female lead singer took the stage, and a gathering of musicians followed and adjusted their instruments alongside her. There was a younger girl of about seven years old who walked toward the front near the singer and picked up the palette. The off-centered canvas turned the piano rock band into a multimedia exhibit. The track lights darkened, and a deep blue glow encompassed the stage around them. I was still sixteen in the photo with Shawntelle – the year I started publishing underground newsletters. My art changed when I met the Side Project. I wanted to live and write in a parallel approach to their performance. They were rock, they were experimental, they defied everything that I expected in music, and they were from Spokane. The minor scale melody amplified a decrescendo, and the song fell back into a quiet finish.

This middle attitude leads us to more complications: lack of organization, poor utilization of the time, low morale, and worst of all, loss of confidence.


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