Second summer showed up in the Pacific Northwest this week, which — fine, we all know the drill by now. Rain, then one last blast of heat before the cardigans come out.
Elizabeth is ready for the cardigans.
But before fall officially lands, there was Bumbershoot.
Elizabeth’s youngest texted to ask if she wanted to go see Bikini Kill together, and the answer was obviously yes, even though Elizabeth hasn’t set foot in a music festival crowd in roughly two decades. She reports back: the festival is smaller than its wild ‘90s self, but well-run, clean, and safe, with a full weekend (she went for the day, gotta ease back in) of music, vintage fashion, comedy, wrestling, and — yes — a cat circus.
Highlights from the day include a band called XCOMM that made Elizabeth want to punch someone (a compliment, from her), and Joey Valence & Brae, who she assumed from the name alone would be a Christian rap duo and who turned out to be gloriously Beastie Boys–coded instead.
Then Bikini Kill took the stage, her kid disappeared into the pit to make their own memories, and Elizabeth — planted safely halfway back with a couple of women her own age — started crying while singing along.
Not exactly punk.
Except it kind of was.
She gets into why: the girl-punk bands of her youth weren’t singing from the guy’s point of view, they were singing her whole messy experience back to her, and hearing it again cracked something open about the person she used to be before “the warm blanket of conformity” settled over her shoulders.
She closes with a small, sincere thank-you to her kid for the reminder that Bikini Kill heals — and a quick, weary aside about sharing a name with a certain notorious tech founder. This Elizabeth is currently not in prison, actually.
