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On Vox: Crocodile Cafe closes

Sad news from Seattle. The Crocodile Cafe closed its doors yesterday with apparently little to no warning. That is a serious drag. 

Over the years, I saw quite a few shows at the Croc. It was the first Seattle venue I ever saw a live show in - my parents were living in Seattle and I came up to visit. I decided to explore a little one night and dropped in to the Croc (a couple of blocks from their apartment) and saw the Dusty 45s play. I can honestly say that the Crocodile was part of me realizing that Seattle was a place where I could live. 

I saw OK Go for the first time there (opening for Fountains of Wayne). I saw They Might Be Giants play there three times, including two nights in a row after having seen them two nights in a row earlier in the week down here in San Francisco. I saw Camper Van Beethoven and Cracker play together there, and it was at that show that I learned of the Pixies reunion. I DJ'd at the Croc once. I went to a friend's birthday party there. I saw the Detroit Cobras open up for the Dirt Bombs there. I got piss drunk at a friend's party there and threw up in a newspaper vending box outside the front door. I ate lots of bad fried food there. I drank there with friends the night we watched the Speakeasy burn. 

What a great fucking place. 

I wonder what the reason is for the abrupt closure. I wonder if it has anything to do with the city's constant assault on live music. I wonder if it has anything to do with the owner's recent divorce from Peter Buck (perhaps his big R.E.M. dollars paid the taxes on the place?)  I wonder if it's just because places like that really aren't welcome in that neighborhood anymore. After all, when you're paying over half a million dollars for a tiny condo in a chic building, the last thing you want to see is some chump throwing up on the weekly entertainment rag. 

Goodbye, Crocodile. 

Originally posted on pop.vox.com

Comments

( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
(Anonymous)
Dec. 19th, 2007 01:35 pm (UTC)
Croc
Actually, your parents lived just across the street from the Croc, and while it could get pretty noisy at night, it was a far cry from a neighborhood nuisance, more like a bit of the character that defined then then-wonderful Belltown neighborhood. I still recall the crazy green paint and wacky windows and the crowds that gathered at night for bands with names I only knew from hearing you talk about them. I join you in mourning its passing.
Your father
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )