In the summer of 1991, I was a 5-year-old girl living on a farm in upstate New York. Every night my father would break out the VHS camcorder and videotape the sunset over the mountains. We had campfires by the barn, and I performed in a stellar production of Cinderella, staged in my very own dining room. My family was beginning to fall apart, but I had no idea. I was blissfully unaware of anything but digging in the garden, walking barefoot in the forest, and watching the same episode of Rainbow Brite over and over again. I had absolutely no idea what “Teen Spirit” was, and had never heard of Nirvana, even in a mythical sense. I’m pretty sure I didn’t know Seattle existed.

Thirteen years and innumerable horrifying memories later, I landed in Seattle in an attempt to get as far away from my family as I possibly could without leaving the country. From that last happy summer onward, things had disintegrated, and I wanted to get the hell out. I wanted to be a musician. This was all I knew. I knew Seattle was important musically, but I had no idea why. Back home I had listened to KEXP podcasts while tooling around in my car on country roads with my first hipster friend, Thea. That was clearly the cool thing to do. Why was it so cool, so important? No idea. Thea was doing it, so it must be cool.

My father helped me move. On his last night in Seattle before leaving me on the other side of the country, he took me to the hardware store in the bottom of the Broadway QFC [and] bought me “the biggest freakin’ Maglite” they had. For weeks I carried it with me everywhere, constantly looking behind me for my inevitable big-city assailant. I was an utter alien, lost, studying classical flute, and 3,000 miles away from anything I had ever known.

For six years I have grown in this city, graduating from college, working several terrible restaurant jobs, dating your fine gentlemen, starting and stopping smoking, and constantly being inspired. As I have come to realize who I am musically, which is ever-evolving, I have come to understand what makes Seattle special.

I still don’t have a spot in my heart for Nirvana, or any other grunge band, for that matter. It’s not that I dislike them; I don’t. They just never meant anything specific to me. That said, I recognize that without the grunge explosion I never would have considered Seattle a musical mecca. I probably never would have come here. I certainly wouldn’t have the opportunities I have today. The momentum from that musical movement has propelled some of the most unique, innovative music I’ve ever heard to come out of this city. This one city, tucked up in the corner of the country.

I am an alien traveler, a transplant with shallow roots on both coasts, a torn and conflicted musician, and Seattle has always made space for me. There is always room here to be different. Any strange track that comes out of someone’s bedroom could be the beginning of a new cultural movement. Seattle has seen firsthand the power of the strange, odd, alternative artists these rainy skies foster, and it has forever changed the musical landscape. I did not ever buy a Pearl Jam record. I never saw Nirvana live. I do love the Kurt Cobain folklore that I often hear (“This is where Kurt ate his last donut hole before he died!!!!”). 

I’m a little blonde rapper/electronic musician with a degree in classical piano and a severe gamelan fascination, playing one of the finest music festivals in the city.

Only in Seattle.

music@seattleweekly.com