Kenny G, loser of the "hair match"(BS)

The new century storms in with Pink Martini technology, a grunge retrospective and many stunning turn-arounds. Plus, Malkmus gets ripped.

More than living up to its apocalyptic hype, the year 2000 delivered numerous musical thrills. We can't think of them right now, but they were epochal when they happened! We're sure that 'Aught-One is going to be even sweller. We gathered a team of Wiccan geniuses around swirling tea leaves at Java Macabre and asked them to peer into the mists of the future. And, praise Goddess, what a future it turned out to be!

According to our panel, in the Year 2001:

Portland trendmeisters take advantage of a revolutionary Intel computer chip to outdo French hipsters who have programmed their cell phones to ring to the tune of Pink Martini's mega-hit "Sympathique." Implanted in the human brain, the chip allows users to speak only to the tune of the beloved single. A rash of violent crimes soon follows. (LB)

Dead Moon turns heel! Fred Cole and company execute the indie-rock equivalent of professional wrestling's patented "heel turn," signing a multimillion-dollar deal with TimeWarnerAOL. The lushly produced Johnny Done Got His Gun (enhanced stereo CD only) immediately becomes a chart-topping international smash. The band tours the world with Everclear in support. Cole gets carte blanche to fulfill his long-held secret dream of a Dead Moon electronica album. HAL Lives is both a critical success and an abysmal commercial failure. Twenty years later the band is inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, exclusively on the merits of its Tombstone vinyl. (SS)

MTV's Fanatic, a series that allows worshipful devotees access to beloved musicians, spawns a host of public-access versions featuring local punk frontmen--essentially the same program with lower budgets and more oral sex. (JH)

Zack de la Rocha goes solo, performing duets with soft-rock superstars. The erstwhile Rage Against the Machine singer admits he's really a "sad little puppy dog inside." His new solo debut, Will You Be My Friend?, features such lush symphonic ballads as "Let's Share a Smile" (with Rod Stewart), "Rainbows Are for Lovers" (with
R. Kelly) and the megaplatinum multinational smash, "Heart 2 Heart (Fidelis Aeternus)" (with Barbra Streisand). RATM urges fans to assassinate de la Rocha. (JG)

In related news, remaining members of Rage spearhead global working-class revolution, smashing the capitalist system and installing a benign dictatorship of the proletariat. It's about fucking time, too. (ZD)

When the Gap signed up Low and the Dandy Warhols for its holiday 2000 ad campaign, there were plenty of choices for huge corporations looking to lend their brands "cred" with cool, non-mainstream musical acts. By late 2001, however, the pool has rapidly diminished. Even so, Preparation H offers Portland's reunited Anal Solvent a pretty penny, NyQuil snags the High Violets, Home Depot gets Hank Plank & the 2 x 4s and La-Z-Boy strikes a deal with Reclinerland. (LB)

The Dandy Warhols vanish from the face of the earth! Like they never happened, man. (SS)

The social and environmental policies of the new Bush Administration shake musicians from a decade-long slumber. Suddenly realizing that there is more to life than intimate thoughts scrawled in their Hello Kitty daybooks, underground rockers unleash a barrage of inflamed and topical songs. Albums influenced by "French pop" virtually disappear. Hip-hop artists ditch the "guns, bitches and bling-bling" aesthetic of the '90s in favor of bracing Public Enemy-style polemic. Techno fans unexpectedly develop articulated opinions. Country singers write moving anthems of the common man's plight in an age of unchecked global capitalism.
An era of unprecedented artistic wealth and energy dawns. (ZD)

With EJ's gone, a citywide movement erupts. Portland's teeming legion of fashion-bucking musicians embrace basement keg parties

and living room tea gatherings with a zeal that creates some of the most electrifying music seen in years. A new crop of small local labels flourishes, and, in an interesting turn of events, bands shirk the remaining club scene. Coffee houses and taverns with no cover charges become the height of cool. I, however, experience very little of this New Golden Age because I generally refuse to go out (though, as always, I continue to contribute to Willamette Week as if I'm right in the thick of it). (SS)

As the ascendancy of Napster demonstrates the inevitability of free music distribution, artists realize the irrelevance of album sales and, therefore, quality control. Singer/songwriters continue their baffling self-obsession. Guitar bands retreat toward unlistenable experimentation. Everyone releases every unconsidered demo or live noodling they have, with no regard for audience demand. Prince is unaffected. (JH)

Inspired by the U.S. political system, corporate radio mavens limit consumer choices to two stations: "MOR adult-alternative smooth-rockin' jazz" or "jazzy alternative rock for smooth MOR adults."
No one notices. (JG)

Death Row Records' Suge Knight declares a fatwa against Jive Records. Hailstorms of bullets rain on concerts by *N Sync and the Backstreet Boys. All members of both bands are eventually killed, and grades among girls ages 10-15 plummet as an entire demographic goes into mourning. Britney Spears, however, remains unharmed--post-battle repairs to her sexy exoskeleton keep the robotic pop star as "pert" as ever. (JG)

Aspiring directors, aping their turntablist contemporaries, sell their cameras and become projectionists. A remix of Wild Strawberries by PJ ("projection jockey") SupaReelz, in which the Bergman film is spliced with stock explosion footage every 72nd frame, reaches No. 3 in Britain. (JH)

Sunday, July 23, 2001, 11:36 pm: The "go-go dancing" at Dante's, Berbati's and the Cobalt Lounge devolves into hardcore onstage multipartner intercourse. Drunken chatter continues. (JH)

Reflecting the influence of the "Northwest sound," a handful of neighborhood businesses fund the Portland Experience Museum, a celebration of local musical history. The bungalow at Northeast 74th Avenue and Sandy Boulevard--thought by many to resemble a jug--symbolizes the rootsy nature of a working-class scene. The memorabilia collection includes a gold record from Seafood Mama, faded jeans from Everclear's Art Alexakis, and the drummer from Nu Shooz, who tends bar most weekends. (JH)

Seattle Christ-punk label Tooth & Nail Records folds after many of its bands convert to extreme neo-pagan faiths. "We used to rock for Jesus," says the lead singer of one ex-Godly emo band. "But now we swing Odin's mighty hammer." (ZD)

Sleater-Kinney hits the news again--this time, from the courtroom! The trio seeks a restraining order against famed rock critic Greil Marcus. "We were pleased when Greil first wrote about us in Salon, Esquire and The New York Times," says guitarist Corin Tucker. "But then it started to get creepy. It was like he couldn't shut up about us--almost like he'd never heard of any other new bands at all. When he started hanging out at the end of Janet's driveway, that was it. We have nothing against Greil. In fact, we think this is a cry for help." (ZD)

To celebrate the release of his new solo album, Stephen Malkmus unveils a bold new look. The once-reedy ex-Pavement frontman now clocks in at an astonishing 235 cut, rippling pounds--and ladies, it's all pure muscle! (ZD)

Willamette Week launches a spin-off weekly in Seattle. "Thank god for Seattle Willamette Week," exclaims one Belltown hipster. "The writers for our other weeklies have been milking the same schtick for 10 years." The new paper attempts to position itself as a "scrappy underdog" despite its reliance on its multimillion-dollar parent company. Sadly, SWW turns out to be a pale imitation of the original, its page-count swollen by give-away ads and its appeal limited to painfully self-aware white twentysomethings. After less than a year, key freelancers bolt for better-paying jobs with a Christian-funded mainstream paper, and the theater critic quits in disgust. An occasional last-page column by disgruntled employee John Graham develops a following, with uncannily accurate assessments of the paper's shortcomings. (AR)

Leading hipsters announce that brightly colored Gap turtlenecks may now be worn ironically. New Gap franchises open in Olympia, Wash., and on Northeast Alberta Street. (JH)

After shows by Dave Douglas, Matthew Shipp and David S. Ware fail to show the money, the Creative Music Guild inaugurates a new series--the Séance Recitals--in June. Supplied with a bandstand packed with the actual instruments of deceased improv stars, audiences are able to conjure their spirits to the stage. The debut "Reincarnation of a Lovebird" show at the Old Church (featuring Charles Mingus' troupe with Eric Dolphy) sells out, as does the follow-up Keith Moon set at the Aladdin. (BS)

In other pro wrestling/music news, savvy musical marketers Kenny G and Pat Metheny take their well-publicized feud on the road, including a 10-night stand at the Rose Garden. The two clash in a series of bloody sax/guitar cage matches, culminating in a "hair match"--loser to be shaved bald! (BS)

The Latin Explosion settles. The Polish Boom begins. William Orbit and Norman Cook incorporate polka beats into their hot dance trax. Misinterpreted Hindu iconic body art fades in favor of misunderstood Eastern Orthodox iconic body art. (JH)

Many babies, still, grow up to be cowboys.

Silicone shocker! Britney Spears' breasts aren't real. Neither, it turns out, is she. When a sudden mid-gig downpour drenches the busty diva-babe, electric blue flames erupt from her famous chest. Paramedics discover the horrifying truth: "Britney Spears" is actually a Disney-commissioned "pleasure droid," Model XLNT38-26-32, which escaped during a taping of the Mickey Mouse Club in 1994. Strangely, fans not only keep buying Britney albums, but soon teenage girls begin dreaming they, too, are cyborgs. Many parents stop having children entirely. (JG)A franchise of Flannels, a chain of theme nightclubs celebrating the wacky '90s, finds a Portland home at the corner of Northeast 22nd Avenue and Sandy Boulevard. Neighborhood residents are delighted about the discotheque and its guests: suburban professionals wary of the traditional rock club's informal spontaneity. "They're so loud," complains Cynthia Darden, a personal trainer from Tigard, about Portland's remaining live music venues. "No one dresses up and you never recognize any of the songs from the radio. What's the point?" Flannels' opening weekend promises the first Portland appearance of Nirvanarama, the grunge tribute show featuring an animatronic Kurt Cobain. (JH)

In a shocking development, Art Alexakis announces his desire
to return to his "underground roots." "I'm sick of baring my soul for uncaring pop fans," says the bleach-blond rocker. "I want to give something back to the indie community in Portland."
A successful series of solo acoustic appearances at the Robot Steakhouse and Beulahland kicks off Art's authenticity bid. "We're very pleased," says one satisfied scenester. "It seems Art is finally ready to 'play ball,' as the saying goes." (ZD)

Faced with declining sales and a rapidly maturing fanbase, the newly retooled "Backstreet Men" launch into the market. Despite an authentic "rat pack" structure, their new characters--the Drunk, the Misogynist, the Pot-Bellied Voyeur--fail to attract an audience. Geri Halliwell, releasing an album of Dietrich standards under the nom de disc "Old Spice," retains her ever-more-gay following. (JH)