Harvey Danger’s 10th Anniversary Public Spectacle

March 6 & 7, 2008: Triple Door, Seattle, WA

“I remember everything as if it happened years ago…”
— Robyn Hitchcock

March 2008 marks the 10th anniversary of the major label (re)release of the first Harvey Danger album, Where Have All the Merrymakers Gone?, which launched us on our bizarre and short-lived ride through the wacky world of popular culture, the twilight of alternative rock, the fickle nature of MTV and radio heavy rotation, the agony and the ecstasy of eight-month-long intercontinental tours, and the we-might-as-well-call-it-what-it-is-ness of one-hit wonderdom. Though it was often a frustrating time for us as individuals and as a group scrambling to grasp our various identities, it was nonetheless a memorable one, and it did properly change our lives—if not the history of pop music—in ways both profound and mundane. This is not the place to list them (though I reckon it is the time), but if you ask us, you may discover we are more voluble on the subject than you may expect.

Since our reformation in 2004, we’ve all been enjoying the band much more than we did when it was a job. That’s why we felt it was finally appropriate to celebrate the anniversary of our semi-professional debut rather than make excuses for or try to run screaming from it. But rather than focusing solely on that one album (and, inevitably, the one song it’s best known for spawning), it seemed essential to include the music we’ve made subsequently in the retrospective. Some of that music was consciously a reaction against the almost literally unrepeatable success of the first record. Most of it was simply an attempt to push against the often unfathomable, defining momentum (or was it inertia?) of Merrymakers, to move on from it, to try something else, to keep on keeping on like a bird that flew, as a wise man one sang. The brutal experience of our “difficult” second album, King James Version (2000), effectively broke the band up. The incalculable success of our third, Little By Little… (2005/6), reignited our desire to keep it going. What had changed was everything. But the songs remained the same, as it were. Looking back, we discovered a body of work worth evaluating, and an audience—bless every one of you—that has stuck around through all of it or joined midstream. This has resulted in vastly different listener relationships with each album. In our travels we’ve learned that plenty of people who love album 1 have no idea that albums 2 or 3 even exist, while the cult of album 2 remains devout in its refutation of album 1 and its devotees, and many of album 3’s proponents never deigned to listen to the first 2 records because they were busy plotting the download revolution. And so forth. (Me, I like ‘em all, and I speak for all of us.)

One thing is certain: We occupy a singular space in the world of music, equal parts unknown, forgotten, and beloved, a band with a truly unlikely history and a present tense that feels all the more promising for its absolute uncertainty. I can say without hesitation that it has never been more purely enjoyable to be a member of Harvey Danger than it feels today. And for the first time I can remember, I’m genuinely excited—as opposed to anxious or scared or seething with rage—about tomorrow. And all this arose from a record we made for about $3,000 in about 12 days spread out over about a year at a studio in Fremont best known for having once been the birthplace of grunge. Thanks, John.

And so, the Triple Door shows. The idea is to play all three albums all the way through, plus B-sides, deep cuts, and a few unreleased songs besides. We split it up into two nights for obvious reasons—both because 10+ songs in a single show wouldn’t be fun for anyone, and also because certain thematic elements pertain to the different set lists. We’ve done our best to prepare the album versions of the songs, with requisite guest performers holding down the strings, horns, backing vocals, and other assorted trickery. Some of these songs are staples that have been performed at nearly every show since they were written. Others haven’t been played since the day they were recorded. Some have gone through radical rearrangements through the years, been abandoned, discarded, rescued, forgotten, remembered, re-forgotten. It’s a big undertaking that involves no shortage of introspection. The rehearsal process has been like a Proust novel. With distortion pedals. And joy! Though we’re obviously aiming for glorious spectacle here, the core of the event is as simple as can be: This is our best music, presented directly and honestly in the hopes that it still means as much to you after all these years as it does to us.

Thanks for listening.
Sean