If I had a few billion laying around, it might be tempting to create a musical playground like the one Paul Allen has built in downtown Seattle. The Experience Music Project lives in a multi-colored turtle shell palace designed by Frank O. Gehry. Like the Space Needle in whose shadow it lies and the two-stop monorail that brings you to its door, the operating question for EMP remains: "why?"
In Allen's case, I suspect there are two answers - because he can, and because of an enduring love for rock music that he believes is deserving of both public adoration and exploration. That affection is obvious in the lavish setting for EMP. Given that its patron is a Microsoft co-founder, the technology involved is marvelous, especially the lighting and acoustics. And while confusing visitors at first, Gehry's design overcomes his obsession with natural-form exteriors with a floor plan that leads people (eventually) to where they want to go.
There are basically three parts to EMP. To dismiss the least important quickly - a ground floor cafe, lounge, and gift shop are fine for what they are. On a visit this week, the service was friendly, the coffee terrific (no surprise), and the food okay.
The other two facets of this public attraction are central to whether it succeeds or fails. The main floor is devoted to exhibits, mainly from Allen's personal collection of 80,000 rock artifacts. Dominating the floor is a three-story interactive pillar called Roots and Branches, and created from hundreds of guitars. You can pick up headphones and listen to the guitars "played" by a series of pick-holding robotic arms. Strange, expensive, and as a musician, ultimately sad. Many of the models on the pillar were guitars I'd kill to have in my little home recording studio.
In side rooms were the main collection, and several special exhibits. The main collection is dominated, of course, by one James Marshal Hendrix of Seattle, Washington. It's what you'd expect - posters, clothing, Stratocasters behind glass, and headphones for listening in. Oh, and you could play around with the original mix of "Ezy Ryder," recorded shortly before his death. There's similar gear and period objects - as well as digital media - in sections on Dylan, Janis Joplin, Chuck Berry and many more.
More of the same elsewhere. In the Beatles exhibit Hofners and Rickenbackers and Ludwig kits sit behind glass. I couldn't help feeling badly for the instruments, somehow. The Springsteen room was different. A map of the New Jersey Turnpike snaked around the walls of the room, and video screens, listening station, and posters tracked Springsteen's career. But the highlight here were the photographs of Pam Springsteen, which clearly relate to her brother's career of course, but also stand on their own as pwerful documents of American backroads. I know some of the roads in the photographs - roads like Route 539 in New Jersey - and they've changed dramatically since these stark black and white pictures were taken in the 70s and early 80s, all condos and McMansions now.
Still, it's a museum and despite a core subject matter than I dearly love, a fairly dull one at that. Until you get to the top floor.
That's where the "experience" portion of EMP comes to life. Nestled in the eves are a couple dozen recording studios, filled with gear you can actually play. A good friend and I killed the better part of two hours up there, playing around in what is essentially the world's greatest karaoke machine. Some rooms had a full kit - guitar, keyboard, drums - others just single instruments. And others were vocal studios, where you could be coached by the likes of Heart on how to handle "Crazy on You." Basically, it was great fun - even though I've got my own gear at home. Smacking around the drum kits and messing with the jams, time flew. A great place for kids and those with a bit of child still in them.
Of course, as an amateur musician I can do all of that without the $20 admission fee down at the Guitar Center - and often spend a Saturday afternoon doing just that. So does EMP answer the question "why?" Not quite. There just isn't a reason to back that often for the exhibits. And amateur musicians will soon graduate to their own instruments and gear. Eventually, I'd love to see the EMP concept evolve into an online center for source material on rock - a true online lending library for students, the public, and scholars. That truly worldwide effort could be anchored by the museum. Till then, EMP won't quite live up to Allen's lofty goals. If you're in Seattle EMP is worth an afternoon. But as Jimi suggested, I'd rather "pick up my axe and fight like a bomber."