Results tagged “bonjovi”

"What’s exciting about sitting at a resort somewhere? Where’s the living in that?” Travis Arket asks, and sets down his pho chopsticks. Matt Crabtree nods. “Not exciting.” Travis and Matt (pictured) are two of the three members of Team Robot House, a non-profit adventure philanthropy corporation based here in the Seattle area that takes on a few extreme challenges each year to raise money for charities such as Mercy Corps.

The artists behind Buttrock Suites uniquely combine the dramatic force of '70s and '80s arena rock (AC/DC, Bon Jovi, Boston) with choreography. It's a hard music dance revue, plus plenty of hairspray. Last year, Seattlest interviewed co-founder Diana Cardiff, who told described the choreography as:

Uh oh. We're not feeling terribly optimistic for our boy Blake. Don't get us wrong, he rocked "You Give Love a Bad Name" once again, but he should've done that second. All the judges agreed that Jordin outsings Blake, no question about it. Seattlest agrees. But as our friend eloquently advises, that's really not enough to make her win.

Holy crap, our hearts are pounding so hard, nervous that our beloved adopted Seattleite Jordin Sparks is about to get kicked off American Idol. Just when we thought she'd take it all. Damn you, Phil "Blaze of Glory" Stacey, for being born to lead a Bon Jovi cover band. Damn you, Lakisha Jones, for finding the one soul song Jon Bon ever wrote. We don't even need to mention Melinda "The Winner" Doolittle, since she's clearly going to take the whole damn competition, even if she has to do it by singing some stupid Bon Jovi song.

On Saturday, they will rock you. In advance of their first show ever in a bonafide rock club, Seattlest asked Buttrock Suites co-founder, producer, choreographer, dancer, and lead head-banger Diana Cardiff how exactly they combine Poison and Bon Jovi with grand jetées and pointed toes. However they damn well please, it turns out.

Friday night's performance by Dorky Park at On the Boards was surreal on many fronts. Seattlest was running late for the show, and as we screamed past Queen Anne Ave N. on Roy street with zero idea where we'd be able to park, someone pulled out of a street parking spot one block from OtB. We slid into the spot and then into the theater, where we promptly scored a seat dead-center in the fifth row (the primary benefit of attending anything solo, there' s usually an orphaned seat like that). The lights dimmed, and came back up on a stunning dark-haired woman, center stage wearing a bombshell red dress with matching red heels. It all went to hell from there.