These days, the term “supergroup” is more likely to produce groans than glee from serious music fans. On paper, the idea looks good â€"a bunch of independently monster musicians get together to jam out equally monster songs â€" but in practice you end up with Supernova (save them Storm Large!). Toss “indie” in front of the whole thing and that just means it’s a group full of people you’ve never heard of, from bands you don’t care about, dicking around instead of finding a real hobby.

Watching the New Pornographers rip up the Bumbershoot Mainstage today Bobble Tiki couldn't help think that's what Vancouver, B.C., native Carl Newman originally intended this group to be â€" a part-time hobby where he could fine-tune the perfect pop band without fan interference.  He'd take time away from his underrated band Zumpano, gather up pals like pre-twanged Neko Case and Destroyer frontman Dan Bejar and enter the pop laboratory.

As evident from today's crowd, large considering it's an early show today, The New Pornographers became much more than a distraction for Newman.

The band's lush arrangements and jangly guitars thrilled the large crowd, especially on "The Bleeding," "Mass Romantic," "Body Says No," "It's Only Divine Right" and "From Blown Speakers."  Sound problems interfered with "Jessica Numbers" and "Graceland."

They took a few momemnts to poke fun at Kanye West's ego.  Newman explained they have opened for West before but haven't been within 1,000 feet of him.  "We are not allowed in his general area," said Newman.

They ended the show with pop bomb Sing Me Spanish Techno.

BTW, check out who was checking out Bobble Tiki in the photographer's pit. 

Nice! â€" Bobble Tiki

The combination of sleep deprivation, heat and Bobble Tiki's body funk (he's wearing the same clothes that he wore yesterday â€" don't ask) are overwhelming. Enjoy Bobble Tiki's random Bumbershoot shots while he rests up for the New Pornographers. â€" Bobble Tiki

Few things test the limits of human endurance quite like Seattle's Bumbershoot music and arts festival. What follows is one humble tiki's thoroughly dishonest attempt at capturing some of the most memorable moments from one of the biggest music festivals in the nation. The facts are questionable, but the names remain unchanged in order to implicate the innocent. Or is that the guilty?

12:15 p.m.: Bobble Tiki's first beer of the day, this time without a table.  Bumbershoot yanked the white plastic tables out of the Backyard Stage beer garden.  Hence, Bobble Tiki acquires his first grass stains of the day.  Before a larger Backyard Stage crowd than yesterday's opening band slot Mon Frere treats the crowd to dirty electro pop.  Bobble Tiki wonders if guitarist Kyle Swisher and drummer David Haasl ever get startled by singer Nouela Johnston's fiery vocals. â€" Bobble Tiki

Seeking refuge from the heat, Bobble Tiki stepped inside KeyArena to catch Bumberbout â€" women's flat-track roller derby competition. Seattle's Rat City Rollergirls destroyed the team from North Carolina. 
This sport involves â€" roughly â€" a race between two teams on roller skates, during which a player scores points by overtaking opposing players after skating completely around the track within a certain time limit. Despite its roots in Depression-era entertainment, the derby has undergone several cycles, including an upswing in the '70s, and now has grown to more than 30 U.S. Rollergirl Association leagues. 
Watching big, strong, athletic women on wheels knocking into each other is Bobble Tiki's new drug. â€" Bobble Tiki

Gawd, milk was a poor choice.  The sun destroyed Bobble Tiki today.

Ever since Bobble Tiki was a tiny tiki, his raging internal furnace has humbled him with the constant threat of inappropriate perspiration. In school, regardless of the season, Bobble Tiki would spring the halls after gym or recess with all the composure of a malaria victim. He'd sit at his desk red-faced and shiny, trying to "think cold" or "think dry." Then he'd give up and just sit there helplessly leaking, the back of his shirt becoming a Rorschach of humiliation. Bobble Tiki is sure he can blame at least some of his adult neurosis on the trauma of being born a piece of wood.

Bobble Tiki just lost four pounds typing that last paragraph.

Bobble Tiki jumped into the photographer pit to shoot Blondie's Bumbershoot performance on the Mainstage.  Yes, he was a chosen one. Only 12 photographers were allowed beneath Ms. Harry.  Mr. Bumbershoot Photographer Pit Control Guy had to pick 12 from 20 desperate snapper saps lined outside the gate.  It was so "Project Runway" whatever.  If it wasn't for Bobble Tiki screaming "Bobble Tiki's from Tacoma" he would have shot Blondie's set 50 feet from the stage with the photographers from Walla Walla and Kitsap County. 

Blondie was Bobble Tiki's highlight of the afternoon. Deborah Harry at 60-something still rocks. Dressed in bright-green top and pants, Harry opened with "Call Me," danced in her band's lengthy musical interludes, led a crowd sing-along to "The Tide is High," dedicated "Good Boys" to all the good boys, discussed fishing from Seattle's Edgewater hotel in year's past and worked the stage for the rap parts of "Rapture." â€" Bobble Tiki

"Harrah! Seattle's Bumbershoot is here! Harrah!" Does this sound like you? Do you consider hot weather and no clouds a "nice day?" Do you salivate at the thought of lying out on the Mural Amphitheater lawn under the blazing sun while the sponsorship swag reflects radiant shimmers? How about saunas? You like those? Heat lamps? Flannel sheets? I bet you wear socks to bed too, right? When you go to beach parties, do you just jump into the fire and roll around in the searing coals? Is that what you like? Is that what makes you happy, you masochistic weirdo?

Whoa, sorry, Bobble Tiki didn't mean that. It's just that he gets a little ornery at Bumbershoot. All this heat. It makes Bobble Tiki go a little crazy. Know what else it makes him do? Sweat like a pro wrestler, that's what. But then, there's the rub. You see, Bobble Tiki is not a very big guy. He's just your average tiki, 1'2", 20-pound glistening freak who can't keep his glands shut. Oh, and for the record, Bobble Tiki's taken. Sorry, folks.

OK, a bit of music now. 

Pictured above is this little tyke cranking out serious Mozart for folks entering the Mercer Street entrance.  Dude cranks serious classical.

Next, caught Po'okela Street Band's Jawaiian rhythm on the Bumbrella Stage.  As you can see people must dance to them.  The bassist slapped the crap out of his bass sending a deep thump to Bobble Tiki's heart.

Snapped a shot of the poor people sweatin' in the long line to grab Mainstage passes. 
Right now If in the Backyard Stage's beer garden seeking refuge under an umbrella and tippin' the first Pilsner of the day.  Portland's popriffic Derby entertains.  Harmony driven.  The stage provides shade for the band so their ties are bearable.

OK, see ya later. â€" Bobble Tiki

Glam-sleaze vets Faster Pussycat are playing the next best things to the Sunset Strip â€" The Factory on South Tacoma Way Saturday night!  Taime Downe and the boys (now original guitarist Brett Muscat and assorted members of Downe’s Newlydeads) haven’t released a proper album since 1992’s Whipped,(Between the Valley of the Ultra Pussy (2001) is a remix CD) but who’s keeping track? There’s plenty of mileage still left in nuggets like “Where There’s a Whip There’s a Way,” if not obligatory power ballad “House of Pain.” Hell, it’s amazing these Pussies are still alive. With Atomic Outlaws, River City Rebels and Psycho 78. 8 p.m., The Factory, 56th and South Tacoma, Way, Tacoma. â€" Bobble Tiki

San Francisco's Teenage Harlets are neither teen-agers nor harlets, but they rock like teen-age harlets, whatever a harlet is.  Since 1999, their classic, snot-nosed, garage punk 'n' roll has exemplified their sense of civic duty by administering a shot in the arm and a swift kick in the springs to Bobble Tiki's working-class doldrums.
Although every punk band under the sun would claim the same victory, it's the Teenage Harlet's enlivening balance of classic punk; tongue-in-cheek, rather than menacing, posture; and playful surf band-like tales of girls, drunken nights and heartache that set them apart. Not ones to mistake garage credibility with lack of talent, their songs are sincere and well-crafted. And the go-for-broke energy level of their live show quite simply puts many a punk band - local or otherwise - to shame. In July they released Up The Fixx, their eighth CD, and will showcase it tonight at Maggie O'Toole's with Flexx Bronco, and Sept. 13 with The Phenomenauts and River City Rebels at Hell's Kitchen's all-ages crowd. Aug. 15, 9 p.m., Maggie O’Toole’s, 6006 100th St. S.W., Lakewood, (253) 584-3276. â€" Bobble Tiki

Bobble Tiki has been on the mainland long enough to let his drum interpretation skills slide.  But if Bobble Tiki hears right, the pounding says the Catbox Lounge at 5431 South Tacoma Way is going tiki. 
Tiki?
Could the Catbox be filled with pu-pu platters, tiki torches, erupting volcanoes and wahines on the dancing pole?
Bobble Tiki will keep an ear to the drums. â€" Bobble Tiki

Now Bobble Tiki knows what you’re thinking: Scotch is what fat old men drink while discussing the war, the Truman administration or something equally archaic. However, thanks to increased American interest, and more distilleries handling their own bottling, single malt scotch whisky has become one of the most interesting and accessible liquors.
Bobble Tiki leans toward the Islay scotches, including his favorite Laphroaig.  Stanley & Seaforts, which brags that it has the largest selection of single malt scotches in Tacoma, adds half a shot of Laphroaig to its Collection Martini, giving the Ketel One treat a bit of smoky flavor, thus its former title â€" Smokey Martini. 
Bobble Tiki recommends grabbing one of these puppies this weekend and watch the people dart around Chihuly, from atop the hill.  Just remember Bobble Tiki’s rule: “Martinis are like a woman’s breasts. One is not enough, and three is too many.” 115 E. 34th St., Tacoma, (253) 473-7300. â€" Bobble Tiki