McLeod Residence

I know it’s gone but the urge to look back remains.
No actual art chops, but plenty of self-​conscious types craving attention. «Let’s act out! Take my picture in unflattering used clothing. I’m ALTERNATIVE!» wink
Wackiness doesn’t make one original. Just wacky.

This two star review is based on my experience at their «Dance Party» night.
So my friends and I have been wanting to go dancing for awhile but were having trouble finding a place that plays fun music that we would want to dance to. I noticed the McLeod Residence’s Dance Party listing in Unilocal events and it sounded perfect. It was described as «80’s, hip hop and guilty pleasures». My friends and I got there around 10pm and it was dismal. The music was bad techno with the barest snippet of recognizable «fun» music. People in the dance floor area were just standing around looking bored and the bar area was not much more lively.
The McLeod Residence itself is pretty interesting and under the right circumstances I could imagine it being fun. But their dance party night was just a big ‘ol bummer.

This place is über-​cool. They have a photo booth that uploads to Flickr, a bathroom mirror that shows your face as a composite of other people’s faces (similar to the Truman Show poster) and cheap PBR. What more could I ask for?
Their acoustic guitar night is a fantastic, intimate, experience. You can actually hear the performers foot tap as they play. Anyone who talks during the performance gets politely shhhed. The place felt like home the first time I turned up.

When I was in junior high, I wore a purple parka. The cool girls rocked olive green beat up parkas, worn with that elusive air of knowingness that is often found in a certain kind of twelve year old girl. Suffice to say, I was not that girl. I am still not that girl, although my fashion choices have improved somewhat.
So it goes without saying that I am not hip enough for the McLeod Residence. This is apparently where all the grown-​up 12 year olds who laugh at purple parkas wind up when they get to drinking age. Seriously, I haven’t been so sneered at since my last trip to Paris, when I asked the waiter if I could have some ice in my water.
But– BUT — I loved this place anyway. For one thing — I love the concept. A bar where you can wander around and check out the art? That’s fantastic. I love the little, slightly retro bar. I love the way you can actually talk to people and *gasp* they respond. Astonishing. I love the space itself, so beautifully remodeled. I loved that the door guy asked for my ID — I mean, for reals? I loved that the music was old 45’s, spun by a guy who wasn’t too cool to look like he was having fun.
It’s like a little bit of Williamsburg in Seattle. Just a pinch.
*Plus one star because the owner Lele was nice enough to thank me for my review, and to tell me that she might get sneered at herself if she wasn’t the owner. :) So not true — when I saw her last night she was gorgeous and über-​cool — AND I wanted her dress more than any of the art last night. *

I love the space — right down to the potties. That one can see who was there before them through the wonders of digital photography is titlating and disturbing all at once. The layout, being residence-​like, conjures memories of house parties in aging old homes on the hill — little factions of folks congregating in each room and the ability to float in and out of conversations and vibes. Neato.
The installations and décor are lovely, lovely, lovely. My brain needs candy and my aesthetica is a hungry little beast; art all over the place and thoughtful fixtures make a girl happy.
But…but, but, but… I came here to dance. I came here to shake my ass all over Ms. Mel’s ass. Which I got to do for like 20 minutes before whomever that fuzzy afro wielding youth was started rapping over «Girls Just Want to Have Fun». Not mixing it in some wonderfully acceptable way. Nope. He was just rapping, with really poor sound mind you, DIRECTLY OVER THE ORIGINAL. No fucking good.
Bye, bye for now McLeod. I’ll be back for something else on some other night. Really excited about the prospects.

Ever walk into a place and automatically know that you are going to have a good time? That is the exact feeling I got when I went here for the first time the other night.
And that’s my review. I’m not going to bother to re-​hash details that others have already so eloquently (and from what I read, accurately) described about the place. I like it and will definitely be back.

I need glasses. I own them and I respect them and I require them. Not for rating your eyebrows or examining ingredients or lifting my fork to my mouth – for close-​up assignments my orbs perform like Professionals – but for comprehending subtitles, decoding aerial advertising or driving, I best enlist spectacles.
So driving without glasses is ill advised, but driving without glasses at night is even iller advised, and driving without glasses at night to a new destination, iller still. Last Sunday night, my eye servants were nowhere to be found (hiding in the lining of my purse, I came to know) but I needed to venture out anyway. I hankered to sip a beverage with the gallies and take in some art and put my ear to a little Karaōke at the McLeod Residence.
I’m not the most seasoned of drivers – public transport was long my main mode – so my inner compass is more attuned to bus numbers and colored station maps and cab digits than off ramps and on ramps and tidy parking jobs. Also, I do not often find myself in (fresh scrubbed) Belltown for my mingling, so bounding forth into this illest trifecta of driving scenarios was setting the scene for some Hot Water.
En route to Belltown, I realized that my stunted vision missed the downtown exit off 99. Once it became clear that I was headed toward Burien, I took the exit which would be deemed (by a stranger in the bathroom line at McLeod) the David Lynch Off Ramp. It brought me to a large and curious plant that billowed smoke and manufactured Evil, with no life in sight, dead ends all around and the only signs reporting «Truck Turn Arounds Ahead.» «What about car turn arounds?» I asked as I hit one road block after another. «What about CAR TURN AROUNDS?!» I asked louder. Not a peep, not a person, not a car. I found my way past the plant to an overpass sheltering a tangle of roads going this way and that way and who’s going where and what way is what? I knew I had to turn fast or I was going to whizz onto an off ramp to my colliding death.
So I maneuvered a reversal and pointed myself in the other direction. Just as I was beginning to relax into the faith that signs would be ahead and all would become clear, the screaming of tires and bellowing of engine alerted me to a bonafide «Bat out of Hell» in my company. Just feet away in an empty parking lot was a tiny car driving doughnuts at Le-​Mans speed, shrieking and sparking and painted in bright orange flames. Bright orange flames! 120 miles/​hr! Just us. Just we! I knew, just KNEW that this car was manufactured by the Plant of Palpable Evil to drive right out of that lot and right into my vehicle, leaving me with not only the handicap of night blindness but also grotesque disfigurement of the cheek and shoulder!
I hugged the car closer to my chest and tried to drive invisible and begged my motor to pleasepleasePLEASE be quiet so as not to inflame the temper of the flamed vehicle. Heart punching and primed for a chase, I took the first on-​ramp I saw, headed toward… SQUINT…Burien.
So I arrived at Belltown’s McLeod Residence from Ballard by way of Burien in need of a DRINK. I fell into the wings of my friends and a Lemon Drop and soothed myself with the handsome art. The McLeod Mirror was worth an extra trip to the bathroom and the Michael Jackson face constructed out of sugar cereal melted away my cares like Lucky Charms marshmallows cavorting in milk. Ooh! There’s a SoopaJDelux with her creepy cute coterie and the graffiti artist who adorns the underpass near 65^th with poker playing rodents and LOOK at all those etched wood skateboards! Suddenly, all was well: charmed staff, chummy crowd, chatty house party din. My Little Pony cartoons played on the Karaōke screen and the headless rabbit tip jar accepted both cash and the wee plastic farm animals that floated around in my purse.
Then someone’s teeny dog peed an astonishing puddle onto a sitting bench and my eager skirt plopped right into it. At that, I took my tired eyes home.

First Trip to McLeod Res:
A sincere request was made for me to reveal my left nipple to 5 strangers (3 female) sitting together at the bar. I declined.
Second Trip to McLeod Res:
Bought 3 rolls of Shit Be Gone toilet paper as stocking stuffers.
Third Trip to McLeod Res:
Had magical conversation with 7 strangers (these strangers were more interested in Barack Obama than in my nipples, which I found refreshing).
Two months later I traveled to a remote city in Mexico with one of those strangers-​turned-​inner-​circle (from the THIRD visit, not the first).
Maybe this says more about me than it does about McLeod, but I find something surprising on each visit. While some surprises are more welcome than others, I am interested in returning simply for the adventure this place affords and the wacky mix of personalities it attracts.

My new favorite place in Belltown, McLeod’s Residence is part gallery, part bar, and part scene. From an unassuming entrance on 2^nd Ave, one goes up a flight of stairs to the space, where you should take your picture with the webcam before moseying on over to several rooms filled with artwork and installations. Really enjoyed the works by Diana Falchuk currently showing, including the wall which is a composition of wall paper, gouache and cake frosting, of all things.
Towards the back, there is a well-​stocked bar. You won’t find 50 different types of scotch or 20 types of microbrews, but you will find Old Overholt Rye, Hendricks gin, etc., as well as a few wines by the glass and beers… you get the picture. Combined with smart bartenders and good service, McLeod’s is unpretentious and sophisticated at the same time.
Stopped by around 9pm on a Friday night and it was empty. But by the time we left around midnight, the place was full of people having a great time, and we will definitely be back regularly. Overall, McLeod’s is a unique combination of gallery, bar, and scene, and unlike some places that try too hard, it works.

I went to the McLeod Residence two Friday’s ago for my favorite new music act Champagne Champagne and I was very impressed with this space!
The décor is great, they have this fantastic black and silver/​white wall paper on the walls which gives the place a very classy and somewhat vintage feel. They’ve done a great job creating a space where both art and performance can live and compliment each other very comfortably.
McLeod is one of the few places where you can have Art, Music, Great Drinks, Friendly staff and Beautiful People sans stuffy attitudes all at the same time!
I like that!

Excellent venue to see unique art, have some drinks and meet friendly, eccentric and intelligent people — The owners are amazingly creative and driven, and are very supportive of the Seattle art community.
The Bar is AWESOME, with great drinks and a fun atmosphere!!!
Go check it out!

*****UPDATE 5÷3÷08: Second Friday night in two weeks at McLeod. I love it even more. LOVE LOVE LOVE. Great patrons, great staff, great music, great art. GREAT GREAT GREAT. Bring on the tax refund, I’m buying myself a membership!*****
I had more fun at the McLeod residence on Friday than I have had (at a public establishment that serves booze) in FO-​EVAH.
The drinks were strong, the patrons were friendly and diverse, the art was cool.
Not only do they book good music acts (we were shakin’ our respective booties with Champagne Champagne on Friday), the small venue allows for a more intimate show, yet the multiple rooms allow for quieter moments — if that’s what you’re looking for.
The staff was incredibly nice — no «hipper-​than-​thou» attitude here, which is a wonderful change from the typical Cap Hill/​Belltown bar scene.
McLeod Residence is officially my new favorite go-​to place for drinks, art and fun. You done good, McLeods, you done real good.
P. S. In case you weren’t aware, they are now open to non-​members Tuesday through Sunday, 6 PM — 2 AM (21+). Check out their website for more info on art and music shows!

I came here with a bunch of girls & I was totally stoked on the set up of this spot. If you get there early enough, there is a bunch of art work you can view in little rooms. Its an second level house that has rooms with different artwork in each. One with a DJ, one with a bar and the rest with funky artwork.
The spot gets pretty crowded quickly & I will say its a miscellaneous crowd. You mos def have your share of hipsters but then you see some random people coming in like they just stepped out of a circus…(not too sure if we didnt get the memo)
overall, its a cute little spot & it plays some dope mixes.

There’s always something interesting going on here. One weekend, you might find yourself in the middle of a dog’s birthday party and another night, you might witness someone getting married at the bar.
My favorite place in Seattle.

Some of the installations fall firmly in the «Um, I don’t get it» category with a lot of emphasis on the «I» in that sentence. Oh well, as Frank Zappa said «Art is making something out of nothing and selling it.».
What I DO get is the bar there, which serves up some pretty tasty drinks. We went there for Charlie McLeod’s 4^th birthday (Charlie is a wee little doggie), where there was cake for all, live music, tons of dogs running around and drinks.
Overall, it’s a cool place.

Have to agree McLeod Residence isn’t like any other gallery on 2^nd. It definitely felt like you were in someones house checking out all the great art. I was there in the afternoon was it was totally empty which made it really nice to freely walk around.
Another great gallery to check out!

Back in art school I realized that I had a really serious problem: Like many of my fellow artists, I was letting art get in the way of my personal hygiene. And I really wasn’t liking art too much. It troubled me, but there seemed a huge disconnect between artist and viewer, unless the viewer was also an artist, who had all the same information the artist had. (And similar body odor). I couldn’t put my finger on it, or express it well, but I kinda quit making art after I graduated. And I started bathing regularly. Connection? Not sure.
Not until a long time later, while reading Heinlein’s ‘Stranger in a Strange Land,’ did I finally discover the words to express my problem. I’ll quote Heinlein a bit here (speaking about Rodin, and the artists who studied him and came after):
«…What [artists] failed to see was that [Rodin] told stories that laid bare the human heart. They became contemptuous of paintings and sculpture that told stories – they dubbed such work ‘literary.’ They went all out for abstractions… Abstract design is all right, for wallpaper and linoleum. But art is the process of evoking pity and terror. What modern artists do is pseudo-​intellectual masturbation. Creative art is intercourse in which the artist renders emotional his audience. These laddies who won’t design to do that – or can’t – lost the public. The ordinary bloke won’t buy ‘art’ that leaves him unmoved.»
Like the character being spoken to (pp325−326), I realized this was one of the reasons why I quit liking or caring about art, and it had nothing to do with bathing habits. I thought, like the character, something was missing in me. (Besides soap) Instead, I was disturbed by the tremendous disconnect between the society my fellow artists were making art about, and my fellow artists:
«…One does have to learn to look at art. But it’s up to the artist to use language that can be understood. Most of these jokers don’t want to use language you and I can learn; they would rather sneer because we ‘fail’ to see what they are driving at. If anything. Obscurity is the refuge of incompetence.»
Recently I’ve started going out to galleries to check out art again, and see if any of it speaks to me. Not as an artist, I’ve got 10 years of separation now and I’ve done my best to forget the secret code words and handshakes.
Ascending into this art space from the street, I felt like I had entered a very large apartment where art lives. I wandered from room to room, not feeling so much like I was walking into different rooms in a gallery, but more like I was walking through someone’s house that had been emptied of everything but the art specifically for that show, but all the beds and couches and dressers and lamps were just waiting in a storage facility or a back closet to be returned to their proper place.
The art work was all intriguing, some more than others. Every time I go I find pieces that I connect with. Maybe I’ve descended back to being a common person from that elitist avante guarde asshole I was learning to be. Or maybe McLeod does a good job of finding work that bridges the gap. Or maybe I’m still too informed and making connections the rest of the world who didn’t get an art degree wouldn’t.
Whatever the case, a fully stocked bar in the back generally makes me stupid enough to like everything I see, even when I don’t understand it. Combine that with some pretty cool music acts that come through, and I feel like I’m back at Thursday Night openings in the main gallery in art school.
Only the people smell a whole hell of a lot better.

Speakeasy, meets commercial art space, gets a civil union and creates something beautiful in the heart of Belltown. Entering this venue makes you feel like you’re in on a secret, and you are… art changes lives. Go to their website look up a public event or go down when it’s open to the public Tuesday — Saturday, 10am-​6pm.
The worst thing that will happen is that you will walk in and die in a freak accident… and what are the odds of that?

The McLeod Residence oozes chic hipster culture, though don’t call the McLeod clan hipsters. Even if you’re on the leading edge of all that is cool in this town, this place seems to have a direct lifeline to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, therefore making us Seattlites stand out like distant cousins at a party for friends. A little awkward, slightly out of place, but related, so we SHOULD get it, right?
The décor is legendary in Seattle: medallion patterned wallpaper in the central hallway, accented with a robin’s egg blue ceiling. I have to admit that it inspired the color scheme in my own living room.
The art is consistently good, interesting, and well-​executed. The drinks are classic, and the parties always a hoot. The Flickr photo-​booth is a highlight always. I’m not sure I’m into the whole «pay $ 300 for membership and get to be a McLeod thing,» but if that’s what you need to feel like an insider here, more power to you.
Personally, I prefer to be that distant cousin, who might not get all the jokes or might not dress quite the right way, but who’s always still invited to the party. It’s fun for the people watching, in any case.

An oasis in Belltown where one can retreat from suck and become drenched in joy. Where else do you find an interactive digital pixel art piece next to the toilet and the ShitBeGone toilet paper? (Image of me from it:
Others have mentioned the interactive photobooth. I ended up here after the Unilocal party, so a Unilocal nametag was even immortalized on it:
I recommend the drink with champagne and some other ingredients that I forgot. Blue fruity one = Eh. Cash only of course so come prepared ;)
This is the kind of place where you come not knowing anyone and leave with a bunch of new friends who talk about politics, art, music, etc. rather than bland smalltalk. I’m a lifetime member :)