Tales of the Devil Duck Vol. 1: How I Became King of a Punk House

“Tales of the Devil Duck is a series about the author, Bijhan’s, real-life experiences managing the day-to-day operation of the Devil Duck House, where he and other lived and put on regular shows and parties. One of the only Punk Houses in West Seattle, the Devil Duck no longer exists. But if you want to start doing something similar and keep the dream going, take a moment to learn from someone who’s been there.”

: Titan playing bass for me at The Garage, another underground punk venue.

In the winter of 2007 I was on the verge of homelessness. I had already spent the summer living on the streets of Seattle, and had finally found a place to stay in the fall. By Thanksgiving I was holed up in one of my high school friend’s mother’s place. It was acting as a sort of halfway home for wayward youths, with four to five people between the ages of 17 and 20 living there at any given time. Usually people with nowhere else to go. I slept on the couch because there was no other space.

But the woman who ran the house had had enough, understandably so, and gave us all a month’s notice to vacate. With only a meager income and most of it spent on partying, I was hurting hard. I turned to the very person who had put me on the streets: my father. Luckily all the heat of the moment had worn off, and he was eager to help me. Whether or not guilt factored into it, I couldn’t be certain, but I was more than willing to accept his offer. The opportunity was to begin renting a house from him, along with my friend Titan, on the main street of West Seattle. It was too good to pass up.

The name “Devil Duck House” started as a simple little joke. I was setting up the wireless internet for the place when it asked me to name the internet connection. Looking around the only thing we had put on the wall was a glow in the dark devil duck Christmas ornament we had hung on a random hook. The walls were completely bare, so the devil duck seemed an appropriate mascot. I named the internet connection and the name stuck.

December 29^th I was at work at Costco.com’s returns department. Well, actually, I was deftly avoiding work so I could look up musicians on Craigslist. I had been trying to launch my solo career, though I only had written a handful of songs and had absolutely no one to play with except Titan, who played bass. Instead I stumbled on an ad for a music festival that was going to be put on in the Oregon desert – One Family Gathering. I contacted the organizer, a guy named Weather, to see if he would be willing to book me for the event. Not only did he say yes, he offered me a show playing with legendary West Seattle punk rockers the Rat City Ruckus on New Years Eve. The location of the show was only two blocks from the Devil Duck House. I couldn’t believe my luck!

That night I went home and taught Titan the songs I had written, hoping just a guitar, bass, and vocals would be enough. We packed up our gear and carried it down the street the night of the show with no idea what to expect. Little did we know that Weather had already set up Dustin of the Rat City Ruckus to play drums for us, and that Dustin was an incredible drummer. When we played our set – a bare ten minutes – we rocked harder than I thought imaginable. We met a large number of people and got very very wasted to usher in the brand new year of 2008. Titan and I could not fend off the praise, attention, or intoxicants thrown at us from every direction. The year was off to an auspicious start.

Early the next day it occurred to me that not only did I want to play more shows, but that I did not even need to look for another place to book me. I had a stage, just left of my television set, if only I was willing to open my house to drunk strangers. I began looking around and the home began changing before my very eyes. Instead of an empty space between the fridge and the door, that space became the perfect place to put a keg. Instead of a large in-the-way kitchen table, I could clearly see a bar. My living room demanded, nay begged, to become the scene of as much rock music as I could handle.

Within a few days Titan and I were no longer the only residents of the Devil Duck House. People I had known so long ago it seemed like another lifetime popped up and revealed to me a lack of housing. Kentucky Jones, a man from his namesake state who had lived in Seattle on and off for much of his life, began living at the Devil Duck House and doing all the chores instead of paying rent. Diamond, a friend from my college days, also moved in, willing to sleep on the couch and pay a third of the rent.

All of us began styling ourselves “The Devil Ducks” and it became extremely easy to begin throwing shows for free in our home. For some reason, everyone turned to me to make decisions for the house. By having the guts to rent a house from my dad and organize events in the living room, I had silently been crowned King of the Devil Ducks. It was hard work, and there is a lot to know about running a house like this. I hope I can impart some knowledge to those who wish to follow in my footsteps.