A Tribute to Charles R. Cross, Seattle Writer, Historian & Friend

More than a music journalist, the bestselling author crafted a vital chronicle of the evolving culture of his home city 

...by Brangien Davis | CascadePBS.org

Seattle lost one of its most steadfast cultural chroniclers when writer Charles R. Cross died in his sleep on Friday, Aug. 9. He was 67.

A consummate music journalist — whose credits include definitive biographies of Kurt Cobain, Heart and Jimi Hendrix — he was also just a guy who loved Seattle and wanted people to know what makes this place so peculiar and frustrating and wonderful.

As with many long-time residents, Cross could be cranky about the vast changes the city has experienced over the past several decades, but he aired such complaints with humor and self-awareness, usually through his remarkable writing.

I had the genuine pleasure of editing most of the stories he wrote for Crosscut over the past five years. During that time he covered the lasting significance of local musicians like Kurt Cobain and Jimi Hendrix; historic music venues like The Showbox and The Crocodile; and festivals like The Thing and Bumbershoot. Such stories were no-brainers given his rock ’n’ roll bona fides, yet he always brought fresh insight to well-trodden territory. 

Cross (friends knew him as “Charley”) and I hung out socially only a handful of times over the past couple of decades, but as his editor, I felt like I knew him well. A long-term writer/editor relationship brings a curious kind of intimacy — especially with someone who has such a strong personal voice on the page. Having learned to anticipate his impassioned arguments, his wind-ups and one-liners, I often felt I was inside his head.

I found it most fun when I’d email him with something like, “Any interest in writing about the ghostification of Northgate Mall?” And he’d write back immediately, saying, “Oh yeah, I’m all over this.” Remarkably soon after, I’d receive a piece that was funny and full of local context. (Charley’s stories were always popular, but this one remains by far one of the most-read stories we have ever published on Crosscut.)

“Though Northgate Mall is officially in the city of Seattle,” he writes in the 2019 story, “the entire milieu is vaguely reminiscent of an Eastern bloc settlement contaminated with nuclear waste.” Lest you find that comparison over-the-top, he follows it with a quote from the owner of Piroshky, Piroshky, who confirms the empty mall felt “like a third-world country.”

Cross also wrote about the closures at Bartell Drugs (“which locals only call Bartell’s,” as he points out in his piece), and what it means for the city to lose a legacy hometown brand.

During COVID, he told a moving story through the lens of Mudhoney bassist Guy Maddison, who was also an ER nurse in the trenches. Cross also shared how much he missed going to live music shows during the pandemic closures — to the point of giving blood just to get into the Moore Theatre again. And while he was thrilled when music shows finally geared back up, he was openly pissed about the lackadaisical attitude some concertgoers had regarding masks — and told them so. Immunocompromised himself, he also had lost a friend to the virus and didn’t want to lose more.

Among the many accolades that have piled up on social media since his death, friends and colleagues repeatedly note the vital role Cross played in the Seattle music ecosystem. His years as editor and owner of alt-weekly The Rocket (1986 - 2000) were particularly crucial in documenting the city’s rock scene from fledgling to grunge-crazed and beyond.

His efforts to get the paper fully digitized — 336 physical issues, some of which were tough to find — began in 2015 and were finally realized in 2023. Now music historians, students and nostalgia seekers can peruse the articles and vintage classified ads for free online. The effort points to another quality often attributed to Cross: the generosity with which he shared his decades of local music knowledge.

“I felt the paper was always a labor of love for me and for everyone who worked on it,” he told The Seattle Times when the digital archive went live. “To me, The Rocket was always a resource for the Northwest."

Cross himself was a resource for the Northwest, supportive of emerging music writers and up-and-coming bands. His passion for Seattle culture was palpable and bottomless — he had so much to share, and always included a chorus of other voices to flesh out his essays, giving younger readers a vivid image of old Seattle (and giving his peers flashbacks).

His deep fondness for the city led to an endearing tendency to write sentimental endings in his first drafts. It made sense — he was sentimental about things ending. In the editing process, Cross and I would go back and forth about his final sentence as we worked toward something meaningful but not maudlin. It’s an editor’s joy to wrangle with a skilled writer on details like these, and Charley was one of the best.

My colleague Donna Blankinship, who edited Cross this past year, was touched by his generosity in the writer/editor relationship. “Charley was a generous writer, not just with readers but with editors as well,” she says. “After his stories were all wrapped up, he seemed reluctant to let go of the conversation and liked to continue to chat with me over email or in the margins of his stories, exchanging personal stories.” We’ll publish the last story Blankinship and Cross worked on together later this week.

Charley had told me he was at work on another book, one offering a wider look at city history. His friend and author Ann Powers had heard it was in the works too, and told The Stranger it was to be “a cultural history … about Seattle music and Seattle culture and how things had changed."

Soon after hearing the shocking news of his death, I had a sudden and perplexing realization: The best person to write about what the loss of Charley Cross means to Seattle would be Charley Cross. What a terrible irony that he’s not here to do so.