Isla de Encanta

When my parents come to visit Los Angeles, they usually want to do two things: eat at a local Colombian restaurant and go to Olvera Street. I only took my parents there for the first time a couple of months ago, and they fell in love with it.

Olvera Street is in downtown LA, a short drive from my digs in Silverlake, and boasts itself as the birthplace of Los Angeles, originally known as El Pueblo de Nuestro Senora la Reina de los Angeles del Rio Porciuncula (The Town of Our Lady the Queen of the Angels of the Porciuncula River). It's got some original buildings and storefronts incorporated into the marketplace it is today, which sells Mexican trinkets, candy clothing, leather goods, etc... There is also a really nice gazebo where you can either find some traditional dancing going on, or breakdancing busker types in front of it. Always a hub of activity, and plenty to eat, which my folks like.

(Thing is, my parents live in San Diego, and I think Old Town in San Diego - which is basically the same thing except on a much bigger scale - is way better. )

This Sunday, when I asked what they wanted to do, my father said, "Well, your mom wants to go down to Olvera Street..." so off we went. The same deal: buy some funny things, look at clothes, eat some churros. Today, the performance in the gazebo was a youngish Mexican singer, belting out the traditional Mexican tunes in the traditional Mexican flavor, and the crowd was eating it up. My mom (who is from Colombia) explained to me that these songs have been around forever, and are recorded over and over again in the same style and are hugely popular throughout Central and South America, not just in Mexico. "Kind of like lounge stuff, Rat Pack stuff?" "Exactly, " she said, "Just like Frank Sinatra's music."

The guy on stage was emulating a certain singer, and there was a crowd of people in front singing along loudly. To our right was a little old lady, occasionally getting up from her chair to gesture wildly and clap, singing enthusiatically the whole time. She was about four feet tall with crooked teeth and a big smile, big white hair, dressed in white slacks, a white t-shirt and sneakers. Eventually, her excitement got the better of her and she wandered up towards the front. The singer came down from the gazebo, danced her around a little, and then gave her an autographed poster which she proudly carried back to her family.

Musicians - always having their way with the ladies.

Just a Thought

George Carlin said it best about Martha Stewart:

"Boy, I feel a lot safer now that she's behind bars. Kobe Bryant is still walking around; Osama Bin Laden too, but they take the one woman in America willing to cook, clean, and work in the yard, and haul her butt off to jail."

Tee hee.

Hell Yes

We take a break from our regularly scheduled reminiscing about the Bay Area to bring you this festival update:

FUCK YEAH FEST II

WITH: DILLINGER FOUR + OBSOLETE HEART + DIVISION DAY + ROLLING BLACKOUTS + YOUR ENEMIES FRIENDS + GIANT DRAG + BEEHIVE AND THE BARRACUDAS + THE TOP DRAWER + THE HIPS + THE POPE + THE NAVIES + THE RED ONIONS + BAD DUDES + UPSILON ACRUX + CURL UP AND DIE + TOYS THAT KILL + GREG ASHLEY OF GRIS GRIS + WIVES + THE AMANDANS + BOBBY DAZZLER + CINEMA CITY + THE OOHLAHS + MOJO FILTERS + DARKER MY LOVE + WIRES ON FIRE + MEAN REDS + LIMBECK + TRAVIS SHETTEL OF PIEBALD

WHERE: Echo Park (The Echo, Sea Level Records, Taix Restaurant and the Jensen Rec Center)
WHEN: Saturday, July 2
$6.00
ALL AGES

For practically no money at all, you can wander around lovely Echo Park, see some great art (because the fest showcases that too) and some awesome bands. I mean, Dillinger Four! Giant Drag! The Rolling Blackouts! The Mean Reds! And there are some great dive bars on the street for a quick fix, if ya need one. And yummy Mexican food.

Just trying to help you Angelenos plan your weekend, and support the locals!

Foxy Little Girls In Oakland

You know, I went to the Bay Area about a month ago, and had the best vacation I'd ever had in my entire life. And I've had some pretty cool vacations. It's just that it was a combination of things... The weather was perfect, crisp and clear and sunny. The people were, as always, friendly and interesting and nutty. The entertainment was endless, it seemed. There was no traffic (everyone leaves the Bay for Memorial weekend) plenty of parking, and lots of great food and shopping. What more could a girl want?

So, Day One: Oaktown. I drove up and went straight to my friend's shop, Zosaku, where any cool piece of jewelry I own came from. My crashpad, Kitty, wasn't home yet, so I blew some time shopping on 4th street in Berkeley till she called. 4th Street (a few blocks from the fabled Gilman Street) was an industrial area under the freeway near the Berkeley pier for a long time, filled with squatters and artists and a diner here or there for the fishermen working during the day. Some warehouses started fancying themselves up for the public, and then the next thing you know it was all cute and full of boutiques and restaurants. I started working there along with some other friends. We were the tattooed kids with piercings and fake hair... At the time, I had platinum hair (for a Latina with jet black eyebrows and olive skin, it made an impression), tattoos and a nosering. Okay, I still have the tattoos and the nosering, but they are very subtle. Most of my friends that worked on the street were in the cafe or diners, also fiercely tattooed and scruffy looking. The rich folks just loved to mix with us. It was very: "Oh, they may look scary, but they are very nice. That one serves me mocha every day!"

Once Kitty got to town, we hit up Telegraph Ave. for a little bit of thrifting and had dinner. Then we went to Ajax's for some BBQ and soft rock. Ajax and Russ were really rockin' the soft rock, as friends stood around the firepit just chillin'. It was hilarious. Hilariously SATISFYING, that is. After that, we zipped over to some Oakland warehouse space called The Breathing Room, I think. There was some art, there were some bands, there were some people... so we took them with us to Radio and The Golden Bowl in downtown Oakland. The Golden Bowl had dancing, but Radio was the dive bar where we made our home. DJ Joe Quixx was spinning, member of the Oakland Faders and compadre of DJ Shadow. We hung out there till we got kicked out... which was late since we knew everyone working at the bar. Bonus!

It was awesome. The East Bay felt really alive and vibrant that night, and I wasn't even drunk most of the evening. There was so much creativity around town, people hanging out, good feelings... It made me really sad to have left the place. So if you ever go to the Bay Area for a visit, don't dismiss the East Bay as just a parking lot for SF. It fucking rules.

Goody Two Shoes

I got my first (and so far only) lap dance almost 2 years ago. It was bought for me by Linda Perry, the woman from 4 Non Blondes who writes and produces for everyone these days... Pink's "Get The Party Started," Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful..."

Anyway, I was potentially going to work for her. A mutual friend thought I'd be kickass for the job, as I'm responsible, quick, very music savvy and very easy to get along with. And I looked just like her ex girlfriend. Kidding, kidding! That wasn't actually a plus.

I'd met her once or twice over the years as we'd both been in the Bay Area for a long time as well as in Los Angeles. We knew some people in common, so it wasn't terribly farfetched. I remember my friend Greg (also a musician/songwriter) said to me, "Mo, if you start working for Linda Perry, I will never be able to speak to you again." "What? You're lying." "No, Mo, I would never lie about that."

My "interview" with her consisted of me, her and our friend hanging around the studio, doing shots and drinking beer and telling stories. Pretty cool, huh? She was a very intense person, but fun to hang around. Then she decided it was time to go to the titty bars. I wish I could remember which one she liked, because they had hot chicks in there, but all I remember was that it was in the Valley along with a million other titty bars.

Once inside, we all sat at the stage and kept drinking. I was the only straight girl in the place, which was filled with men and my two lesbian companions. I was watching this one girl in the schoolgirl outfit with little pigtails do her thing, when Linda started grabbing my knee. "Mo, let me buy you a lapdance." "Really? I don't know what to do." "Oh, you will, you will. You like her?" She pointed at the schoolgirl. "Yea, I guess." "Okay, I'll get her for you." And she did.

The schoolgirl led me to a small back area, with a doorframe but no door, and three stalls with stools in them. I sat in one and she began writhing on top of me. I said, "I really don't know what I'm supposed to do." She goes," Oh, don't worry, I love giving lap dances to girls. It's much easier." "Really? Do guys ask for certain things?" "Not really, but they talk dirty to you and expect you to do it back, or they start grabbing at you without realizing it and you have to push them away without making them feel embarrassed. You have to pay a lot more attention." "Wow," I said, "I hadn't really thought of that." We talked a bit more and my dance was over.

I went back to our table and Linda was glaring at me, shaking her head sternly. "Thanks, that was cool, " I said. She sighed loudly. "You don't TALK to your lapdancer!" she said. "Man, you are sooooo straight!" Then she bought a lapdance for my friend, and one for herself, and we went on home. On the way, she asked me about how to handle the ex girlfriend, because not only did I look like her, but I acted like her too (except for that whole straight thing, I'd hope). She also decided to give the job to her niece.

About a week later, Greg called. "Mo, are you working for Linda Perry?" "No, I was too straight. She did buy me a lap dance, though." "Oh, good, because I wanted to talk to you. Can you swing by? You can tell me all about that lap dance..."

The High Priest of Hip

"Permit me to introduce myself, the name is Mr. Kicks -
I dwell in the dark dominion way down by the River Styx.
The devil has sent me here because I'm full of wicked tricks
And I'm such a popular fellow among all you lunatics..."

It has only now come to my attention that, over the Memorial Day weekend, one of the coolest cats you may never have heard of passed away. Permit me to introduce... Mr. Oscar Brown Jr.


A Chicago activist who accidentally became a musician, Oscar became known for the lyrics he penned to popular jazz instrumentals like Mongo Santamaria's "Afro Blue" and more notably, "Work Song" by Nat Adderly (a version made extremely well known by Nina Simone). His originals also became standards: "Signifyin' Monkey" was memorably recorded by Johnny Otis, Mahalia Jackson brought fame to "Brown Baby," and y'all have heard "Watermelon Man" at least a couple times in your lifetime.

His lyrics were pretty much always about politics and bein' black. He was a poet from the ghetto, and he wrote and sang about it with such style that he was thrown into NYC by his neighbor, Lorraine Hansberry, who wrote the play (and later film) "A Raisin in the Sun." Before that, Oscar had mainly been doing radio... Granted, it was the news and he was the first Negro newscaster doing a specialty program called "Negro Newsfront" which he sprinkled with poetry by the likes Langston Hughes. Once in New York, he started playing at the Village Vanguard and was noticed almost immediately by the Beat Kids. "But I Was Cool" and "Somebody Buy Me A Drink" were anthemic to that crowd, along with "Mr. Kicks." His clever word play and poetic raps made him a favorite, and he toured with the likes of Miles Davis, Aretha Franklin, and Coltrane. At the time, he was also a card carrying member of the Communist Party, which he would later give up because he was "to black to be red."

He wrote plays and music for theatre for years, and continued to release an album here or there. I was lucky enough to meet him back in 1996, and he was a well spoken, intelligent and extremely charming man. My friend and I practically swooned after we spoke with him for a few moments. He had appeared most recently on Russell Simmons' Def Poetry Jam (and had I known, I would have been GLUED to the set) and continued to contribute to scores of African American projects in television and film.

His finger snapping bravado conveyed the kind of intelligent swagger that the Rat Pack would adapt for comedy's sake years later. Check out some of his tunes and see if you don't enjoy his music also - he was a classic.

Down With the Sickness

I got a cold a couple of weeks ago, but I tried to pretend like I didn't have it. One day, I sort of couldn't function, so I didn't go out that night. Other than that, I continued on my hectic schedule of travel and shows - because I am a girl who hates to miss ANYTHING.

So yesterday when I was brushing my teeth, I realized that I was about ready to fall over. I knew that I was still sick, ridiculously congested and achy, but had been in denial until that moment. Well, deny no more - off to the doctor!

I've been diagnosed with Pharyngitis. It's not that big a deal, just a mild infection of the tonsils and the sinus and a little ear stuff. They loaded me up with anti-biotics and sent me on my way. The part that got me was the little conversation I had with my doctor after he told me what I had...

Dr: Open your mouth... Oh, yes.
Me: Uh?
Dr: Yes, yes. Let's see your nose. Mmm hmmm.
Me: Just a sinus thing?
Dr: Well, a little more than that. It's pharyngitis. I see you never had your tonsils removed.
Me: Is that bad?
Dr: Not unless you get infections all the time. Do you?
Me: No.
Dr: Then it's fine. This isn't so bad - just an infection antibiotics can take care of in a couple days, although it could linger a couple of weeks. I rarely see it in adults, though.
Me: Really? It's a kids' thing?
Dr: Yea, I see a lot of 3rd graders with this. Have you been hanging around with a lot of 3rd graders?
Me: Actually, on Sunday I went to a children's play in a park with a whole lot of kids.
Dr: Either your plane ride could have irritated your cold and caused this, but more likely it was the kids.
Me: Great.

Kids, the ultimate germ factories. Lucky me. At least my doctor was cool enough to give me some drugs that should have me rockin' & rollin' by the 4th of July!

Girls Can Tell

Last night was about the rock. The indie rock. This means I am at work trying, really really trying, to stay awake.

We saw Spoon at the Avalon, to a sold out crowd (I was later told that this was approximately 1500 people). I was also told by the absolute Spoon fanatic that I went with (a passion for a band that rivals my own for the Pixies and Throwing Muses)that the show was very Girls Can Tell heavy. Isn't that the greatest album title? As my friend also said, Elvis Costello is kicking himself repeatedly for not having come up with that one.

I can tell you which songs I liked that I knew... "I Turn My Camera On," "The Way We Get By," "Chicago At Night," "Metal School," "Fitted Shirt," and, um... "Everything Hits At Once." They sounded great - my friend and I had found a spot over the stage on a balcony that no one seemed to be standing on but us, which made everything sound even better.


After the show we went backstage for a while, which is this teeny tiny little space, and we stole little bits of the bands' rider. I like that they had water, beer, and Swedish fish readily available. Actually, there was an awful lot of candy backstage - which I appreciate and wholeheartedly support. The Spider Club was taking place upstairs (this is a notorious Hollywood starlet hang - you can't turn a corner without bumping into anorexic teens currently splashed all over tabloids) and we all wanted to get out of Dodge.

The band went to check out Cinespace, a nightspot lousy with hipsters on Tuesday nights. After about three seconds, drummer Jim Eno said, "Okay, my head is going to explode. Where are we going now?" Daddy's was suggested, a low key swanky joint a couple blocks over, which appropriately has Cary Grant's star right out front. We blew time there till they closed, and then the band had to get back on the bus and go to Tucson. "We'll be home in four days!" Jim kept saying during the evening.

Good show, good guys, good times. And now I'm REALLY tired.

Another Way You Can Tell Is...

COPENHAGEN, Denmark - New research indicates parts of the brain that govern fear and anxiety are switched off when a woman is having an orgasm but remain active if she is faking.

In the first study to map brain function during orgasm, scientists from the Netherlands also found that as a woman climaxes, an area of the brain governing emotional control is largely deactivated.

"The fact that there is no deactivation in faked orgasms means a basic part of a real orgasm is letting go. Women can imitate orgasm quite well, as we know, but there is nothing really happening in the brain," said neuroscientist Gert Holstege, presenting his findings Monday to the annual meeting of the European Society of Human Reproduction and Embryology.

So, boys, if you're ever wondering... pay a little more attention - or check out her brain scan!

Pluck Your Magic Twanger

Just flew in from Oakland, and I need to rest... so, go watch some TV!!

And now that you've watched that cleverly sick little piece of programming, go here to find out what the hell it was all about.

Look No Further

Here is game for your Friday...

The Streets of Bakersfield, Part 3

I know, I know! How can I get this much mileage out of a 16 hour trip to Bakersfield? Hell, I still haven't even had time to write about my Memorial Weekend trip to the Bay Area, which was quite possibly the best vacation I've ever had in my whole life. I digress... One last foray into the California hipster farmland.

Before we left town, we went to a diner which was recommended to us by the guy at the gas station. My friend asked where we should get breakfast. The conversation went something like this:

"Hey, do you know a good place for breakfast around here?"
"Uh, yea."
(Pause.)
"Do you know what it's called?"
"What?"
"The breakfast place."
"Zingo's."
(Pause.)
"Uhhh, where is it?"
"What?"
"Zingo's."
"Oh, about a mile and a half north."
"Thanks."

Turns out Zingo's was approximately 3 blocks north. Maybe that's a mile if you're trippin' on gas fumes, but it was an okay enough place. Very much a truck stop, filled with big grizzly men in baseball hats talking to each other (none of them were sitting together, they just yelled from table to table) about truck parts and keeping their cabs clean and stuff. There was a really old lady who wandered around asking if anyone there had won the lottery, and occasionally a waitress would tell her, "Well, if I won it, I sure wouldn't be here, would I?" The place was decorated in James Dean posters and paintings, most of which lit up. Elvis came in a close second on the wall art. (And yes, he lit up too.)

We ordered breakfast from a hundred year old ostrich with a smoker's hack. My friends went to call his family and the food arrived, and she joked to me "Well, your friend isn't allowed to complain if it gets cold! Hahahahaha!" I was all, "You betcha!" She made an impatient gesture at my friend and scolded him ever so slightly when he returned to the table.

We hustled out past the Harleys and semis. Goodbye Bakersfield... I'll be back for thrift store shopping and dinner some other time.

The Streets of Bakersfield, Part 2

As a mentioned earlier, the one of the reasons my friend and I went to Bakersfield was to eat food. Particularly, Basque food. There is a large community of French and Spanish Basques in the area, with a smattering of quality restaurants and bars in "International Square" (as it's called) . The most notable of these is the Noriega Hotel, but we didn't eat there because the one meal of the night was served at the same time Buck was going on stage. So the Noriega will have to be another day.

After leaving the Crystal Palace, my friend and I went to "International Square" in search of any open tapas bars. What we found were... tumbleweeds. Blocks and blocks of closed up buildings and empty streets, and it was only 9:30 at night! Then I noticed a place that was open, but there were a couple sketchy guys hanging out front so we passed it up.

We doubled back, and I saw some inviting neon lights. It turns out it was the Pyrenees Cafe, a huge French Basque place still serving drinks at its long bar. The bartender (Joel) , chef (Gilbert) and owner (Robin) were all sitting around shooting the shit, as a large party had just left. There were two other guys in the bar, and us. That's pretty much how it stayed for the next two hours while my friend and I got drunk with the locals.

We'd heard of a particular Basque mixed drink, which my friend said was called "Pisco" and I kept calling "Picasso" because I just couldn't remember. Turns out it is called "Picon Punch." It's a whole lot of Torani Amer - which is a sort of orange bitters - grenadine, soda water, and brandy. I thought it was nasty. I opted for a couple Moscow Mules instead, because I saw they had copper cups. When I called it a girly drink, the bartender made sure he'd mixed it REAL strong for me. Then there were some shots of something. I was a goner.

We hung out and drank with the gang, and Joel's wife showed up later. They told us about the various Basque festivals which happen over the course of the year, including one coming up called the "Sheepherder Carnival," I think. Lots of homemade food and drinking in the street. In fact, this particular establishment was so old that they were allowed to put your drink into a "to go" cup if you needed to take it home with you.

We all got kicked out around 11:30, with friendly drunken hugs and kisses all around from our new best friends. On the drive home, my friend told me that when I had gotten up to go to the bathroom, Joel had asked him if we were swingers. My friend said, "No, we're not even a couple or anything" and Joel responded, "Well, it never hurts to ask!" I suddenly understood why Joel had given me his card at the end of the night and said, "In case you come back..."

Whoa! Oh, Bakersfield. Now if local resident John Doe had been asking, I might have been singing a different song...

The Streets of Bakersfield, Part 1

This weekend a friend and I took a little jaunt to Bakersfield. I didn't realize until I got there that my California life experience has pretty much been on the beachy side... not too much time in the country. My grandparents had a farm in Lakeside, with goats and orange trees and a creek and everything, but it wasn't all that removed from San Diego proper. You were only minutes away from SDSU.

Bakersfield felt a bit more removed than that. We had two reasons for hitting it up: Basque food and Buck Owens. It turns out that there is a big French & Spanish Basque community in Bakersfield (which is a little over a hundred miles north of LA) and some great restaurants and bars featuring Basque specialties. Then there is the Crystal Palace, a sort of House of Blues type space, except all countrified, where Buck Owens & the Buckaroos play. Ole Buck built it himself to be his own museum and venue. We decided to hit the Crystal Palace, because Buck is gettin' mighty up there in years.

We had heard that Buck doesn't perform a whole show anymore, but jumps onstage with his band for a couple songs and then is done for the night. Our server took our order of beer and steak, and told us Buck probably wouldn't go on till about 9pm. It was 6:15.

Along the wall were display cases featuring photos, gorgeous old nudie suits, gold records and paraphanalia relating to Buck's 40+ year career. He is sort of the mayor of Bakersfield, with his own street and radio station and music scene, basically. When he got to Bakersfield in 1951, it had a thriving country music scene with the likes of Tommy Collins and the Maddox Brothers & Rose calling it home, and Bob Wills working there extensively. Buck's "freight train" sound got audiences jumpin' and put Bakersfield on the map musically. It sort of meant this hardcore honky tonk music, the Bakersfield sound has since been embraced by what the kids call New Country Traditionalists (or so I've been told) like Dwight Yoakam & Marty Stuart. Those two sort of brought back the musical memory of Buck (since most people only knew him as that guy from Hee Haw at this point) by recording his songs. Dwight even took Buck on tour with him.

So Buck opened up the Crystal Palace for himself. And after exploring the walls, I went to the gift counter (no shop, surprisingly, just a little counter). I was surrounded by huge bronze statues of country legends (I was a little afraid of them - Johnny Cash guarded the door and Elvis stood just inside, with George Jones) while looking for the pin my friend had asked me to pick up for him. I found it, a little red, white and blue guitar with the word "BUCK" across it and went to pay up. I was scrounging around my wallet for change when I looked up to the cashier and saw that ole Buck was standing there, black cowboy hat and a black suit, next to her. He was looking right at me, all confused. So I just smiled real big and said, "Hi!" He smiled back, nudged his cashier, and said, "This one's on me, honey." Then he walked away.

Well, the rest of the night was anti-climatic after that. Buck played for almost an hour and a half, and loads of people danced. Guys dressed like Garth Brooks, girls in flashy halter tops and pony tails and hats, little kids, jocks and square dancers, the whole shebang. My favorite dancers were on opposite ends of the spectrum: an old, old skinny guy, with pants pulled up to his nipples, a bolo tie and cowboy hat, shakin' not much more than his ass and his fingers and wearing a huuuuuuuge smile... And a girl who was about seven, wearing a pretty cool dress and boots with fringes, occasionally bursting out into aerobics style movement and ending her routine with an attempt at doing the splits on the dance floor.

Buck allowed people to bring up requests and announcements. Anytime someone had an anniversary, his co-hort on stage would read the congratulatory note and Buck would yell, "40 years! Well, that's the dumbest thing I ever heard! Who wants to look at that same face for that long! Damn, that's dumb!" He introduced one of his waitresses for a song, and said, "She's a great singer, but we can't do anything about her looks." It sort of became a "Shut up and fiddle, Buck." And he did.

Well, it was fun and all, but the whole thing made me realize... I am SUCH a city girl!

The Mystery Ingredient

This one's for Rachael.

She forwarded me a link about "food." I put the word "food" in quotations because, well, it is questionable that the items described at this site are actually "food." See, even the creators of the recipes subscribe to the "quotation" rule. For example, the following:

Of course, the use of quotations is extremely important here because enchiladas have nothing to do with toast, the cornerstone to this particular recipe. Hence, "enchilada."

(This sort of reminds me of the time my brother's friend decided to try to make pad thai by mixing spaghetti, peanut butter, fish oil and dried jalepeno peppers. Didn't work.)

This website contains a very amusing collection of Weight Watchers recipe cards from 1974. Check it out; they weren't afraid of carbs...

And, the perfect companion piece to these recipes would be the tale of a fellow who ate mysterious items actually sold in the store. Items like potted meat, natto, and cuitlacoche.

Steve, don't eat it! Oh, but Steve did, Steve did... (Thanks to Scotty for that one!)

Feeling icky inside yet? Just doing my part to help keep my friends on their diets. Bon appetit!

Hang On To Your Ego

Now it is time to end this week of Pixies reminiscing... but with one more story.

Once someone asked me if my head would explode if I ever met the band. "No, " I replied. "I don't ever want to meet them." "Why?" "Because they're nuts."

In late 1994, promoting his solo CD Teenager of the Year, Frank Black came to my college radio station. We were all excited, and my friend who was going to interview was one of the best we had. He is the kind of guy who can hold a conversation with anyone, knows everything about any kind of music, is clever and funny, multilingual, and a talented musician himself. There was no way he wouldn't have an interesting interview with Frank Black.

We were alerted to the fact that this was going to be a "special" interview when Mr. Black's manager faxed us a release, asking the interviewer to sign a statement saying that he would not ask Frank about two things: 1. The Pixies. 2. His weight.

This left us a bit puzzled: we could understand why he wouldn't want to talk about the Pixies, having recently come out of a relationship with the band in a bad way (yea, breaking up by fax is a bad way), but his weight? Were we going to be so hard up for questions that we'd ask about his weight? The release was signed and returned.

Frank came in for his interview, and he was a total ass. He would speak in gibberish rather than answer any questions, strummed his guitar and made up weird little songs, and kept referring to the station as "your cute little radio station." (Never mind that it is still one of the 10 best college radio stations in the country, but whatever.) He got a bit friendlier when he wasn't on mike, picking out music to be played, but once the microphone was on, he was back in character. Towards the end, my friend asked him, "So how do you handle the rumors that you're a homosexual?" And Frank spit back, "I have a girlfriend in France!" End of interview.

Later, Cult of Ray came out. It is practice at our station for someone to listen to a new CD, slap a sticker on it and write a review. After that, anyone who listens and wants to write alongside that review can do so. The review comments for this CD went a little like this:

"Cult of Ray- Frank Black: Former leader of the Pixies keeps going with the surf and space thing and comes up with another album sort of like the last one. Ho-hum."

"All I can think of when I listen to this is how fat he is."

"He is one fat fuck."

"The problem with this disc is that I can't hear how fat he actually is."

"Obviously, you aren't listening hard enough."

"This space is actually for a review of the album; which is an average attempt of what he's been doing for the last couple years."

"Aside from getting really fat, the fat fuck."

I'm doing this from memory, but to this day, I still refer to him as The Fat Fuck. As do most folks from that era at the station. I have since learned that before that interview, he had a Q&A with Dave Thomas, leader of Pere Ubu (whom the Pixies once toured with) and fellow Big Man. Dave repeatedly asked Frank questions about his weight and told him to embrace being a large frontman, which I guess left Frank pretty traumatized. I also recently had a talk with a swell guy who told me that he has had many a meal with Frank, who was always very pleasant. Well, maybe age has mellowed him.

Although a friend of mine interviewed him back in September, and said he was a nutjob. So who knows? I just love the Pixies.

Tales From the Pit

When I see the Pixies, I am generally up front getting slammed around with everyone else. I can't help it - I hear the music and I get all nuts. I run up to the front and have to be with the other rowdies. Now, I'm not thrashing around hitting people or anything, I'm usually happy to jump up and down a lot.

There's always something memorable in the Pixies pit - ummmm, any pit. Well, sit right down my wicked son, and let me tell you a story...

October 25, 1989: I took my little brother to his first concert, the Pixies playing with Bob Mould. It was at UCSD and my brother was 14 years old. We all went right up to the front, started dancing around and getting all into it, and I sort of forgot about my brother. Then there he was, crowd surfing above me. And then the next thing you know... he was asking me to drop him off at Danzig shows. Oops!

December 18, 1991: The Hollywood Palladium, opening for Jane's Addiction. Someone threw a shoe at Perry during the intro to "Mountain Song," and he fell right over. No one had noticed at first, as the whole crowd yelled, "THREE FOUR" in anticipation of the song... He didn't get up for a minute, then was helped off the stage. A poor roadie was sent back out to tell the crowd that the concert was over, thanks to whoever threw that shoe. A riot ensued. Like, really. I think it's documented in "The Gift" which I have yet to see. I lost the people I'd come with, got so thoroughly stomped that the steel was torn from my boot and the next day I found out I had a greenstick fracture in my foot. But I still went to the next show (I'd already been to 3 that week). By the way, as I stumbled out onto Sunset Boulevard, I did find my friends.

April 16, 1992: The frat boy show at the Warfield in SF. I used to hang out with a lot of frat boys, even though I was weird indie girl. These frat boys were all in the same house, and a guy I'd pretty much grown up with had joined that house, so I was there a lot. They weren't date rape types (well, not all of them) and the house almost got de-Greeked because they were so anti-social, but I talked a bunch of them into going to see the Pixies with me and had my own bouncers for the night. They were a rowdy crew and it was a blast.

June 2, 2005: The Wiltern Theatre in LA... There is no moshing or stage diving around. But a guy that kinda looks like that dude from Anthrax was shoving people around anyway. A tiny little man with big hair got in punker dude's face, waved a finger and yelled, "Stop it!" Punker dude shrugged, and started doing it again. People were all excited, and nobody really cared, except for the little guy, who got all up in pinker dude's shit and practically got postal on him. "I said STOP IT!! What do I have to do?" I leaned over to the punker dude and said, "Somebody needs to take that guy out." Evidently, this was seen as a come on, because when the pit really kicked in, the punker dude swung over to me, put a hand on my chest and the other on my back, and swung me out into the mess. It was a nice fluid move, all the way up to the second my foot slipped on ice from somebody's drink and I went straight up and back down onto the floor. I put my hands up and was immediately thrown right back onto my feet.

Good times, good times. Celebs I spotted at the past few shows? Karen O, Dennis Miller, and Tracy Ullman. They were all standing right next to me, and Tracy Ullman introduced her kid to Dennis Miller's. Tracy is a Kim fan, and she was rockin' it pretty hard. Who wasn't? It was the Pixies.

They Were Panoramic

Okay, I'll start going into the Pixies now.

I saw them 6 times last week: 2x on Monday, May 30th in San Fransisco at the Warfield, 2x on Thursday, June 2nd and 2x on Friday June 3rd at the Wiltern here in Los Angeles. If I could have taken another day off work, I would have seen them in San Jose too.

They were having fun, sounding awesome - totally ripped it up. I went a little bit nuts at times. As one of my many Pixies dates said to me, "You were totally rockin' it out." Yea, but out of 6 shows, I only have one bruise and one scraped elbow to show for it, so we weren't rockin' it out very hard. We're old.

Details next post. Here are the songs I think I remember hearing over the course of my pilgrimmage:

Bone Machine, Break My Body, Something Against You, Broken Face, Gigantic, River Euphrates,In Heaven, Where Is My Mind?, Cactus, Oh My Golly!, Vamos, Brick Is Red, Caribou, Isla De Encanta, The Holiday Song, Nimrod's Son, Levitate Me, Debaser, Tame, I Bleed, Wave of Mutilation (both versions), Here Comes Your Man, Dead, Monkey Gone to Heaven, Mr. Grieves, Crackity Jones, La La Love You, There Goes My Gun, Hey, Gouge Away, Into the White, Dance the Manta Ray, Winterlong, Velouria, Allison, Is She Weird, Blown Away, Stormy Weather, Planet of Sound, Alec Eiffel, The Sad Punk, Head On, U-Mass, and Subbacultcha.

I think that was everything I heard. It's all one long, happy blur...

We Dance Mechanik

Yes, I know you're wondering how the Pixies shows were, considering that I went to 6 of them. Last week. I'll talk about those plenty, but right now - the dance music.

Yes, my friends, there was a lot of dancing the last couple of days. It started on Saturday night at Spaceland, with the Uptown Lights. This is a straight up cover band which happens to be the alter ego of the entire Twilight Singers band with a girl singer crooning along with Greg Dulli. It was a rollicking good time; I don't think I've ever seen Greg so psyched up, and I've seen him plenty. They cover mostly soul stuff - "I'll Be Around" was seguewayed nicely out of "Backstabbers," I think... Oh dear... We were all a bit drunk and I get terribly in-the-moment and forget what I've just done at things like this. I also remember an awesome rendition of "Wang Dang Doodle," the surprise inclusion of the Twilight Singer's elusive b-side funk-out "So Tight," and the night ended with the whole place screaming along to the Face's "Ooh La La" as done by Dulli & Co. Honestly, the best part of the whole show was the fact that the band was having a ball; Greg likes to take people on a ride and this evening was no exception.

Afterwards, a few of us went to the Shorty, co-owned by Mr. Dulli and a good friend of mine. We had drinks and did some more dancing, but as the sun started to creep up, it was time to go home. Most of the boys were out for the night, and I had a long week of Pixies fun and needed to rest up for the next show on the agenda: Kraftwerk.

Monday night, under the Hollywood stars of the Greek Theatre in the Los Feliz hillside of Griffith Park, those wacky Germans hit the stage. It was more like a presentation: four older men, standing at podiums, with laptops (or items that looked like laptops) pushing levers, turning knobs, hitting buttons, all that. With these guys, it was all about presentation. There were terrific images up on screen for every piece, from that bicycle fetish they seem to indulge in oh-so-much, to flashing numbers, 50's archival fashion footage and lovely cars and trains from way back when... except then they thought these things were very futuristic. So, yea, it was very future retro. Does that make sense?

Oh, and robots. There were definitely robots.

Kraftwerk is one of those bands that has been around so long that you don't realize how many of their songs you actually know. "Fun fun fun on the autobahn..." That song is so... stupid, but it made me really happy to hear. And it made me want to rent a car so that I can drive real fast when I hit up Germany this fall. And the graphics for "Pocket Calculator" were so goofy that I laughed every time, and I mean every time, the little cartoon hand musically pressed the keys of the aforementioned pocket calculator. You can see some of these displays if you go to their website, and they are interactive as well! Oh, those Germans...

Music, non-stop!

Celluloid Heroes

Over the weekend, I was able to take one of my dearest friends to one of our guiltiest pleasures:

The show will actually air on Thursday, but I could tell you now who won everything. Actually, my memory is not that good, so I can't, really.

The event was held in the Shrine Auditorium on the USC campus, which is where they used to hold the Academy Awards. It's a beautiful theatre, with gorgeous Moroccan style deco flourishes and massive (and colorful!) chandelier hanging from what appeared to be a fabric ceiling. The seats, however, were built for teeny tiny little people, as I'm only about 5'5 and couldn't even put my legs down right in front of me. My friend is about 6 feet tall, and there was absolutely nowhere for her to go, except to cross one leg almost yoga style and hope she wouldn't lose all circulation.

Supposedly, people spend all their time at the bar at these events. Tapings (no, it won't be live) are a drag, with set changes and technical flubs and whatnot. We were there a good 3 and a half hours, and that's not how much you'll see. One of our friends was dancing (she was dressed as a superhero in orange with a big Afro)and was onstage the entire time, which was fun. We saw some itty bitty (and I mean that in size) celebrities, lots of teenagers dressed as if they were going to the sluttiest prom ever, some fun montages, and Eminem, Mariah Carey (I'm still trying to purge that one from my mind), Yellowcard and the Foo Fighters. (The Foo Fighters were apparently a last minute replacement for Nine Inch Nails, who withdrew from the show after MTV vetoed their backdrop, which was some sort of anti-Bush thing. Aye, juevos grandes, MTV!)

So as not to spoil anything, I'll just tell you my favorite parts of the evening:

-Some guy yelling to Ben Stiller, "You're hot!" And Ben Stiller going, "Oh hey, thank you."

-"The Breakfast Club" getting honored... I'm a child of the 80's; what can I say?

-Dustin Hoffman. Never thought I'd say that, actually.

-The Foo Fighters breaking into a spot on rendition of Van Halen's "Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love" for about 30 seconds, then stopping so Dave Grohl could say, "Sorry you aren't going to hear that because the record label wants us to play something from the new album in order to promote the product."

-Ryan Gosling: DREAMIER THAN JAKE? I don't know, but he certainly got my panties in a twist with his little performance.

-And finally, when Lindsay Lohan hit the stage,she was sort of twittering and giggling her statement when some guy yelled, "Eat a hamburger!" She giggled the comment away.

Well, Jimmy Fallon was occasionally kinda funny. Tom Cruise: weird. Katie Holmes: weird. Nicole Kidman: tall. I wonder if they hung out together backstage? All in all, an okay time - thankfully I had very good company to while away the dull spots. And also, in a way, the evening was dynamite.

Well, that's your big clue in regards to the winners; now you don't need to watch.

Let's Get Physical

You know how I write about my friend Dax from time to time, that awesome guy in a horrible car wreck which he is currently recovering from? Well, this guy has made me want to live. Seriously. He is so positive and upbeat and just goddamn in-spir-A-tion-al!

The reason I tell you this kind of relates to an experience my brother-in-law had. He died once. Motorcycle accident practically tore his entire left arm off between the elbow and the wrist, and then on the table, he died. While dead, he felt he was in a black hole being pulled from two sides (note there was no white light). In the living world, he had been dead long enough to get covered with a sheet and rolled into the hallway, where his dad was standing when my brother-in-law suddenly bolted upright screaming. His father yelled, "Re-attatch that arm!" They did. They told him he would never have use of his hand, and would probably have limited feeling in his arm.

Cut to 10 years later and he's fully functional.

When I told him about Dax's accident (I ran into my brother-in-law in Hollywood where he was tripping on mescaline), I had only found out about it the day before. He said, "Don't believe the doctors, they'll just tell you the worst. The body can restore itself in ways you'd never think of." Then I think he looked around the room of the bar we were in and went, "Whoa, cool" or something.

Anyway, here's a little flick he and some friends made to be shown at benefits (although I think this one is for The Eagle Tavern in SF - a place that was known as a hang out for hairy men in chaps but has expanded to having indie rock shows for the kids AND the hairy men in chaps). Dax's recovery is incredible, given that the doctors thought it would be lucky if he were able to turn his own head.

"The body can restore itself in ways you'd never think of." Mescaline wisdom - rockin'!

I LOVE MY CAR.

I drive a Honda CRX-Si. It's an awesome, peppy little thing that looks kinda like a space pod and has custom rims (put on it by the previous owner) and a sun roof and a fucked up paint job and a loud cassette stereo system. I am SOOOOOO with it.

It's also got less than a year to live.

When I bought the car in 1994, I knew it had been in a wreck before it came to me. I later came to learn it had been totaled before it came to me. I guess that shortened it's life by quite a few years. Hell, I still get great gas mileage, but it's burning up oil like college students smoke pot at a Radiohead show.

My car has been looking kinda skanky for a couple years now, which is nice because then nobody wants to break into it. Nobody wants to valet it either. About a year ago, the front bumper started to fall off, so I strung it up with a giant rubber band until I could take it in to my friend's body shop. He put a big screw on either side and we called it Frankenhonda. Recently the cover of the left turn signal fell out, and the whole electrical works would come sliding out, hanging there like a dislocated eyeball. Sexy!

On my drive back from the Bay Area this past week (a wonderful trip I'll have to write about later), I stopped about a hundred miles from home to gas up. The guy in front of me kept looking at my car funny. Finally he said, "Um, your car..." "Oh, "I said, "Is that thing hanging out again?" "Yes, " he nodded. So I went to shove the light fixture back in and saw that it wasn't hanging out... Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the entire underside of my car was hanging on the ground. Not the actual pieces, but the huge piece of plastic that covers the pieces. I shoved it back onto something, hoped it would stick the last 100 miles (and did I mention I drive 90 on this particular route?) and jumped back on Interstate 5.

Well, it didn't, but it didn't completely disengage either. I dragged the thing in to the mechanic this morning, heads turning all the way because my car sounded like the roar of the ocean during a storm due to that wedge of plastic dragging on the asphalt. I pulled in and the guys waved at me. That's when I knew: it's time to get a new car.

Considering I have no money to do such a thing at this point, I'll just hobble around town in what I've got. It's good as long as I don't go long distances. I don't know what qualifies as long distances yet, but hopefully it's at least 30 miles or so. I don't go much further than that these days anyhow. And maybe when I get a new car, I'll get one of them hybrid things. The Honda Insight, I'm thinking, since they're back on the market. As soon as they make them with a sunroof, I'm there.

Blast Off!

My musical alphabet has reached R. Which means... Rocket from the Crypt!!!!!

I'm a San Diego girl. I was bored to tears there, though, and got out when I could. I've always been a big music geek, and there were never really any good shows that came through SD. There might have been some fun local bands, but there was mostly a lot of blues-rock and reggae, which I wasn't in the mood for.

Of course, a couple years after I left, the SD music scene got cool. One of the early bands to come out of that was Rocket From the Crypt. They sprang from the remnants of the glorious Pitchfork (the band, not the snarky site we love to hate) in 1990, spewing rowdy garage punkabilly - with horns. You could practically see the hair grease, tattoos, and sunglasses before you ever saw them live. They are a great fuckin' band.

Leader John Reis (also in Hot Snakes and Drive Like Jehu) hosts a radio show at a SD station called Swami Radio. I tuned in on a recent visit, and got to hear the Sonics, the Real Kids, Brian Eno, Delroy Wilson, the Saints, and Houndog Taylor. He brings listeners on sometimes and they all rock out together.

The swami looks an awful lot like another gentleman who has inspired Reis. Inspired many people in San Diego, actually. I don't know his name, but he is a dry cleaner... A dry cleaner with a need, a desire, to clean your clothes. He has named his chain of dry cleaning services Velvet Touch, and billboards and bus signs all over town feature a large grinning head of a man with a slogan proclaiming: THIS MAN WANTS TO CLEAN YOUR CLOTHES.

So if you own that first Rocket record, and you always wondered what the hell that song was about, there you go. Inspirational!

White Supremacy

Last Sunday, some gal pals and I were discussing the whole white shoes thing. Like, when is it okay to wear them? I actually don't think I've ever owned any white shoes myself, except for tennis shoes, and anyone who knows me knows how often I wear tennis shoes. (Um, never.)

What I know about white shoes, I learned from "Serial Mom." (Remember how she kills Patty Hearst with a telephone receiver for wearing them after Labor Day, while Patty cries, "Fashions change!")

Technically, it's okay to wear them after Memorial Day. White shoes are a summer thing, apparently. I came across a whole article on it the other day. Not only are there rules about when to wear them, but there are all kinds of rules if you choose to wear them as well.

_ Accessories designer Kate Spade wears her white jeweled sandals or ballet slippers with white or black cigarette pants or jeans, an "easy and crisp" look for summer.

_ Victoria's Secret model Ines Rivero, who walks runways around the world in all sorts of footwear, owns three pairs of white shoes for her personal wardrobe. Her favorites are white satin Manolo Blahniks, which she wears with jeans.

_ Michael Kors says white shoes are OK for men and women as long as the wearer has kept up on his or her grooming. "They look best with self-tanner and a good pedicure, preferably not red nails."

_ Even though she's a fashionista, Suze Yalof Schwartz, Glamour's executive fashion editor at large, is not as big a fan of the white shoes as her stylish peers: "I'd have to agree with Mom. I think they (white shoes) are fine with a wedding dress or a nurse's uniform, or if you're on the courts playing tennis. I know people might be wearing them elsewhere, but they shouldn't."

Oh my. The eternal debate rages on...

Que Sera Sera

I've lived in California all my life, and it's an awfully big state. People move in, people move out. So I've gotten used to people leaving. It's a bummer to lose confidants, party pals, dancing buddies, movie partners and someone to lay around in the sun with, but I've gotten used to it. But I'm a good pen pal, and now I have crash pads all over the globe!

The latest loss to California is a New Jersey native who made it here by way of NYC and then Seattle, my roommate Kerry. As she heads to the Motor City, I wish her luck on the new chapter of her life and this: Thanks for the good times, the rambling stories (well, on my part), the allnighters, the TV loungers, the castoff clothing, the good music, and everything else that would take too long to mention here.

In honor of Kerry's departure, I present to you my favorite of all of her blog entries (perhaps you tuned in to So Says I during it's time?). California is always here waiting, until we fall into the ocean, anyway. Remember, we'll always have Neup's hot tub.

An Open Letter to the Producers of I Want a Famous Face:

Dear Producers of I Want a Famous Face:

Hey there. What’s up? Nothing much here. I’m just writing because I have been watching your show a lot lately. Did you know that MTV plays each episode 5 times a day? That’s 2 ½ hours of the same surgery every day. Considering I watch MTV seven days a week, that is… well… a lot of seeing the insides of strangers. But who I am kidding? They’re not strangers anymore. Jessica? The transsexual who wants to look like J. Lo? I feel like I've know her/him for years. Mia? The Britney look alike who just needed some fake breasts to complete the look? She knew exactly what she was doing by forgoing a career in marketing. I mean, Britney’s here to stay, while marketing is definitely a flash-in-the-pan kind of job. And who can forget Sha, the Pam Andersen want-to-be? Soon enough, Pam won’t even look like Pam because she’s getting up there in age so Sha can swoop in and take her place. That’s one smart naked model.

So I’ve been thinking… maybe I want a famous face. I didn’t even realize it until I after repeated viewings. In fact, I don’t want a famous face… I need a famous face. But who? I’ve thought about musicians and actors who recently have had an impact in my life and came up with an obvious answer. I want to be zombie #30542 from Dawn of the Dead. Zombies are timeless, and I hear they are going to be really in for spring. And I’m tired on having my insides on the inside, you know?

Ok, thank you Producers from MTV’s I Want a Famous Face for your time. I hope to hear from you soon regarding my up-coming episode.

Hugs and Kisses,
Kerry

In A Hidden Place

Do you like Black Rebel Motorcycle Club? Do you want to see them play before they head off to the UK for a tour with the Brian Jonestown Massacre? Read on...

BRMC LIVE from the NEW Little Radio Warehouse - Saturday May 28

There will only be 200 tickets sold for this show. The tickets will go on sale Friday at 12PM from a secret location in Hollywood. An announcement will be made on Wednesday thru the Little Radio email list where these tickets will be sold. To sign up on that email list, just click on the blimp at the Little Radio website. Once these tickets are gone, there will be no more! NO TICKETS WILL BE SOLD AT THE DOOR!

The Little Radio kids work hard to keep music evil and fun in LA. I know, I was one of them for a while. Damn dayjob! I'd be at the show too if I wasn't already going out of town for a looooong weekend. So go check 'em out if you can, and tell me how it was. I'm betting: pretty great.

Fuzzy Wuzzy Was A Bear

I bet you think I'm going to write this about my hairy gay friends, don't you? Ha ha! No - not today. But later this week, I promise.

This post is about the glorious advent of summer, which pretty much arrived here in LA the weekend before last. I am sporting a fabulous tan, courtesy of a friend's nearby pool and his tolerance of me constantly crashing it. We are two people with natural pigment, so we don't burn either. Yes, hate us. I've had maybe a patch of sunburn in a spot here or there a few times in my life (but I ALWAYS wear sunblock!).

Just a couple weeks ago, it was still raining here. In fact, I know that LA is about an inch away from having the heaviest rainy season EVER on record, and I'd love for us to beat that first record set about a hundred years ago. But you know what? I like the sunshine better. So when the rain went away and the temperatures jumped from 60 to 80, I was ready. And so was my pool towel.

This past weekend, in fact, was sweltering. Still nothing compared to the summer we have coming, but enough to make bears get into the neighbors' pools over in the valley. Really!

Okay, maybe it wasn't this bear, but a bear did do it! Check it:
Bear Takes Dip in Suburban L.A. Pool
Mon May 23, 4:36 PM ET

LOS ANGELES - A 140-pound bear wandered into a suburban neighborhood and took a dip in a swimming pool before being tranquilized and returned to the wild.

The female bear ambled into the San Fernando Valley's Porter Ranch area shortly after 6 p.m. Sunday, bumping into doors and windows before taking a few splashes in a backyard pool, fire spokesman Brian Humphrey said.

"It looks like it's possibly in heat," Wood said. "She probably just made a wrong turn and ended up in a neighborhood. She belongs up in the hills and that's where she lives."

Yea, I bet she was in heat. We all were. The pool is for everybody, man!!

Glycerin Queen

Q? Oh, I got Q. Quatro. Suzi Quatro.


Suzi put out her first solo album at the age of 23, after having played bass with her sisters in a girl garage band for many years. When she went solo, she was bad ass. Dressed in black leather, with shaggy seventies hair, playing a bass guitar about the same size as her, and growling along with the best of the guys... Suzi was who inspired Joan Jett and many other of the riot girls who came along a decade or so after her.

Unfortunately, Suzi didn't write most of her own hits, the guys who were writing for the Sweet took care of that. Hence her macho bubblegum power rock, which she delivered with as much bravado as any guy. She was also fond of doing covers and not switching the pronouns to fit her sex, only increasing the speculation about her own sexuality. (By the way, her husband was in the band, but this fact was overlooked at the time.) She was a glam alley cat armed with a bass, attitude and tough rocker delivery. She ruled.

And then she went on "Happy Days" and played Leather Tuscadero, bringing the tough chick act to the airwaves. Love it. She still does stuff today, but I like to remember her in skin tight leather pants, rockin' her bass and growling "Your mama won't like me!" into a mike the same size as her head. You go, girl.

May the Force Be With You

And also with you.

(Stolen from Planet Dan. Nice, huh?)

Pull Up The People

As the squelchy boom boom of M.I.A.'s "Galang" started bouncing off the walls of the Echo last night, my friend leaned over to me and said, "Okay, can this replace that damn 'In Da Club' already?"

I got to see the hipsters' favorite daughter of a terrorist last night, with boyfriend Diplo on the wheels of steel/ sequencer/ whatever else they use to make up the music, and a cute b-girl back up singer. I had a lot of fun, as did most of the folks around me, and I'm happy to report that no one fell on top of anyone else in a drunken stupor (as reported earlier at the LCD Soundsystem show).

We knew she was coming on because the screen behind the bitty stage started acting up. Clips of a Bush & Blair press conference came on, with Blair continually getting interrupted by a slightly manipulated Bush repeating, "M.I.A." Of course, the crowd went nuts. Then she came out in a blaze of "Pull Up the People," and it was on.

The graphics running through the background were her 80's spray paint tag style, but animated. Helicopters and guns, faces and tigers, sprayed by this Sri Lankan civil war child straight outta London via New York. She presented everything you've heard: the third world girl, too smart for her poor surroundings, taken from her home with her family to escape the war (being fought by her Tamil Tiger father) to a shack in Madras, India and later to London, where racism made her tougher, where hip hop filled the street, where she got into art and hooked up with the likes of Justine from Elastica and Peaches. (This interview is especially great, and I stole their picture.)

She did all the hip hop hand waving and stage bouncing, but sang and shouted with a ferociousness that made my friend and I wonder if half the crowd knew how serious the whole thing was. M.I.A. has a very obvious agenda, but was anyone hearing it? "Semi-9 and snipered him... on that wall they posted him; They cornered him and then just murdered him..." or "Can I get control, do you like me vulnerable? I'm armed and I'm equal..." She's singing about either war or sex, it seems. And in such a style that if you played L'Trimm's "The Cars That Go Boom" right after any of her songs, it'd be an excellent segueway.

The story we got from the owner of the venue was that she wanted to do a headlining show in LA, and none were scheduled, so this got thrown together at the last minute. She played about an hour (including encore) and did most of the songs off the album (even the last "hidden" track), and was very gracious throughout the night. The cutest part was that she kept saying, "Hello Hollywood!" Which we weren't.

She especially seemed to enjoy saying "West Coast!" and throwing her arms in the air. I guess she knows the West Coast and East Coast have had some wars too, but she can teach us a thing about all that. So listen. AND dance.

The Sound Of Philadelphia

The other day, I met Gamble & Huff. This was a HUGE deal for me, because these guys are totally GENIUS.

I'm sure the names sound familiar, but you may not be sure why. Or perhaps I am completely underestimating my readers, in which case, I apologize. It's just that as the day progressed, and I mentioned to people here and there that I had met Gamble & Huff, they usually looked at me funny.

Gamble & Huff wrote some of the best souls songs, ever. They are the leaders of the Philadelphia sound, something which was countering Motown and dominating R&B in the early 70's. Artists who performed their songs include the Supremes, the Temptations, The Three Degrees, Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes, the O'Jays, Aretha Franklin, and Lou Rawls.

Not enough for you? You know their songs whether you want to or not... "Back Stabbers," "For the Love of Money," "You'll Never Find Another Love Like Mine," "If You Don't Know Me By Now," "Expressway To Your Heart," "Don't Leave Me This Way," "Love Train," "When Will I See You Again," and what probably is my guiltiest favorite... "T.S.O.P. - The Sound of Philadelphia." You may know it as the theme for Soul Train. (Or is that... Sooooooooouuuuuuuuuulllllll Trrraaaaaiiiiiiinnnn!)

Some songs were sugary sweet, others sexy and funky. They weren't afraid to get political and preached peace. Their record label, Philadelphia International Records (which they founded in 1971) became the second largest African American owned company two years after its start.

The two men I met were kind, stylin' gentlemen, in town because they were being honored with an American Idol episode themed around their music. I told them I wasn't a fan of the show, and Mr. Gamble said to me, "Well, I appreciate that it's bringing back the singer, and also bringing back a face to the songwriters. I appreciate their spirit." What could I say? I felt like a dork. Then Mr. Huff pointed at my t-shirt and said, "Sharon Jones? [whom I had seen in a fabulous performance the night before] She's really good!" "Have you seen her?" I responded. "No, but I dig her version of 'This Land Is Your Land.'" I told them I was honored to meet them, and thanked them for the music. They shook my hand and Mr. Gamble tipped his hat to me.

I nearly swooned. Now that's class.

Second Hand News

I didn't get to go to the LCD Soundsystem/ MIA show last night, but I know someone who did. She got her ticket through a friend who works at a management company, who knows a music supervisor who is tight with a label guy who hit up the promotion person for the venue, or something like that. It seemed like that was the only way to get a ticket - squeeze it out of some industry crevice. I don't know anyone who bought one. Neither did she.

Which makes her tale all the more interesting. Let me paraphrase:

"When we got to the show, it was so oversold that they said they couldn't honor Jen's plus one, so I couldn't go in. Of course, we screamed bullshit, and after 20 minutes, they finally let us in. The guy taking the tickets didn't believe I had gotten one legally because it didn't scan right or something, so we had to get the person who brought it to us to get us in anyway. Lame.

We saw about 3 of MIA's songs, and her encore, and she was totally badass. People were chanting her name between songs, and everyone was dancing like crazy. My friend and I looked at each other... 'Are we still in LA?' (ed. note: LA shows often suck because no one in the audience seems to care. At all. Ever. In fact, I'm not sure why they are there half the time - except maybe to say "But I was there!" How appropriate for this particular show...) We'd never seen a crowd get so into an act, much less a crowd that was supposedly so industry.

Then LCD came on, and they really made everyone nuts. Most of the people there either couldn't dance but did anyway, or had never had a drink in their lives before and overdid it at this show. There was a big white guy next to us, just gyrating and spilling his beer all over himself while yelling, 'Yeah!' It was embarrassing. Then a big drunk black girl fell on the floor in front of us, and we tried to help her up and then the big white guy fell over on top of her. It was a mess. There were couples all around us grinding, and I realized that that's what people do when they can't dance - they grind. It was, at least wherever we stood, like a big drunk frat party. Which was really weird because I thought it would be hipster central and all the skinny boys would have their arms crossed while tapping a toe and the girls with Karen-O haircuts would be swaying a bit. But I didn't see too many of those people. It was weird.

But LCD sounded great. They were really tight musically and really had the place jumping. Too bad the crowd was so lame."

I guess that's the report from the show. I'm curious to hear others, but I'll have a taste myself as a friend who knows a guy who co-owns the venue where MIA is playing Tuesday night got us a pair of tickets. I TOLD you that was the only way to get them.

Smiles, Everyone... Smiles!

My dad sent me this joke. I love it, cause it's true...

Jack was sitting in an airplane when another guy took the seat beside him. The new guy was an absolute wreck, pale, hands shaking, biting his nails and moaning in fear.

"Hey, pal, what's the matter?" Jack asked.

"Oh man... I've been transferred to California," the other guy answered. "There's crazy people in California and they have shootings, gangs, race riots, drugs, the highest crime rate..."

"Hold on," Jack interrupted, "I've lived in California all my life, and it's not as bad as the media says. Find a nice home, go to work, mind your own business, enroll your kids in a good school and it's as safe as anywhere in the world."

The other passenger relaxed and stopped shaking for a moment and said, "Oh, thank you. I've been worried to death, but if you live there and say it's OK, I'll take your word for it. What do you do for a living?"

"Me?" said Jack, "I'm a tail gunner on a Budweiser truck in Oakland."

Have Mercy

Just because people all around me are having miracle tickets for the LCD Soundsystem / MIA show this Sunday night at the El Rey fall upon them like so much of this funny LA rain...I throw my need out there into the cosmos. I WANNA GO TOO! If you have a spare, drop me a line. Otherwise, tell me all about and watch me cry. Pitifully.

Have a good weekend.

And Now, a Word from My Sponsors...

I am not a fashionista by any stretch of the word, but I can dress ok. I try to find fun pieces to accent things, and a couple of them are SO fun that people practically try to buy them off me when I wear them. I'm not joking. And now my friends are selling them, so y'all can leave me alone.

Guitar pick earrings.

Evidently, these are pretty easy to make, but I'm lazy. A gal down the street has a handy little boutique (the wonderful Pull My Daisy) that sells these puppies pretty cheap, so I don't have to feel quite as lazy... Anytime I wear them, though, people get all ga-ga. And they're really light. Bonus!

Seat belt belts.

The first one I had is just a simple gray with a Cadillac belt buckle, so I've always referred to it as the cadillac of belts. Ha, ha, I know... My next was a black belt with flames and a Ford Mustang clasp. And my next will be the airline style. Not like I need any trouble staying locked into my pants or anything. Anyway, you can special order them from another shop up the street, the kooky Y Que.

Rose rings.

Women try to take these right off my fingers, I kid you not. A friend of mine started selling them recently, so I ordered 6 to show someone, because she wanted one. I met her in a little cafe, put the rings on the table, and within 5 minutes had sold ALL OF THEM to random women off the street. Oh, and my friend got hers. I used to buy these for about $8 a pop in SF, and I've seen them twice here in LA - for over $20. Dumb. Go to my friend's site and get 'em cheap - just know the ring size.

Now, let's go shopping!

Dancing Queen

Oh, I'm fond of shaking my ass. Big time. I just don't like most places where you are supposed to do that sort of thing. Why? Well, because if a girl is dancing, she gets hit on. LIKE CRAZY. It's kind of a drag. This is why girls dance in groups, circled around a pile of their purses and jackets as if in some ancient ritual. "Girls must dance, girls must maintain eye contact with each other, girls must not break circle or boys will attempt to invade."

Pretty much.

This is probably why I've traditionally danced in gay clubs or at people's houses. Occasionally in the living room (but that's about as exciting a show as any neighbor of mine is going to get). Oh, I'll do that sort of shoulder/slap the steering wheel dance in my car too. In fact, I was doing that just this evening, running errands after work and groovin' to the M.I.A. jammy jams. I was listening to Missy Elliott-meets-Peaches-meets-L'Trimm goodness, and I said out loud to myself, "GodDAMN, do I want to go dancing!"

I got home to a sweet email from a friend who co-owns a nearby bar: "And guess what? Tonight is the first night of dancing at the Shorty in 2 1/2 years! Come on down and bring hotties." Mmmm... Lovely news. The sign put up by one of the other owners after the bar got shut down for "illegal" dancing (wrong type of license... how Footloose!) proclaiming "DANCING IZ DED" is hopefully placed in the VIP room as a quaint reminder of the non-booty-shakin' days of old.

And it just so happens to be co-owner Greg Dulli's birthday... there will be plenty of ass-shaking at the Short Stop tonight! Maybe Greg & Charles will re-instate their "Thursdays Become Dyslexic" evening (a diss perhaps on local DJ wanker Nic Harcourt's Morning Becomes Eclectic program) and the sweet sounds of soul and funk will return to that little stretch of Sunset Boulevard? But, once again, a fun place to dance with friends and be safe - but only because I know the guys who own it. Whew!

Tomorrow night, I'm gonna do plenty of dancing. I'm checking out Sharon Jones, and the last time I saw her, my friends and I did so much dancing I think we each lost 5 pounds by the end of the night. Sharon Jones bills herself as the female James Brown, and except for all that getting arrested biz he's into, she may be right. I'll check out the Shorty next week, since I try not to hit up the bars on weekends. Amateur night, you know.

A Thing of the Past

In my musical recounting, alphabetically, I've reached P. Now, regular readers will say, "Of course! She's going to write about the Pixies." Shucks, I do that all the time. I thought about the Pretenders and Prolapse, Pucho & the Latin Soul Brothers... but I have to write about Phyllis, because she was a gem and not enough people know about her. If I can convince just ONE of you to go buy something from her, a little ska angel gets a new pair of checkered socks.

Ladies and gentlemen, Phyllis Dillon.

During the course of her barely 5 year career, spanning 1966-1971, Phyllis Dillon was discovered by Duke Reid, had a string of Jamaican number ones consisting of originals and covers, co-wrote and sang with Alton Ellis and Hopeton Lewis, and became one of the few rocksteady women stars ever. Have you heard of her? Read on.

Within 2 weeks of the release of her first single, "Don't Stay Away," Phyllis Dillon hit the top of the charts in Jamaica. What makes her such a wonderful vocalist is her soul. Phyllis is a contemporary of the likes of Marlena Shaw (whose "Woman of the Ghetto" she covered incredibly), Dusty Springfield, Tammy Terrel, Barbara Acklin... Um, contmporary artists? Alicia Keyes, but doing ska. Maybe. Beautiful, romantic, and dreamy rocksteady. Doesn't sound quite right, does it? That's what rules about 60's era ska - it's soulful, sassy, and sweet, and groovy as hell. Phyllis Dillion takes the rhythms of her home and sings songs so lovely you may want to cry into your pina colada. Not only is she a great rocksteady artist, she is a great soul artist and an amazing vocalist, period.

She released a string of singles (mainly on Trojan) and one full length, as far as I can tell, called One Life To Live. And as she passed away last year (after decades of working as a bank teller in Long Island after she ditched the music biz in 1971), her stuff gets harder and harder to find. She shows up on random reggae/rocksteady/ska and sometimes on northern soul collections, but a few years back Westside Records (out of London) put together a really good collection of her stuff. There's a track or two missing, but it's totally worth hunting down Midnight Confessions, for those upcoming warm summer nights. For sure.

All Of Me

Today I said two things to my best friend that he demanded I put in the blog. So here they are:

"Last night, I did something really interesting with asparagus."

"Well, right now I'm sucking on a Wheat Thin."

Sometimes I say things that I don't think much of at the moment, but the listener turns it into a big deal. Or I say something that may sound a bit crass and winds up being either hilarious or offensive. Like the other day at a party, I said, "Oh yea, I saw so-and-so at that show, but that was before I was fucking him." I was standing on a patio with a whole lot of people, maybe talking to two of them, but at least 10 shut up and stared at me. The two I was talking to laughed because they knew I was kidding, and everybody else was just eavesdropping so I had to yell, "KIDDING!" Jeez.

This is a story kinda like that.

A couple weeks ago I was the MC at a showcase for unsigned artists, and some of the proceeds were going to benefit my friend Dax. I knew one of the bands playing, so a bunch of friends and acquaintances were there. One such acquaintance is a guy who has always been a bit forward with me, heavy handed on the compliments and a little on the touchy feely side. Now he's a nice enough guy, very intelligent, really good looking, but just doesn't do it for me. I've known him for a couple years and we've fallen into our little routine with each other where we talk a bit, he gives me a thinly veiled pick-up line, I laugh it off, game over.

This particular night he was very touchy with me. Finally, with both arms around my waist, he said, "Mo, why don't you just let me take you to a nice dinner? I'd love to take a fine woman like yourself to a really lavish meal. Would you let me?" Now this was actually a legitimate request, not like his propositions of old. I felt kinda bad and a bit embarrassed, and I said, "Oh, that's very kind of you, but I actually don't date anybody." He said, "Really?" Then he leaned back and said, "Do you have a man, Mo?" "Oh, no." Then he raised an eyebrow, "Oh, do you have a woman?" "No, no, " I replied. "I like the cock." He nodded and said, "Well, I have a beautiful cock." I said, "Oh, I don't doubt that, but that's not for me to find out."

Yea... gotta watch what I say sometimes. Oops.

Babylon's Burning

Mmmm... I finally got my own copy of Kenneth Anger's book, Hollywood Babylon. So dishy! Mr. Anger, he of underground art films and a child actor himself, writes tabloidy bits about the Hollywood glamour days in as queeny a way as possible. Anybody living in LA (or with a love of Tinsel Town's dirt) should have this. It's even got pictures. Of course.

Here are some fun snippets:

About Errol Flynn's rape trial: "When Betty Hansen took the stand and testified that Flynn had taken off her clothes, Geisler (Flynn's lawyer) charged like the cavalry. First, he got her to admit that she had permitted the disrobing, then he thundered at her: 'Didn't you want him to take them off?' Betty's disarming reply won the day for Flynn: 'I didn't have no objections.' Flynn was acquitted on all four counts."

About Rudy Valentino's penchant for powder (from the Chicago Tribune): "A powder vending machine! In a men's washroom! Homo Americanus! Why didn't someone quietly drown Rudolph Gugliemo, alias Valentino, years ago?"

About heroin in Hollywood: "One of the town's leading dealers was a quiet, gentlemanly actor on the Sennett lot known as 'The Count.' It was he who offered to fix up Wally Reid's hangover during the filming of 'Forever,' who first put Mabel Normand, Juanita Hansen, Barbara La Marr, and Alma Ruebens on the junk."

About the suicide of Lupe Velez: "Then her periods stopped and she realized that her latest had knocked her up. Big deal? Call Doctor Killkare (the joke name for Tinsel Town's leading abortionist)? Forget it. Lupe, the gyrating cunt-flashing Hollywood party girl, was in her Heart of Hearts the snow-white virgin of her First Communion in San Luis Potosi, an awed adorer of Nuestra Senora dos Grandes Dolores, an on-your-knees girl! Devout Mexican Catholic. She could not bear to snuff out the gigolo's fetus within her. Rather, she would doom herself to Eternal Torments but committing Her Own Murder, by Herself." (ed. note: she staged a suicide room, throwing flowers on the bed and floor and lighting candles, but wound up drowning in her toilet after a dash to the bathroom while projectile vomiting all the pills she swallowed.)

Read Defamer lately? Ah, nothing's changed...

Computer Blue

I remember the first time I went to see an "electronic" artist at a club. We were all standing around a stage, and a chubby guy in a dirty t-shirt and glasses was standing at a table, occasionally pressing a key here and there on his computer or just fidgeting, while the club was filled with sound. At first, it was kinda neat. Then it got really boring. I figured I could have stayed at home and experienced the same thing.

Well, now you can experience the kinda neat part. Like right now. Click here for a bit of genius (thanks Kevin!) that is just as brilliant as any of those guys ever dreamed up. Maybe even more so, because there's also something to watch, and it isn't scratching its ass during the downtime.

Happy Friday!

Fire In The Disco

"You always dread the unfamiliar... We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the Constitution says, but everyone made equal. Each man the image of every other, then all are happy, for there are no mountains to make them cower, to judge themselves against. So! A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. Burn it. Take the shot from the weapon. Breach man's mind. Who knows who might be the target of a well-read man? Me? I won't stomach them for a minute." - Captain Beatty, Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury)

Hmmm... people just keep wanting to give Bradbury's book-burnin' firemen jobs. Currently, it's the state of Alabama. Republican Alabama lawmaker Gerald Allen says homosexuality is an unacceptable lifestyle, and under his bill, public school libraries could no longer buy new copies of plays or books by gay authors, or about gay characters. "I don't look at it as censorship," says State Representative Gerald Allen. "I look at it as protecting the hearts and souls and minds of our children." (read article here.)

He wants to kick out works by Tennessee Williams, Truman Capote, Alice Walker, and some Shakespeare. Allen believes that these books have a homosexual agenda, which isn't healthy for America.

Groups of gay and lesbian voters have turned out in Montgomery to voice their opinions about this bill, expressing that the measure is essentially a manifestation of hatred.

"We're not all crazy people, doing crazy things. We are your brothers and sisters, your aunts and uncles. We go to church with you. And the message I get from you is, 'We hate you,'" Patricia Todd said during the hearing before the House Education Committee. (read article here.)

Rock on, Patricia. There is a reason why these works are considered classics and important. It's because they are thought provoking, creative, engaging and challenging. It's because THEY ARE GOOD. Not because they are "gay."

Life Imitates Art, or was that the other way...?

Love the movies? Love LA? Love seeing LA in the movies? I always get a kick out of identifying the places I've been to when I see films set in LA, or films set in some other city but really done here in LA. Soooooo... you should go to the beautiful American Cinematheque at the Egyptian on Thursday or Friday night and check out the documentary, Los Angeles Plays Itself. The director, Thom Andersen, will be there to talk about the clips he picked and the history of LA he depicts in the doc. The film will be showing through the weekend. Go see it and feel that secret thrill you always feel when seeing your town on the big screen.

(Hey, when I lived in Berkeley, I loved watching Berkeley in the Sixties too.)

Show Me Your "O" Face

An observant reader pointed out to me that I seem to have forgotten the alphabet. "So, Mo - did the letter 'O' stump you r have you given up on that whole musical alphabet thing?" No, I did not forget, ye of little faith. I present you with: OTIS!

There are lots of Otis-es out there. I'm only gonna write about two of them. Otis Redding and Shuggie Otis.

Otis Redding. Pretty genius - I mean, everybody knows "(Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay" which came out after he died in 1967 (in a plane crash which also took along his back-up band, the Bar-Kays - funk legends on their own). Maybe you think that's the only Otis Redding song you know... well, it ain't. "Respect" by Aretha? An Otis song. "Pain In My Heart" by the Stones? Redding again. (In return, he did a pretty walloping version of "Satisfaction" which got him a bit of attention.) And if any of you kids saw "Pretty In Pink" (and I know you have, you John Hughes puppets you!) then you know "Try A Little Tenderness," because that's the song that Ducky lip syncs to in the record store and then sort of freaks out Annie Potts and Molly Ringwald.

Otis was well on his way to becoming a huge pop megastar when that plane went down. He was only on the scene for about 5 years (he was 26 when he died) and yet everyone knows his name and would recognize his voice, a smooth one that can convey grittiness or the sexy, depending on what he's trying to get out of you. Do yourself a favor and get one of his anthologies. Totally worth it.

Next up: Shuggie Otis. I don't have much to say about this guy except for the fact that he wrote "Strawberry Letter 23," which sounds really awesome blaring out of my friend's 1962 Buick Riviera. He's a guitar prodigy who played with his dad, Johnny Otis, and put out a couple trippy soul albums in the early 70's. The mod kids seemed to take a real liking to this guy, and I remember that in 2001 or so, Shuggie's records got re-released and hip kids went batshit. He did a little mini-tour, and a friend of mine got to DJ before the set at San Francisco's Fillmore. The report I got back was something like this:

"Man, Shuggie totally dialed it in, at best! He showed up all fucked up, didn't give a shit about anything that was going on, and played like crap. It was totally depressing and I have no respect for the guy." Whoa, harsh! Guess he was just doing it for the money.

And the Walls came Tumbling Down

Los Angeles is a huge urban sprawl. There are all sorts of neighborhoods and "districts" if you will, just like there are in most major cities. The Westside, Hollywood, Los Feliz & Silverlake, Brentwood, Playa del Rey, Fairfax, Beverly Hills, Melrose, West Adams, Echo Park, West Hollywood, blah blah blah... And these areas are all marked by the community that lives within their borders.

But LA is big on the "gated community." And there are those little "House Protected By" placards in a lot of lawns in a lot of rich parts of town. When I first moved to LA, I lived in the swanky Larchmont Village area, sandwiched between the El Royale (where Jennifer Aniston was staying at the time, pre-Pitt marriage) and the Wilshire Country Club. A block up was Mae West's apartment building, the Ravenswood, and the condo where JFK stayed when he was in LA, a gorgeous green deco delight named the Mauretania. There's a big black "M" on the building in case you're looking. I didn't have a parking space in my building, so I usually parked around the block. I worked late hours at the time, and I remember the handyman and manager of the building worried about that since the "element" came into the neighborhood after hours and broke into cars and homes. Because it was nicer.

Of course, there is that fear in all American cities. The gated communities rise up. There are the pre-fab kind, like Park La Brea, or the ones that spring up on you like in Los Feliz across from Griffith Park. There's even the problem of rich folks walling of the BEACH, fer chrissakes. David Geffen recently re-opened "his" stretch of beach, after years of legal wrangling (like 18 years) with city and coastal commissions.

Heavy Trash, an anonymous collective of artistic urban guerilla types, recently placed big orange viewing platforms at three of these gated communities so that regular folk can peep in and have a look. A lot of people are a bit clueless as to what they are, or assume they are affiliated with road repair (bright orange wasn't the best color choice, guys), but I get their point. It's a point that gets made often in LA. Mike Davis, who famously slammed his adopted hometown of LA in City of Quartz, writes: "In Los Angeles, once-upon-a-time a demi-paradise of free beaches, luxurious parks, and 'cruising strips,' genuinely democratic space is all but extinct. The Oz-like archipelago of Westside pleasure domes--a continuum of tony malls, arts centers, and gourmet strips--is reciprocally dependent upon the social imprisonment of the third-world service proletariat who live in increasingly repressive ghettoes and barrios.... Even as the walls have come down in Eastern Europe, they are being erected all over Los Angeles."

I definitely live closer to the barrio. Would I feel differently if I had an investment to protect? Hard to say. But I do think if you're going to live in the city, then you should live in the city. If you want the walls and security gates, move to the suburbs. Right?