Tag: personalhistory

Whoa. Blast from the past.

I was reminded of someone today I hadn’t thought about in years. When I was a yuffie in L.A., maybe 1991 or so, I met this woman through friends. She was a little younger than me, maybe 21 to my 26, and she was a poet. She’d had some local success getting reading gigs, putting out a chapbook etc. We talked on the phone a bit and then hung out some, went to dinner. She appeared to lose interest in me as a friend as soon as it was clear we weren’t going to be dating.

She was attractive in a number of ways: hyperintelligent, book-crazy, talkative. I was kind of sad to see her fade away. She was also a 21-year-old poet, so self-obsessed and nutty. I remember talking to her about the UCI writing program, because my dad was just retiring from teaching in it.

So I hadn’t thought about her forever, and then the subject of the dreariness of rural Illinois came up, which is where she was from. And I googled her. Holy cats, she’s a professor in England now! She also has some poetry online at the Shearsman site here and also here.

Still cute too. 🙂 Glad she made a living out of it. The soybean harvest didn’t sound fun.

Westwood Memory (I may have posted this before)

Some time in the late 1980s I was in Westwood Village, which is the part of L.A. just south of UCLA. It had been a big entertainment district, the place to be on Friday and Saturday Night, but was in a steep decline. Most of the fancy stores and restaurants had gone, things were dirty, and most of the pedestrians were lost souls. I was among them, since I was taking the bus from my unsuccessful psychotherapist back to my grimy Hollywood apartment.

It was maybe 9 pm, cold and blustery, and the first drops of rain were moistening the blowing trash so it stuck to people and objects unpleasantly. Coming up towards the bus stop, I came upon this scene:

In the doorway to an office building, one of the local homeless poor had set up camp. He was about 35, dressed in what had once been a decent suit which was torn and stained and shedding buttons. He himself had a mop of blonde hair and a dirty face wreathed in a joyous smile. He had a boom box going full blast and was singing along lustily, with a cap on the ground in hopes that someone would reward this piece of impromptu street karaoke.

The song he was performing? Barry Manilow’s 1976 hit “Looks Like We Made It“.

I still wonder about that guy. He certainly wasn’t seeing the dingy, damp, urban failure in front of him, or the RTD bus or the other bums or me in my jeans & jacket & backpack looking at him in horror. He was in heaven, maybe onstage in Vegas. Maybe he even was Barry. Looks like we maaaaaaaade it! I wonder what happened to him?

Where am I and why is this lion sniffing me?

I just read a good post by genericus about dreams which got me thinking.

I don’t often remember my dreams now. I think this is probably a result of sleeping better, since as I understand it you remember the dreams if you wake up afterwards for a bit, and they tend to fade otherwise. In general, though, my dream life has been unremarkable and kind of boring. Mostly I just get the same three or four classic anxiety dreams about school or travel or money problems. They’re annoying but not nightmares.

When I was a young child I had very unpleasant nightmares. Many of these were fever dreams during some childhood “stomach flu” fever. Almost all of them had the odd feature of being wordless and in fact free of story or reason. I would just be seized with terrible fear and anxiety. Sometimes it took forever for my parents to get me out of this state. I couldn’t go back to sleep, and an oppressive horror of everything seized me. One frequent hallucination in this situation was that I was responsible for holding the entire universe in my hand, and it was at once somehow tiny and very heavy. Almost always, though, it was just the Nameless Dread. For a few hours at a time. Boy did that freak out my parents!

I had one very good, very detailed, and very strange dream in high school. I was an apostle, one of those who had met Christ. And I was preaching the Gospel to sailors on a classic 19th century style wooden warship, like something out of a Hornblower novel. There were all these sailors sitting listening to me explain that it was all true, and I had met the guy, and wasn’t this great news. I was apparently impressive. I woke up understanding religion better than I ever had.

The only other notable dream I can remember was more recently and very depressing. Everyone was disgusted and angry with me, including close friends and immediate family. I was openly abused and reviled, and unfortunately it was all true. That one took a few weeks to shake.

Otherwise? I sleep, I wake up. I am not bothered by dreams for good or ill now. I snorkel in the Styx for 8 hours a night and wake up refreshed. Not such a bad deal, although I’d prefer hot ‘n’ steamy sex dreams or entertaining art slideshows if I could order from a menu.

Goodbye Rhino Westwood.

rocky

From 1983 to about 1993, the Rhino Records store on Westwood Boulevard in Los Angeles was my second home. When i was a student I’d walk down there at least once a week and look through the new releases and imports and all the used stuff. The employees became my friends, too. Big John Breckow, who also did a great bebop radio show on KPFK. Scott, who always had a big friendly smile and a good suggestion, and now works at my local Trader Joe’s. Nels Cline. Gladys aka Laura, my college friend and fellow music freak, now the bassist in Third Grade Teacher. Phast Phreddie. It wasn’t a record store, it was quite seriously a family. When I was a rock critic for a while I’d go down there and sell back my promo crap and Big John would make me promise over and over again not to write about jazz, and maybe someone else there would have a correction or a compliment about my writing, so I knew someone gave a shit.

There was a time when I was a 19-year-old music idiot and I’d buy just about anything imported from England, especially all that death rock 4AD/Beggars Banquet crap, or stuff on Demon. And I’d just buy anything new on SST or Twin/Tone or Restless. I spent way too much damn money there and it was all worth it.

rhino signLater on, in the early 90s, I was poor and no longer cool and my life sucked. Bit by bit I had to sell back my CDs and vinyl for cash. I was a mess, and a lot of my friends and even the other people at the church I was attending weren’t being so helpful. But the Rhino people could tell what was up, and they’d look both ways and grossly overpay me for my tradeins. They were solid people.

This is the last weekend for that store. They moved a few years ago and never really recovered. They changed the focus of the place and even the name and flailed and now they’re gone. This weekend is the last ever parking lot sale. If you’re in the area I suggest you go. Details at the Rhino Westwood site.

Chris Morris, my former coworker and one of the few music writers who consistently makes sense, wrote a fitting eulogy to the store in the Reporter.

Thanks to LA Observed for pointing me to this story that I somehow didn’t see.

I probably won’t make it to the last day tomorrow, but that’s probably as it should be. I hate funerals. Never thought I’d cry about a retail store, but there you have it.

New Year’s Song

This song was written by my best L.A. friend, Greg Franco. It’s about a New Year’s Eve party I attended, which was I think 1992-3. It was one of Greg’s “radio show” parties where we had a DJ setup and people did shifts as the DJ while backannouncing songs radio style.

Like most of the gathering then it was an emotional evening. We all had too much to drink and most of us were unhappy about the poverty, stupidity, and anomie of our lives as 20-something failures in the big city. We listened to underground music and old soul and Tim Buckley and hugged each other and guzzled cheap beer and bourbon. Most of us stayed up all night.

I have a very clear memory of dawn in that apartment in the Valley. Everything was grey, from the sky to the carpet, and it was cold. I had a mild alcohol headache and the cramps you get from sleeping on a too-small sofa. Someone was still spinning records quietly and I could hear Nick Drake’s “Time Has Told Me” from the next room. Dawn lasted for about three days. It’s one of those frozen moments I can look at any time.

Greg’s song captures that night and morning perfectly, I think.

Ferdinand – 31 (.mp3)

Academic stories from all over

Well, just from my father. He taught English, comparative literature, translation, and fiction writing. Most of his later career was spent helping MFA students write first novels, so he had a low idiot ratio. He taught undergrads too, though, and there were moments. I now present two: one goofy final exam quote, and one what the FUCK story.

Dante was a traditional figure. He had one foot firmly planted in the medieval world, while with the other he waved a triumphant greeting to the dawn of the Renaissance.

At one point he taught an upper division short story writing class. This was mostly English majors but not mostly people serious about fiction, so generally nice kids who wanted to learn the basics of writing stories. Along with the outlining and exercises and other Writing 101 stuff, there was required reading from an anthology of classic short stories.

On reading the final story for one student Dad found a bad problem. He called her in.

“I have something very serious to tell you,” he said. “This story is plagiarized, almost completely. You could be dismissed from the University.” The girl burst into tears immediately. After she regained her composure, he went on.

“Actually, it’s a bit worse than that. You’ve plagiarized a story from the required reading. This means that not only did you steal a story as your own, but you stole one from a well-known author, and one that you should have read in the second week of class if you were participating.” Again she collapsed in tears.

“It’s even worse!” she wailed.

“How?”

“I didn’t read the book anywhere, not even in the reading for the class. I stole it all from a Twilight Zone episode I saw in the Thanksgiving marathon!”

He gave her an incomplete in the class so she could take it over with a different teacher, on the condition that she never take another fiction class at that university again. Clearly she had no idea what she was doing on any level.

Then he came home and had a really big drink.

Memorable musical experiences: a list

A list of live shows that (good or bad) were unforgettable.

  • Los Lobos at the Wiltern in Los Angeles, New Year’s Eve. I think 1986? 1987? I’m bad at years. Holy crap that was an awesome show. They’re one of the best live bands in the world, and they were at their best that night. Los Lobos can stand completely still on stage concentrating on their music and make five thousand people dance like maniacs.
  • The Minutemen at the Anti-Club, Los Angeles, July 1985. I think I sweated out and replaced my entire liquid volume. They played one of their classic tight tight fast fast sets. D. Boon was the flying fat man, like a blurry Sta-Puft dude with a guitar. Mike Watt’s bass was coming from inside me. They closed with “Substitute”, my favorite Who song. I remember walking out afterwards into the cool air realizing how wet with sweat I was and how happy.
  • The Toy Dolls at the Concert Factory, Costa Mesa, 1984. I think this was the first time I saw a punk show indoors at night in a real nightclub. I still can’t believe how tight and fast and hilariously fun they were. Olga didn’t touch the ground for 90 minutes straight. The crowd was slamdancing but in that cooperative, friendly OC Punk way where anyone who fell down got picked up and everyone was just having a great time. My ears rang for two days. I was hooked.
  • The Academy of St. Martin in the Fields, at their namesake church, London, 1980. This is where I fell in love with baroque symphonic music. They did a lot of Bach that day. It was partly a memorial service for a cellist of theirs who had recently died, and they did several pieces from The Art Of The Fugue, which is a favorite of mine, and their version is my favorite. It ends poignantly with his playing, since that piece was never finished. I can still see this entire concert in my head like a film.
  • Pre Turkey Blowout, just before Thanksgiving, Stardust Ballroom, Los Angeles. This was one of those cattle call 5 punk bands for $8 things. The headliner was Samhain, which was Glenn Danzig’s thing between the Misfits and Danzig. I went with my friend Dan because he was a Misfits fan. Because the show was billed as a Pre Turkey Blowout, some genius had bought a bunch of turkeys and hacked them up and thrown them around on the floor, so there were chunks of bird lying around. While Dan and I were waiting for things to start, a huge spherical skinhead guy walked by, stepped on turkey guts, and fell on his ass. We had to run away because we were laughing so hard we thought he’d kill us. The actual show was horrible. I couldn’t stand Samhain, the sound was muddy, it was boring and loud, and I wanted to go home. They did look cool though. I saw the video of this same exact show for sale at Tower last week and laughed.
  • 54.40 at Club Lingerie, Los Angeles, 1986. They’d just put out a new album and the song “Baby Ran Away” was doing well. I knew I liked the songs, and they had a really different sound from a lot of white-guy-with-guitar bands. I wasn’t prepared for how fucking awesome they would be. I was already excited just watching the setup because everyone clearly knew what they were doing, and that usually means good music. But they had such incredible performer charisma. That club was a real scenester asshole joint, where no one would admit they really enjoyed the music and everyone hung out in back sipping drinks and networking. But the band came out and hit it really hard and tight and well, and just as they were getting us all really interested the singer came on stage and just held up his hands in a welcoming gesture and picked up the mike and I swear every detached, ironic, cynical insider in the room just rushed the stage and went nuts. We were all singing along and dancing and looking at each other like WOW THIS IS GREAT the whole time. Oddly, that same record has “I go blind” on it, which Hootie covered to great effect a decade later. Can’t stand Hootie but glad those guys got paid.
  • The Dream Syndicate, Safari Sam’s, Huntington Beach, 1985. Holy shit they were on that night. Somehow they could have not a note out of place and still sound raw and unfiltered. They seared my face off with noise and I couldn’t stop jumping up and down and singing along. I especially remember their cover of “Cinnamon Girl” that night, which they also recorded later in the studio where it sounded flat. Paul Cutler became my guitar hero forever that night.
  • Tones on Tail, The Music Machine, Los Angeles, 1984. This was the only tour this group did to my knowledge. It was a post Bauhaus but pre Love & Rockets band with Daniel Ash and Kevin whassisname the Bauhaus drummer, with a bassist and lots of electronics. I’d never seen an E-Bow used before, or been to a show where a 4-track was used to such great effect. It was magical. Ash is a fine guitar player and very inventive, and they were all such experienced musicians that the weird little noises and effects came out clear as day.
  • Agent Orange and the Brat, The Music Machine, 1984. I saw Agent Orange a few times at this club. They were the loudest fucking punkass fucking punk band in fucking punkass loud punkland. Loads of fun and perfect for me at 19. Every time we went there, sadly, someone had some horribly shitty luck, but it was worth it. The Brat totally blew me away, too. They were an east L.A. punk band with an incredibly charismatic and hot lead singer. I remember them playing “High School” and everyone skanking like crazy. “Didn’t learn a fucking thing / Didn’t buy the goddamn ring”.
  • R.E.M. + Natalie Merchant + a whole load of other people I don’t remember, McCabe’s Guitar Shop, Santa Monica, 1986 or 87. This was on the tour for Document which I still think was their height. They did a benefit for Texas Records, a local label and store, whose owner was Stipe’s lover at the time. It was one of those semi unannounced things. It was a kind of all star post punk jam. Natalie Merchant wasn’t yet annoying in those days, and Stipe’s voice was beautiful. My friend Geoff played guitar on “The One I Love” and that version ended up on a 12 inch import. The whole thing closed with a group cover of Gang of Four’s “Damaged Goods” which is kind of the “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” of post-punk kids. Magic evening.
  • T-Bone Burnett Christmas show, McCabe’s, 1989? 1990? T-Bone did a variety show over three or four days there which was broadcast on NPR. I saw one night of it. The night I saw he brought in Booker T., Jeff Bridges, Edgar Meyer, Jerry Douglas, Al Kooper, Joe Henry, others I can’t recall just now. Booker T. did an amazing acoustic version of “Dock of the Bay”. Jeff Bridges did some piano reminiscent of his Baker Boys stuff, and then got out a ukulele and sang “The Sunny Side of the Street”. Joe Henry did “A Short Man’s Room”. They did a fair amount of Christmas music. McCabe’s is a no-alcohol venue where you sit on folding chairs in a guitar storage room, and there are tea and cookies at intermission. That plus T-Bone’s friendly presence made it feel like we were all in his living room and various geniuses were just wandering in to pick a tune or two. This show is one of my Happy Places to go back to.
  • Sonic Youth, The Meat Puppets, Psi-Com, Redd Kross, White Flag, way the hell out in the desert past Victorville, January or February 1985? 1984?. “Desolation Productions” put on these things without permits out in the middle of nowhere. This one was around the time Sonic Youth put out Bad Moon Rising, so the desert setting was perfect. It was a night show and it got cold as hell quickly. I think almost everyone there but me was on acid, since most people came by bus where that was the thing. There were worrisome events around the bonfire but no one was injured. The Meat Puppets played totally wrapped up in winter clothing with only their mouths and eyes showing. Sonic Youth was perfect. I remember Lee Ranaldo with an acoustic guitar he’d stuffed a pickup into, running towards the amp to get feedback and then running away again, and you couldn’t see him when he ran away because it was too dark. Death Valley ’69 indeed.
  • Savage Republic, downtown Los Angeles somewhere, 1985. This was Bruce Licher’s wedding and a special show, and you got a neat shirt (I lost mine) if you went, etc. The awesome and bizarre neo-surf band Lawndale opened. It was in one of those classic art space warehouse things in the industrial part of downtown. Savage Republic live is this mix of Joy Division ish guitar and loud clanking sounds and yelling and Eastern rhythms and surf sound that is unique. And Bruce, one of my musical heroes, got married! So totally awesome.

Okay I’m going to do more of these some other time, out of space.

The hardest horking man in show business

switchstatement posted a link to this rappin’ Blue Blockers sunglass ad (mp3), and I immediately recognized the artist. It’s Dr. Geek.

In my Dark Ages when I was a 20-something yuffie with no reason to live, I rode the bus in Los Angeles. For ten years. It did not improve my disposition. I frequently had to take the Wilshire or Santa Monica buses across town, which is agonizing. They move at a crawl through heavy traffic, and going 10 miles takes two hours or more. At rush hour they’re packed with the poor, the drunk, the young, the old, the multiply convicted felons, and all of the 100% disabled insane people. All of us got to share each other’s vivid personalities, differing cultural sensitivities, and rich evocative aromas.

Dr. Geek was a regular on my trips from the Westside to Downtown. He was a very large man with an expansive manner, and he’d spent the day in the heat singing so his body’s natural glow was evident to all the senses. He often wore one of those huge foam cowboy hats you see at county fairs, and carried the tool of his trade: a gigantic boom box that seemed to have sharpened corners and weighed about 400 pounds, or half the good Doctor’s mass.

He would lurch onto the bus, boombox blaring, and announce to the world that “DR. GEEK IS IN!” Pushing backwards, not with malice but with an infectious joie de vivre, he’d get to about the middle of the bus and yell out again “IT’S DR. GEEK!”

For the next two or more hours, the Doctor was in session. We all got some free raps (he’d offer to customize without the usual fee), and if no one was up for it, he’d lay some rhymes out for us, freestyle. Sometimes he’d use the boombox and other times it was just an a cappella hip hop cornucopia.

The first time, it was a blast. The second time, it was a smaller blast. The third time, it sucked, especially since he kept backing into me with his wall-like back while he was caught up in the passion of yelling “I’M THE ORIGINAL/DR. GEEK/AIN’T NO ONE ELSE ON/VENICE BEACH” or something similar.

It was nice to see that he has a website and isn’t dead. At the time I wanted him to go away and die, but now I’m happy that the Doctor is still living large.