Billabong’s ‘Design For Humanity’ Proves Hollywood Hipsters Have None

Thursday night, Billabong and Paramount Studios hosted the 4^th annual Design For Humanity event to raise money and awareness for Invisible Children, a non-profit that helps children and families affected by the war in Uganda.

Invisible Children exhibit

I’ve been a supporter of Invisible Children for sometime now, as when I helped begin The Voice Project, Invisible Children was a model for what we wanted to achieve. The atrocities going on there are unbelievable. Joseph Kony is currently terrorizing five countries and it’s the longest running conflict on the continent of Africa, yet no one seems to know about it.

I admit I was a bit dubious about a bikini fashion show and block party helping the cause, but with popular artists such as Fischerspooner and Kid Sister on the bill, I was hoping for a fervent crowd of people ready to pitch in and make a difference.

The New York Streets of Paramount were decked out with food trucks, step and pose red carpets, the Hit + Run t shirt silk screening stations, Carmichael art gallery auctions, live art stations and, of course a Lakers/Celtics screen so the Lakers fans could watch their team go down in flames.

Different sections had popular DJs like Classixx and Pase Rock spinning for the upwardly mobile hipster crowd who swilled drinks and noshed for the charity while they waited for the fashion show and upcoming musical performances.

live painting at Design For Humanity event

As we sat awaiting the beginning of the fashion show, a film reel began, showing the Invisible Children efforts in Uganda…only to be drowned out by a DJ playing ‘Bust A Move’ by Young MC. Now, I’m a fan of busting a move and early nineties novelty songs. Who isn’t? But shouldn’t there be an ounce of gravitas given the nature of the film being shown? No? OK, moving on.

As a whole, the event was mildly entertaining. Billabong designed for humanity, if humanity is going to start dressing like the jail bait waifs on the new 90210.

a design for humanity

Kid Sister was a little like watching your kid sister put on a show. Then, Casey Spooner led his Tharpy twitchy dancers in a revamped version of his show, Between Worlds, sans the musical albatross around his neck, “Emerge”.

Casey Spooner & Company

After, my friend and I headed to the Invisible Children exhibit set up in a store-front across from the Carmichael gallery. There patrons could see the film reel, unfettered by MCs, rappers or movers, busting. There were also photographs of the children forced to fight in the war all around the room as well as the weapons they were forced to use, on display.

children with guns

It was a sobering moment and one that makes you count your blessings.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a gaggle of girls in skin tight party dresses holding the guns, gangsta style, taking sexy pictures with their Iphones. One after the other, they posed with these weapons between their legs, licking the guns, humping them. I was immediately nauseated.

Then a few other hipsters picked up the hand grenades in the exhibit and mimed lobbing them at each other in a photo op frenzy. This went on for over twenty minutes. Dozens and dozens of different disaffected creeps played paparazzi with the weapons with the giant pictures of child soldiers looming over their heads. After fighting the urge to vomit on their American Apparel onesies, I asked a few of them why they were taking these pictures.

“Well, like, everyone else was doing it, and we thought it was fun.” Said one girl who clearly knew her spirit animal was a soulless cockroach.

I understand the need to entertain people for the money they plunk down for a ticket to a charity event, for it to be ‘fun’…but feet away there is a movie showing a genocide. So maybe a PARTY isn’t the way to raise money and awareness anymore. Maybe bikinis, Young MC, and cosmo martinis isn’t the way to get the message across that shit is rough in other parts of the world. Hell, shit is rough RIGHT HERE.

The problem is, these people think nothing about plunking down $30-$150 bucks to hang out with Kid Sister on the Paramount lot and ogle girls in bikinis. They didn’t really have to do anything proactive. Hell, they can even buy the tickets from their freaking iphone. That is, if they’re not already on the guest list.

What they don’t have to do is change. Anything. Their behavior, the laws, American foreign policy, Uganda, war, or they way humans treat each other. Which was evident by the pushing at the line for the bar.

Kid Sister and hipsters

I’ve been to a lot of Hollywood charity events. I’ve even participated in some. Some raise good money and are helpful. But most of them are a bigger PR push for the DJs and club promoters/energy drink sponsors that throw them. I guarantee if you polled the guests leaving some of these events that less than half could tell you the cause they were drinking for.

So maybe instead of throwing events for charity, how about we take the money and give it DIRECTLY to the charity. Or INVEST it in helping the people who need it.

I hope this event raised a lot of money. It seemingly failed, to raise ANY awareness or consciousness. In fact, I think that it proved the average Hollywood hipster’s devolution and frankly I’m disgusted.

If you would like to learn more about, donate to or get involved with Invisible Children, please visit INVISIBLE CHILDREN

Foreigner Plays For The Beautiful People – Checkitnsee

With an onslaught of press releases and invites, I have the humble luck of being highly selective with my night time activities. That being said, I can seem to be quite the jaded gal, a retired hipster – party girl, interrupted.

How many open bar/energy drink special/free t shirt/ipod dj events can one succumb to until you slowly numb out and freeze to death right in the middle of Cauhenga Boulevard? My Facebook event inbox tips well over into the hundreds which I barely read any more. I’m not showing off…I’m just protesting the glut of white noise.

Sometimes it takes something extra to motivate me to cover an event, find an angle, do the interview, write the article, put on the push up bra…unless it’s free champagne and FOREIGNER. Stop the presses.

I do love my indie rock. I appreciate the singer songwriters. I love my atmospheric sweeping geniused gems. I love my dirty bluesy garage rock. I love punk ditties. BUT, classic rock and hair metal will stop me in my tracks. I’ll admit it. When I am in my car, I’m a radio flipper. I don’t use the ipod. I scan…and I find myself bored a lot with the new music stations. I often keep going back to the classic rock of KLOS. Perhaps I’m becoming an old curmudgeon. Perhaps I am just in a Zep phase…but I just want to be comforted by people who wrote their own songs, who play their own guitars, who seduce you with a solo, and who never used auto tune, even if they can’t quite hit those high notes.

I love some of these KLOS bands, not in an ironic way. Def Leppard? It’s no Mysteria why. Scorpions? What’s wrong with a night of sin? Foreigner? I’m not shy (and I used to get around).

Most of the people attending the I Heart Ronson/JC Penny event last night were there to toast Charlotte Ronson’s t shirt line for the huge department chain, or flaunt their fashionista wares, or gawk and stare at the fabulous kids who sell People Magazine.

I went to see Foreigner. Not ironically.

Mick Jones of Foreigner is the step father of designer Charlotte, music producer/scenester Mark Ronson who DJed, and DJ/scenester Samantha Ronson who, ahem, sang an opening set.

Moving through an acoustic set of hits like Double Vision, Dirty White Boy, and I Want To Know What Love Is, Foreigner then debuted a new song that Micks’ step son Mark produced. The band then ended with a spirited rendition of Hot Blooded, which even the teenage models and disaffected reality celebutantes, seemed to recognize. Maybe because it’s the anthem of making it ok to be a groupie?

Many of the well dressed lookliloos stayed on hand to sample the over abundance of free junk food and open bar cocktails and to hear Samantha spin, but with Foreigner leaving the stage, my interest plummeted.

It’s about the music.

The Voice Project debuts in Hollywood – Pass It On!

Tuesday night was the first official The Voice Project fundraiser event.

The Voice Project Foundation is a not-for-profit public benefit corporation. The foundation’s mission is to raise awareness and financial support for those using art to enact meaningful social change by using art for said change.

Hunter Heaney and I conceived this organization back in January, and it’s been the little group that could, thanks to a group of amazingly talented, well connected, hard working and passionate people who have joined the cause.

The event took place at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel’s Tropicana pool bar during David and David’s Nightswim event.

Also celebrating that night was Alex Ebert (Ima Robot) and his new band Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. A listening party of their new album took place earlier in the evening.

DJs Chris Holmes, Ana Calderon and special guest DJ Devendra Banhart treated the guests to tunes and hospitality.

Liz Miller, Alycia Astudillo and I manned the Voice Project suite inside.

People came in to watch our VP video, read leaflets and purchase Voice Project t-shirts, designed by the talented Ramsey.

Some special guests showed up to help further the cause, including 30 Rock’s Jack McBrayer, Lonely Island’s Akiva (I’m On A Boat) Schaffer,

Tom Green

DJ Poet from the Black Eyed Peas

and even Lindsay Lohan, who jumped onto the decks and played some Nancy Sinatra.

It was a fantastic night where a lot of money and awareness was raised and good times were had.

Proceeds will go to our inaugural project, which is to support the women of Northern Uganda in their efforts using music to lead the Peace and Reconciliation efforts in the region of Northern Uganda, Eastern DR Congo and Southern Sudan.

Women of Northern Uganda; widows, rape survivors and former abductees have been banding together in groups to support each other and those oprhaned byt the war and the diseases so prevalent in the IDP camps. They are singing songs. The lyrics let the former ‘soldiers’, i.e. children abducted by the LRA and forced to fight agaisnt their own families, know that they are forgiven and they should come home. The songs are passed by word of mouth out into the bush. It is working. For the first time in 22 years, the region has a reach chance at peace.

The Voice Project is an attempt to support these incredible women.The strength, the message and the art of these women can benefit the world and in return, we can help carry their message, provide basic necessities and the tools to further develop their own communities and businesses.

Music and voices that carry, they can end wars. These incredible women have shown us that. Pass it on.

If you’d like to get involved with The Voice Project please visit www.voiceproject.org

Bjork’s Voltaic – A Luscious Concert Experience At The Montalban

One of the cooler new additions to Los Angeles pop culture nightlife is the Flux Cinema Tuesdays movie series at the Nike Sportswear Montalban Theater.

Each month guests are treated to a film, usually surfing or music based. The night includes a celeb DJ, drinks and popcorn to boot – all for free. Some of the nights have showcased the work of Michel Gondry and super hot DJ Mr. French, MC Lyte and the director of Notorious, and even the new auteur extraordinaire of horror, Tomas Alfredson and local lady DJ Valida.

Last Tuesday, Flux presented Voltaic: The Volta Tour Live , a concert film of Bjork’s recent tour. The film, which is available to buy today via Nonesuch Records, features Voltaic footage from Björk’s live shows in Paris and Reykjavik, Volta music videos, live studio performances and remixes of songs from Volta.

People who had waited in line which snaked around the block were not disappointed. The film was a gorgeous and loud cacophony of sound and vision which more than filled the small theater at the Montalban.

Bjork was joined on tour by innovative musicians such as Mark Bell, Damian Taylor, Jonas Sen and Chris Corsano, plus an all female brass section decked out in colorful sari styled jumpsuits with flags extending from the back. Bjork, with her face painted in  day glow colors, performed like the dynamo pixie she is, running the gamut of newer Volta material and songs from older albums such as Army Of Me, Hunter and Hyperballad.

It still amazes me to this day, the power of her voice. It seems less like Bjork opens her mouth to sing, and more like she is stopping a powerful magic simply by closing her mouth in between lyrics. The film is lit well and sounds fantastic. You really do feel as if you are in the room at the show – which is something a lot of concert films and rock docs lack today.

After the screening, hundreds of hipsters clamored upstairs to grab the 60 limited edition posters. And I do mean grab. I was knocked off my feet twice and my friend had a poster ripped right out of her hand. The small balcony was much too small to house the Belvedere open bar and poster melee. The pushing and shoving instantly made me want to head for the door. Not to mention the horrible house music DJ’s LA Riots were pumping through their laptops. After a wonder film experience and a great concert, it was truly jarring to exit to an angry poster mob and angry remixes of sub-par music. Hopefully the next post screening soiree will be a bit tamer, or at least less dangerous.

Luckily you can now watch Voltaic in the comfort of your own home. Dim the lights, put on your most colorful yarn scarf and turn that volume way up. You wont be disappointed.

Lions and Tigers and Wolfmother, Oh My.

The Los Angeles Museum of Natural History hosts First Fridays intermittently, where people can go to the museum for wine, food and some polite music. I’ve skipped these shows though a few, like Sea Wolf and The Little Ones, piqued my interest. When I heard the new line up of Wolfmother was the headliner this month I had to laugh…and then get my ass there pronto. Could the stone mausoleum walls contain the frenetic noise of the grammy winning Wolfmother?

As we arrived at the sold out show, people were queued up to enter the main room where the bands would be playing. In the opposite hall, wine tasting and food was being served. Dinosaur bones and bug exhibits were swarmed by hipster hair and hoodies. Well-heeled thirty somethings, looking out of place without a cigarette and coffee, wandered through the exhibits of other mammals in their natural habitats. I took a shine to the rocks and gem collection which featured gold and precious stones under lock and key.

My veteran rock journo friend, Kevin, quipped “Will they feature Wolfmother under the wolf section or the rock section?”. True, they bridge the gap between both with their hard rock guitars and Andrew Stockdale’s lupine howling and Page style wails.

Andrew of Wolfmother

Set up in the Mammal Hall, alongside the cougars (both feline and human female) and wolves, Wolfmother took the stage and kicked off a set loud enough to wake the dinosaurs in the main entrance. I haven’t seen a crowd this excited in a while, and that includes all three days at Coachella.

wolf - mother

rocking the horns

previous horn rockers

Ok, much of the scene looked like that old movie Airheads, but with a better soundtrack. And true, one of the guys sported a pilgrim hat and several others wore bedazzled items.

airheads

But the music was so searing and hot, no one could complain about fashion…not even me.

Fifteen Will Get You Twenty – Space 15 Twenty Caters To Young Hipsters With Disposable Cash

As Hollywood leaves behind the years of dingy, depressed streets, tourist trap souvenir shops and head shops, it ushers in a shiny, plasticine veneer covering everything from revolving nightclubs which go out within a year, late night eateries and ‘museums’ tributing anything from show biz to lingerie…but something is missing.

Where can a hipster go to do some pre clubbing shopping? Where can they congregate to gossip about the ‘Cahuenga Boulevard boogie’?

The answer is Space 15 Twenty.

Nestled at the edge of Cahuenga between Sunset and Hollywood Boulevard, 15 Twenty is a hipster heaven. Currently the open air mall boasts an Urban Outfitters for the retro, ironic kids…

Urban Outfitters

…an A Life for the ballers, complete with a giant urinal…

piss off!

…What Comes Around Vintage for the posh spice kids who can spend a couple k on vintage couture…

What Comes Around Costs More The 2nd Time Around

…an art gallery for the erudite wine drinkers…

…an architect bookstore for the brainiac scenesters and a snack bar serving up ironic junk food one could find at any music festival, like pop corn, Izze and beer.

At the opening part last week, the Space had i Tunes darlings Chairlift play their warbling indie rock for a jaded crowd. Although a good smattering of people watched excitedly, for many it was more of an obstacle to their air kissing, gossiping and hair flipping.

NY indie rockers Chairlift play at 15 Twenty

While I must admit I did drool over some of the choice finds at What Comes Around, a vintage gaultier coat, several Alaia dresses and a slew of YSL and DVF…

absolutely fabulous

And I did quite like the high tech goth of Urban Outfitter’s annex store for Samantha Pleet…

Samantha Who?

I must admit that 15 Twenty did underwhelm.

gangsta garanimal

Perhaps it’s because the place is designed to capture the attention of kids who scoff at the faux punk of the commercial mall rat swathed in Hot Topic, but think nothing of conforming to the electro-nerd costume of American Apparel. Perhaps it was the jaded “been there, done that, bought the $500 dollar t shirt’ crowd. Or perhaps it’s just stores that cater to disaffected youth in a time when everyone SHOULD be affected by the monumentus current events, but something about this space left me cold…perhaps it was the crisp night air on a cold, LA, 65 degree night.

Hopefully things will warm up soon.

Slippery When Wet

Imagine a world where nothing was prohibited. We have so many rules, so many people telling us what we can and can’t do. Doesn’t it just magnetize us towards the very thing we are being kept from?

There was a time when drinking was illegal all together. It didn’t really prevent it – it just led to bathtub moonshine, speakeasies, and a lot of crime. Thanks god we are now permitted to poison ourselves if we so choose.

And in celebration of that right, that’s exactly what I did.

Downtown Los Angeles became a prohibition busting pub crawl on December 5th. Celebrating the 75th year since our country repealed the prohibition laws, bars such as The Edison, plus Cedd Moses’s 7 Grand, The Golden Gopher, The Broadway Bar and the new Coles offered 75 cent drinks. Those who didn’t feel like standing in the bread line could fill up on grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup at depression era prices.

7 Grand, a dark bar that resembles a library owned by a wealthy man with a taxidermy fetish, was home to the Dewars Repeal Party. When we arrived, several 1930′s styled gangsters marched outside with picket signs bearing slogans such as Repeal Prohibition! Tonight, their protests garnered instant results.

Upon entering, patrons were handed feather boas or fedoras to help transport them back to 1933. Pins were handed out emblazoned with the slogan ‘Stay Wet!’ As if we needed prompting. At the bar, mixologists were slinging ‘old fashioneds’ and ‘sidecars’.

model molls

Rony Alwin had his photo booth set up for patrons to knock back a whole bottle of Dewars or perhaps just primp and flirt in their flapper attire.

Rony and his photobooth

Bryan Chenault booked an evening of various entertainers, including comedian Blaine Capatch as the party’s host. Blaine, an old Mr. Show compatriot of mine, steered the evening, starting with a stand up performance by Morgan Murphy.

Morgan Murphy and Blaine Capatch

Bryan has a delicious snack

The night was also peppered with several rounds of burlesque dancers, including a rather titilating performance by Lily Von Schtupp who poured shots of whiskey from the nipples of her bustier. Talk about mother’s milk.

Mother's milk

In between acts, DJs Chris Holmes and Daisy O’Dell kept it old school on the decks with some 30′s era chart toppers. The musical act of the evening was indie band Foreign Born, whose tepid folksy rock prompted some on the patio to dub them Snorin Born. Luckily the revelrers didn’t allow that to slow them down.

Chris Holmes and Daisy O'Dell

But the true high light of the night was the whiskey that flowed freely.

DJ Dirty Dave & Ali On The Air in Rony's photobooth

The more Dewars that was poured, the more the people poured into the bar, jamming it with hipsters dressed like the swing crew from the musical Chicago. As the night wore on, the patrons began to do the drunken weave, trying to stand upright without falling over. 7 Grand was certainly slippery when wet.

TC Conroy and I held court at a table in the back room with a bunch of jaunty gentlemen, when we noticed trays of delicious mac and cheese were being brought out. Hallelujah! Kudos to Dewars and 7 Grand for dreaming up the perfect hang over special and bringing it out just in time to sober up before the ride home.

Ali On The Air & TC Conroy holding court

TC surreptitiously grabbed a plate for our table and began to spoon out some cinco de maco, when suddenly the staff opened the double doors revealing hundreds of hungry, hungry hipsters. TC’s eyes widened as a stampede of drunks ran towards her like bloodthirsty zombies. In seconds the room was packed in a cheesy orgy. I give props to T for risking her life for us and even more so for returning to our table unscathed…and with a full plate of cheesy goodness.

As the night drew to a close, I teetered towards the exit, cursing my food and drink intake for the day: two cups of coffee, a salad, about eleventy Dewars drinks and a plate of macaroni and cheese. I didn’t have to celebrate the Repeal of prohibition so hard. After all, it’s been seventy five years since it happened and I’ve been legally drinking for twenty some odd years. But what’s a girl in a feather headrdess and faux fur stole to do? I am only one woman and cannot fight the tide of change…or an open bar. My only option? To stay wet.

This Sex Was On Fire

When a major landmark or institution closes or is destroyed, it’s common for a mourning period to follow. The passing of monument will be an elegiac era of super size proportions which will break hearts and hard ons across the world…yes, early this morning, a fire gutted The Body Shop in Los Angeles.

photo credit: Al Seib

There are four men in particular who are probably at this moment, dabbing their eyes with black lacy g-strings. These are the stalwart citizens who immortalized the establishment in their song, Girls, Girls, Girls. In a way, Motley Crue are both artists and patrons of the arts. For their tribute to dancing girls undoubtedly raised the profile of the oft scorned art of totally nude strip dancing.

The Body Shop has graced the Sunset Strip since the 40s where it once was a burlesque club. Luckily, it was transformed into an all nude dancing theater just in time for the hair metal stampede down the Sunset Strip. It even paid the rent of many budding, hungry ‘actresses’, Courtney Love being one. I never had the pleasure of frequenting this particular establishment. When I was researching the art of stripping for a play I had written, my cast mates and I kept to Crazy Girls and Cheetahs, which was titilating enough to mess with our heads in a method acting sorta way. So, I can’t properly relate to the loss of this mecca of culture, but I realize the pain is deep.

Theater of the absurd

There is no exact word on how the fire started, though my money is on someone ‘smokin in the boys room’ (sorry, had to). There are plans to rebuild the Shop, but it will remain shuttered until those renovations are done. Where, o where, will these generous men go to appreciate bodies in motion? Where will they find long legs, burgundy lips, red lips and fingertips? How will they keep fledgling models ‘over-employed’? Where can these doctors go to feel good?

model/actress/nameless

These patrons need to look no further than the dulcet tones of Vince Neil’s humble suggestions. How about a trip to sunny Florida? The Dollhouse in Fort Lauderdale could cure your blues. If humidity isn’t your bag, Hotlanta has Tattletails AND a Waffle House. Two treats in one! If you’re up for a ski lift, Vancouver’s Marble Arc will fill your need for tats and ass. Gay Paree seems like nothing of the sort, if you take in the double ‘D’s at the Crazy Horse. Or in French, Le Cheval Fou.

benjamins and booty

Of course Los Angeles is a veritable cornucopia of sin dens. There’s Jumbo’s Clown Room. That is the premiere place to watch greasy hipsters watch a broken anorexic sadly strip to Radiohead’s Karma Police. Cheetahs is more of the rockabilly girls scarred with cigarette burns, vibe. And the Crazy Girls are all about the benjamins waiting to lap dance a benefactor. I’m sure if Vince and Tommy are in town you can still find them raising ‘hail’ (hell) at the Seventh Vail.

Too fast for love

I know, I know…they’re just not the same as the infamous Body Shop. Again, my heart leaps out of my 34 C chest for all of these philandering philanthropists. These are tough times. They are times of change. They are times of joining hands and helping your fellow man.

I suggest that all ladies out there be kind to their fellow man. In fact, you can help your favorite fellow man, just by doing a strip tease in the comfort of your own home. Think of it as a form of physical therapy to get him through the night…and the many nights to come, without the Body Shop.

Cheeseburger, well done.

I don’t eat red meat. But I sure do love me some Cheeseburger. So when I got word that the boys from Brooklyn were coming to town on the Tales of Colt 45 tour, I decided I’d definitely brave the tidal wave of douchebaggery to see some great cock rock.

Now, it’s hard to get me out to shows these days. Especially when a simple gig is overloaded with distractions meant to pull scenesters in. Professional studio photography, ice cream trucks, do it yourself silk screening, grafitti artists…free crack…if the music was actually good, would the clubs need all this excess shit to lure in the jaded Hollywannabes? Or is the pure love of music an outdated quality?

Colt 45 and Vice magazine were banking on the former with this night. one of the many ‘lifestyle’ extravaganzas which litters the LA scene these days. King King was packed when I arrived, and people were swaying, yelling, spitting and fighting. The free 40 ouncers were like the proverbial stick rattling the tiger cage at the zoo. The only thing left to light this powder keg would be a set of searing party rock.

Enter Cheeseburger.

The first thing I asked when I found the band in the crazed crowd, was if their guitarist had been tested. Last time they played in LA, Eric bled all over the stage at an alarming rate. I don’t begrudge an axe man with diseases, but I just had to be sure.

The band assured me that while he may be disease riddled, the calluses he built up would prevent him from bleeding on me during the show. So that takes care of me during the show…I didn’t go into what would protect me afterwards.

Joe, Luke, Eric and Christy, shuffled single file into their “green room” and closed the door so we could get some quiet. Closing the door seemed to make it louder in their actually, the door being less like a piece of paper and more like a noise sponge.

None of them were thrilled to be interviewed, even by an old friend, except for Christy who began snapping pictures and video of me to commemorate the precious moment.

AOTA: What’s the matter? We had fun on Little Radio last year.

JOE: Yeah but we were drunk. You gave us a keg of Heinken.

AOTA: Yes, true. We did roll out a party for you. But you have free Colt 45 – the sponsor of your mini tour. And I’m sure Vice would spring for a few drinks too.

JOE: I actually hate both of those products. I find them distasteful.

Joe scowled and took a swing off a Bud light. Christy stopped taking my picture long enough to survey the energy in the club.

CHRISTY: I feel hostility. I don’t know what it is, but it seems very hostile in this place.

AOTA: You’re in Los Angeles. And you’re in a room of people liquored up on Colt 45 which is slightly less like crack than Sparks, but not by much. But rumor has it that it’s been used as a form of chlorofyl in several kidnappings…

JOE: Colt 45 is for homeless people and college students.

Another long swig of Bud light.

AOTA: What do you have against the homeless? And didn’t you like college?

CHRISTY: College is supposed to be the best time of your life.

AOTA: Was it yours?

CHRISTY: No. I was depressed and lonely in college.

Christy lamented. Pause. Christy snapped another picture. I put my hand up to keep from being blinded by his flash.

AOTA: So when did that change?

CHRISTY: When I got successful and joined Cheeseburger!

Christy yelled this with a passion I haven’t seen from anyone on either of the coasts for a long time.
And I believed him. If you were in a band like Cheeseburger, whose main raison d’etre was to goad people into partying their asses off, wouldn’t you consider it a Cheeseburger job, well done?

Seeing as the guys have had triumph in placement lately, I asked how they felt being featured in Grand Theft Auto IV.

AOTA: Nothing like hearing the song “Cocaine” while you beat the crap out of someone you drag out of their car, yeah?

JOE: I’ve never seen it or played it. I don’t like playing games.

AOTA: You never played a video game? Even when you were a kid?

JOE: I played Q bert.

CHRISTY: Q bert is psychadelic!

Christy added this fact with an air guitar riff played on his beer bottle.

JOE: Cheeseburger is against violence. Enough is enough!

CHRISTY: Yeah! How much quote, violent bullshit, unquote, will we put up with? Make sure you put that part in quotes. And then tell them to ‘Google that’!

Not wanting my article to be a platform for their subversive propaganda, I quickly changed the subject.

AOTA: So, you guys have a song placed in the Will Ferrell movie, Stepbrothers.

I was met with half assed nods and grumbles.

AOTA: Did you see it?

A chorus of no, until Eric sheepishly nodded.

ERIC: I saw it.

AOTA: And? How was it?

ERIC: Uh, hmmm, it was…not good.

The others jeered at him. I think I heard a “duh” form somewhere in the room.

AOTA: Sooo, you don’t drink Colt 45 or read Vice. You don’t play Grand Theft Auto and most of you, except the bleeder over here, wont go see the movie your music is in…so I guess my question is, with all these sponsors that you will work with or take money from – is there anyone you won’t work with?

JOE: Twinkies and marines.

CHRISTY: I’ll work with anyone.

JOE: And Cabbage Patch Kids.

CHRISTY: Wait, you don’t like Xavier Roberts?

Joe shook his head disgusted and stood up and walked away from us.

CHRISTY: Make sure you write that he left the interview at this point.

AOTA: Oh, duly noted.

CHRISTY: I heard about this guy in Europe who opened an orphanage for toy baby dolls. You have to go through adoption interviews and everything. But it’s for a doll.

AOTA: For a doll? Who would do that?

CHRISTY: It’s really popular.

AOTA: Is this something Brad and Angie are contemplating? Have we run out of real children? Is this the only choice left if I wanted to get a baby?

CHRISTY: You could go fuck a homeless guy.

AOTA: Oh, been there. Most of my boyfriends were homeless when I met them.

Then I had to pause and actually think about the fact that someone had suggested I go fuck a homeless man. Over fucking anyone who was in the club that night. That’s how bad the crowd looked, people. One point for homeless men, zero for faded hipsters in capes. Seriously. One guy was wearing a rainbow towel as a cape.

Joe wandered back into our discussion.

JOE: OK, is this done? Anything else? Do you have a serious question?

AOTA: How do you feel about the Village Voice describing your music as ‘crunk punk’?

JOE: Crunk Punk? I don’t even know what that is. That’s not a hard hitting, serious question. Those guys are corporate shills. They have no idea what they’re talking about. They’re a bunch of Oberlin College, left wing, homosexual, shit eating—

CHRISTY: I just realized I have drink tickets!

Christy began pulling wads of red tickets out of his pockets.

JOE: Man, I paid for this beer! Give me those.

CHRISTY: Do I get a serious question?

AOTA: OK, what do you think will help the situation in Darfur.

JOE: You ask me about crunk punk and he gets Darfur?

AOTA: Feel free to answer if you have an opinion, Joe.

CHRISTY: I don’t think out government gives a shit about Darfur, so nothing will happen.

JOE: C’mon give me a serious question.

AOTA; OK. You have a new song called Jellybean. What’s your favorite flavor jellybean?

Joe rolled his eyes at me hard.

JOE: Purple.

CHRISTY: Purple is pussy vagina lips flavor!

JOE: And he gets the Darfur question.

AOTA: Ok, ok. A serious question for you. How can America get out of this recession?

Joe paused a second and looked thoughtful.

JOE: It doesn’t matter. It’s all just…just write ‘it doesn’t matter’. Christy you have those drink tickets?

The guys scrambled away from the couch and out of the green room as if the bell had rung on the last day of school. Luke paused at the door.

LUKE: You coming?

Oh yes. I wouldn’t miss the main event. Not for all the towel caped hipsters in Hollywood.

As Cheeseburger took the stage I looked around, noticing that the mass had thinned out considerably. I ambled over to the bar but before I could even order a gingerale, the bartender barked at me that there was no more free Colt. That explains the personal space around me in the club. Most of the little crack whores were on to their next hyphy crunk party to be seen and scened.

But don’t worry. Cheeseburger didn’t arrive with a pocket full of cock rock for nothing. As if transformed by some combination of electric guitar and malt liquor, these creatures from the valley appeared, dressed as if it were still 1988. Not the ironic fashions mind you. These were the authentic Sunset Strip customers that kept people like Vince Neil decked out in rhinestones for years.

As Joe postured and growled his way through the set, these creatures became bolder, rushing the stage and trying to grab the mic from Joe’s sweaty paws. One woman, old enough to have given birth to almost everyone there, kept gyrating on top of the monitor and throwing herself at the mic stand repeatedly. No amount of security could restrain her, and soon the beefy dudes just gave up.

Now, I do love cheeseburger, but I have yet to see any AARP aged women throw themselves at them as if they were at a Bon Jovi concert. Was it the Colt? Or the crushing guitars and pounding drums?

I’d like to think it was the latter. Hopefully the next party Cheeseberger plays will be Colt free. I’d hate for everyone to think they were having fun just because they were really fucked up. In fact, I challenge Cheeseburger to play an aclohol free joint for their next gig. I guarantee everyone will have just as much fun. Cheeseburger is sonic crack – a raging party in every song. And just maybe you’ll get some purple jellybeans.

DJs and Turntablism – are hipsters and laptops killing the art form?

Hey Mr. DJ, put a record on…no really. I mean a fucking record. you know, those vinyl thingies that old timey people used to play?

While having dinner with Ian last night, the topic of dj culture came up. The electro, hose, nu-rave scene has burst like a serato pinata here in LA, and in NYC as well. Now, I’m always a champion for new music and creative outlets…but it seems to me there is a glut in the market. It’s like that Jack Black joke in the Tenacious D pilot, about aspiring musicians… (paraphrasing) “if you suck, and we ask you to stop, you must stop!” Lately I can’t walk into a bar without screaming FOR THE LOVE OF KRISHNA, PUT THE I POD DOWN!

It seems that with the nightly dance parties in heavy supply, anyone, and I do mean anyone, with a laptop and i tunes is now a DJ. So where does that leave the DJs who have been doing it for years? What does it mean to be a DJ? Is it style? Are you a DJ if you can scratch? Is it substance? Does being a DJ constitute having a good selection and crate digging your heart out? Or can you get by if you get the crowd to dance by playing Thriller and Justice off your Nano? And is it any great feat to get a bunch of kids cracked out on Sparks to sway and slam to a beat? Ugh.

Does a good music producer make for the best DJ? Or is it shiny stickers spelling out your name on the back of your laptop? I’m an on air radio DJ and I spin at some of the local clubs, in between bands. I spin mostly rock and punk, so I don’t get asked to be on the hipster club bills. Does this make me less of a DJ? OK, don’t answer that last question.

Ian mentioned that some of these club promoters/indie label owners/hipsters in American Apparel DJs, have their own booking agent. And big time bookers too. What makes someone pay thousands of dollars to have a specific DJ flown in for a party? Is it name recognition? Does a lot of website party photo ops constitute recognition? Or do you need to be seen walking the red carpet with the Good Charlotte boys? And why do some of these hipster dj duos think that they’re famous?

One unnamed duo, who have recently gotten a bit of local hype, claim that their fame is wearing on them. Heavy is the head that wears the black leather fedora. Woe is the electro boy in a Members Only jacket. Too much fame! How do they get up everyday and lace their free Puma kicks? Now I’m sure you couldn’t pick them out of a line up. Nor are they gracing the covers of any magazines. In fact, if you took them out of the insular LA/NYC scene, no one would know who they are. But they behave that their lazy re-mixes are an art form so great that they should be given the VIP treatment wherever they go. I smile as I wonder how long these ‘famous’ guys would last in a spin off versus someone like Pete Rock.

Which begs the question: Is DJing an art form? What does it take to make something art? By playing someone else’s music, are you then too a musician? How much do you have to change a piece of music to make it your own? How many seconds of a sample can you use in order to patchwork together a song? Is cutting together a track of samples any less artful than editing sound of instruments being played in a studio?

In my moonlighting as a clothing designer for Rock-N-Role, I take vintage cast offs, de-construct them and make them into something new. I consider that designing, but I’m sure the people at Parsons would consider it cheating or whatnot. One of my favorite artists, Banksy, often takes pre-existing works and adds his own cheeky flair. Is that not real art?

If you’re a DJ with your own album out, ala Junkie XL, or Cut Chemist, does that set you apart from the popular kids who speed up a Justice track and call it a new mix? Where does the line get drawn? I believe that the great Steinski is an artist the way he blends together bits and pieces of old movie quotes, Zapruder film audio and beats…but he can’t legally sell The Lessons. So sales and charting can’t be the only measure of a man (or woman).

Someone like Shadow, who can keep a crowd going and has a flair for ‘spinning plates’, certainly earns the respect and worship of many…but is his art form cheapened by an up and comer serato spinner in a hyphy crunk hoodie and neon wayfarers? Or is there room for both?

A lot of the old school dj/turntablists that I’ve interviewed are very careful not to slam serato. “It means I don’t have to carry 80 pounds worth of records on the airplane with me.” said one. But they do say that you can’t polish a turd; meaning if you kill on the decks with 45s, then you’ll be great with serato. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you will still suck. Technology can sink or swim you.

I personally give more respect to the record collectors, or ‘vinyl trekkies’ as Kid Koala calls them. Spending hours and hours at odd hours, digging through dusty crates connotes a certain commitment to the craft, as well as an obvious love for music and sense of musical history. But is any of that important when faced with 200 electro/emo hispters who ‘just wanna dance’? What do you play to those kids…what you like or what they want to hear? And whatever happened to street cred?

I’m just playing hipster’s advocate here, trying to get a discussion going…

…but it seems to me that a lot of these new DJs are in it for fashion…or perhaps because it pays better than working at Urban Outfitters and the hours and drugs are the perks they’re looking for. How many of the new DJS consider what they’re doing an actual craft or career, and how many are just in it to be pimped by Scion or Nylon. If we could send a camera crew to each of their homes, would we find them listening to music in their off hours? I mean really listening to music. Pushing their boundaries and searching for the next sample that will blow our minds.

Speaking of blowing minds, I couldn’t discuss the tables without including this from Kid Koala…he plays a record like it were a violin. And he spins without headphones! If this is an art form, Koala is masterful: