2010 – The Year in Review…In Advance

It started in September.

I got email after email from publications asking me for my ‘best of the year’ picks and ‘best of the decade’ choices. And then there was an onslaught online, on TV, on the radio, and in print…what’s left of print, that is.

‘Best of the…’ ‘Top Ten’, ‘Top Twenty’, ‘Top Fifty’… the ‘Top of the year’, the ‘Top of the Decade’…ad nauseum.

The year wasn’t even over and we were already rating the songs and films that have been created, comparing apples to oranges. Then it got weirder. Best tweets. Best viral videos. Best broken marriages. Best reality show melt downs. Best political failures. Best new babies born. Best real housewives you’ve never heard of.

If it happened on a grand scale, we can slap a number on it like a pig at the county fair and smugly call ourselves an expert…because that’s what a lot of us journalists, comedians, writers and bloggers are paid to do, right?

But then, suddenly, there were best of lists written by EVERYONE.  I’m glad to know that people all over are enjoying Miike Snow or Radiohead, but when butchers and bakers and candle stick makers are publishing their Best of 2009 lists, it kind of dilutes the magical lists of whatever the fuck Pitchfork or Spin puts out there. If Paste Magazine posts their fifth favorite movie is Amelie and then 20,000 other people tweet the same thing within five minutes, then does precious Paste even make a dent? No wonder magazines are dying.

And then there’s the question that I’ve been aching to ask. Who cares? Your close friends might. If you are a top critic, a few fellow editors might. If you mention something obscure you might earn some “oh yeah, I totally forgot that one!’ points.  If you can write something interesting about your favorites, then you are a gifted writer or comedian and your talents really should be used elsewhere…like on television. Seriously, TV really needs some better writers.

So what’s with all the list making? Must we constantly analyze our past pop culture? Can’t we just box it up and send it into space for other species or our descendants to discover? Can’t we move forward and create the new? The next?

Everyone is entitled to blog, tweet and have an opinion and social media has given everyone a voice. That is the wave of the future. So perhaps it means the death rattle of the ever present Best or Top lists. I mean, hasn’t VH1 beat the living  ‘I Love The’ hell out of it? I was actually assigned a best of list…and then eventually declined to do it. I removed myself from the rabble and decided to once again, look towards the future.

Strangely enough, a few days later, I was contacted out of the blue by Barb Powell, psychic to the stars. Barb doesn’t know me at all, but found my blog and asked if perhaps there wasn’t something we could work on together…like she he had read my mind or something.

Barb Powell is a psychic from Western Canada, who started with a small local client base but is now popular in Los Angeles, and has worked with the cast of shows such as The Ghost Whisperer, Haunting in Connecticut, Brothers and Sisters and The Mentalist…can she predict that Simon Baker and I are meant for each other?

Barb works in a very specific way – she doesn’t need a client to ask a lot of questions, because she gives answers to questions you haven’t even asked. Barb offered to do a mini reading on me and without knowing a thing about me personally, nailed a specific health issue I had been dealing with. Color me impressed.

Before I could ask her questions about the future of music, movies and media,  she already knew what I was looking for. And then some.

Here’s a little bit of what you can expect for 2010:

Good news for people who like their music free…The big labels will continue to get it wrong and eventually cause a big crash!

I think they will get it wrong by pouring money into stopping piracy and legal matters instead of focusing where they should perhaps use subscription type of music channels, etc in order to download.  I think in the next year to two years we will see a crash and they will then HAVE to re-organize.  However I believe that someone will come in and build up independent artists who are good of course but where there is a new way of doing things by subscribing to a site and downloading whatever, whenever they want.  This would be outside the actual music industry or RIAA and how they do things.  In another word..music will be free.

Who will this Indie Robin Hood be? That is unclear. But so far the job is available, so Silverlakers and Williamsburgers apply within!

As far as the Indie film world, Barb sees strides for filmmakers who’s pockets aren’t lined with Avatar type dollars.

We will see an increase with independent films, for sure, what with some of the most popular and cheaper films that have become a success.

Good news for the new legion of Wes Anderson types out there who want to launch their own Bottle Rocket. But they will still have to battle Big Hollywood. However with 2010 studio offerings like Hot Tub Time Machine, it might not be hard for up and comers to win at the box office and beat the majors.

Sigh. Hot Tub Time Machine. Really John Cusack? Next time you’re thinking of doing a movie like this, let me know. I’ll come stand outside your window with a boom box playing a list of reasons of why you will soon be Rob Schneider if you don’t stop this nonsense.

On the topic of music mediocrity, Barb reports:

We will see some upset for the Nickelback lead singer…the band does well but we will see a fall out later part of 2010 due to addictions….but will bounce back in 2011 for an awesome comeback record.

I will wait with baited breath for more from them…people are ready to listen to more pop songs sung by the weird art school girl, whose gender was the biggest mystery of 2009. And her hate spewing internet Svengali will get a reality show – perhaps his crowning glory?

Lots of great things for Lady Gaga career in 2010 including a TV special. Perez Hilton (famed blogger) will have his own reality show although health will become an issue.

Poor Perez. I’m sure many will come to his bedside to wish him well. After GLAAD came down hard on Perez (himself gay) in ’09 for his anti-gay slurs and his trash talk, perhaps he’ll change his ways?

I’m not holding my breath. I wonder what Perez will draw on Miley’s face when it’s reported she is with child?

More news for the Miley Cyrus fans and watchers.  There will be pregnancy rumors once again and they will turn out to be true in 2010.

Another blight on the small screen will be more Sarah Palin. Not sure this is a prediction as much as most of America unable to stop her PR steamroller, but nonetheless it’s apparently about to happen, times eleventy. Just a warning in case you want to cancel your cable subscription in advance.

We will see more of Sarah Palin on TV in late 2010 early 2011…talk show.

Sarah Palin talk show. I just threw up in my mouth. What will her show’s ‘book club’ feature, aside from her own book? Pop ups?

Barb has predicted a lot of celebrity deaths, both expected and scarily unexpected. I’ve chosen not to list them all, but one, I thought I could safely mention without any tears being shed…

This isn’t a Hollywood prediction but interesting just the same…Charles Manson will die.

Maybe this will clear the way for Roman Polanski to return to the US? And perhaps maybe many of the grizzly man indie guitarists of LA will stop emulating his long bearded look and his quest for a harem? It didn’t work out well for Charlie, guys…

Two major highlights Barb has predicted for 2010 in the media, one uplifting, one disconcerting.

Major media involving China/Japan but more so China in regards to war.

War with China is scary…and 24 hour news coverage by cable news outlets is outright terrifying. Hopefully both diplomacy and real journalism will prevail.

Singers/Actors unite for the environment to promote saving the ocean and rain forest.

If we ever needed a new Geldof (Bob, not Peaches.) to step up and create a new World Aid, the time is now.

French/American company The Hours recently started the Tck Tck Tck campagin to save the environment and there are many others.

Now is the time to unite in this cause. I, for one, would be proud to be a part of this.

Barb has made many other predictions about celebrity career triumphs and failures and marriages and divorces. Seems like it’s going to be a chock filled year. She’s even said I’m going to go against type and get cast in a serious acting role:

There will be an ongoing role in a series that reminds me of CSI or Law & Order type of show where it seems you play a detective or bad ass type of woman who gets the bad bad people.

I’m so looking forward to kicking some bad, bad ass!

So what’s your biggest prediction for 2010?

Follow both Barb and me on Twitter at @aliontheair and @mediumBarbP  and tweet us your top 2010 prediction with the hashtags #aliontheair #barbpowell.

My favorite answer will win a free reading with Barb!

Until then, have a great and list free New Year!

Sunset and Vines – Rock ‘n Roll Wine Uncorks At The Sunset Strip Music Festival

Rock has a reputation for being a beer and whiskey kinda night. OK, maybe a rum and coke, then a shot of tequila, then eleventy beers kinda night. But somewhere along the way, I traded in my plastic tumbler for a wine glass. If I drink much at all, I strictly drink wine.

It seems it’d be an uneven match, navigating the pogoing crowds with a refined glass of pinot noir. Well, one less reason to stand in the mosh pit, I suppose. My drink often brings scowls or claims of “That’s a big glass of stain you’re carrying around.” Better to stand safe and sound in VIP with, my dear.  Sure, My libation choice may have made me stick out like a sore thumb, but not anymore. Now there is something that perfectly satisfies my Uptown girl tastes and my Downtown girl edge: Rock ‘N Roll Wine.

Founded by Sommelier Chris Hammond and business partner Sonny Barton, Rock ‘n Roll Wine is a wine events company dedicated to revolutionizing the way people perceive, and enjoy wine. Rock ‘n Roll Wine produces monthly wine events in Las Vegas, Los Angeles, and Ann Arbor, in addition to making their own music-themed line of wines.

I’ve been to events they’ve had tastings at before. In fact, they were doling out delicious vino at a Swinghouse Studios event. It was so nice to go to a rock party and not be shoved a monster energy drink. I even had a choice between The Grotto, a California red blend with grenache, syrah, cab and a dash of Zin:

or a white muscat, roussanne, chardonnay blend called Reggae Rhapsody:

The company does pairings…that is, music and wine pairings. They suggest that MGMT might be a good listening choice while sipping some Grotto while Jack Johnson would be a more fitting way to enjoy a glass of Reggae Rhapsody. Beach side, of course. OK, neither of those overplayed KROQ artists are my cup of tea, or wine as it were…I’m still waiting for the wines that would be good for breaking out my Gang of Four or Neu! albums, but, hey, baby steps…

Along with the music pairing idea, the company often showcases the wine while artists play onstage nearby. They’ve done events with big artists such as Dashboard Confessional, Everclear, Ingrid Michaelson, Pat Monahan of Train and Low vs. Diamond, as well as emerging artists. Jangly indie rock act? Rock N Roll wines will have a nice cabernet pour for that. Singer/Songwriter about to take the stage? A pinot grigio will be chilling near by, waiting to be sampled.

And in honor of the beer and whiskey soaked Sunset Strip doing it up with their own festival, Rock ‘n Roll Wine is going to class it up this weekend too. Or as Rock ‘n Roll wine tipplers say: “Rock Out With Your Cork Out”. The company will help kick off the festival by hosting their event at the House of Blues VIP club Foundation Room on Friday, September, 11 and feature singer/songwriter Cofféy. The wine party will feature 15 hand-selected, wines from around the world, including Rock ‘n Roll Wine’s Reggae Rhapsody and The Grotto.

To purchase your tickets in advance, visit http://www.rocknrollwine.com or call 702-240-3066. Rock ‘n Roll Wine is offering a discount to those going to the Sunset Strip Music Festival. Enter code: SSMF when ordering tickets online and receive $5 OFF addmission.

I’ll be there, sampling the wines and the rock, which to me, seem the perfect combination. If I am going to rock out on the strip this weekend, it will most definitely be with my cork out.

Ali On The Air and Antiquiet Backstage: The Von Bondies At The Roxy

Backstage of the Roxy with my Bondies. The conversation went from fascinating to silly to downright awkward. But we all had make up sex afterwards. Enjoy the lunacy of me and the Von Bondies!

more about "Antiquiet Backstage: Von Bondies on V…", posted with vodpod

This Just In – Indie 103.1 Goes Dark

As a lot of you know, I was on air at Indie 103.1 FM. I created the Gig Guide and was the behind the scenes mastermind of a lot of the local acts programming…that is until I left under dire circumstances. More about this  will be in my upcoming book.

I read this post on their website this morning:

BYE BYE

Thanks to everyone who made Indie 103.1 possible. We love you all.

More information to follow but word has it that they will become internet only.

While it is a sad day for Los Angeles indie rock, it is justice for Dicky Barrett, myself and many others who were duped, or abused by the people that worked there. I always believed in the spirit behind a great Los Angeles radio station, but the reality of what really went on there, and their not so secret, but denied, ties with Clear Channel, would curl your toes.

I feel for the hard working, undiscovered, and up and coming bands out there who are heartbroken, and for the listeners who would rather hear the Indie playlist than listen to KROQ or 98.7. Fear not. Something better will come along for all of you. And remember that you have the power to continue the spirit of good music in Los Angeles. I have made it my sole mission since leaving. If the music is good, it will rise to the top. Believe it.

As the industry changes, old models become obsolete but newer models will appear and I URGE everyone to embrace them. Blogs, websites, podcasts and internet programming are only the tip of the iceberg. I will be involved in a seminar and workshops about this very subject soon and will post details in a later blog.

So don’t look at this as a death, but a birth of something better…and hopefully with better people at the helm.

The power of good music is stronger than it’s medium.

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.

The Walkmen and Me, or How ‘You And Me’ turns me into an emo scribe

I suppose I should preface all of this by admitting – I am emo for The Walkmen. By now, I’ve seen them play in every possible scenario: Large Los Angeles concert hall, cramped Austin 6th street bar, alongside the Queen Mary at the All Tomorrows Parties festival, at an all night warehouse rave somewhere in the plains of Texas, various festivals and smoky clubs. I’ve seen them more times than I’ve seen my beloved Radiohead. Hell, I’ve even paid to see them. I have them on I tunes. I have them on CD. I have them on vinyl. I don’t pay for music unless I really, really love them. I love the Walkmen so much I’d marry them (my dowry offer to Ham is ready for review).

Hamilton at All Tomorrow

Coming from a rock chick such as myself, this might surprise you. If you looked at the boys, you wouldn’t even suspect that they can play in a band. No, with their unassuming and sweet looks, you’d think that they work in your office, down the hall in the graphics department; Button down shirts, neatly tucked into jeans and chinos, with a belt of course. Nothing flashier than a simple wedding band or old class ring as bling. No bravado or swagger. But don’t let their prep school appearance fool you. You will be transformed.

Hamilton Leithauser

Long before Vampire weekend or Chester French made preppy chic again, The Walkmen rose from the ashes of two great bands. Hamilton Leithauser, who could be perfectly cast as a‘soc’ in the Outsiders though he has the angst of a greaser, had formed the Recoys in Boston and then joined up with former classmates from the defunct Jonathan Fire Eater. The band members remain close, churning out more than an album’s worth in any recording process, and still finding time for side projects such as recording a cover of Harry Nilsson’s Pussycats, recording a staged reading of Sex And The City (seriously), and co-writing the Great American Novel. Apparently the novel seems to be taking a lot more time than they thought to finish – tell me about it, boys. Tell me about it.

With BOWS AND ARROWS, they had a break out hit with ‘The Rat’, a blistering account of a soul broken by a split. I’ve even heard that it was written about a mutual friend in the Brooklyn indie rock circle, but I decline to name him. Perhaps you can figure it out when you read my forthcoming book (shameless plug).

YOU AND ME, the latest album, unofficially dropped in July in a unique way. With their creative contemporaries such as Radiohead and Trent Reznor offering the music online as a pay what you can scenario, The Walkmen teamed up with Amie Street and offered a download for a $5 donation to Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. So now, if you were going to even think about downloading it illegally, bear in mind that the boys are donating the proceeds to a cancer charity. Even I, who gets her music for free, clicked on paypal for this. An advance of one of the greatest albums of the year – AND I get to help fight cancer? Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

But what exactly is it about The Walkmen that captures my fancy? It’s hard to put a finger on it. Once when posed with the task of describing the sound of The Walkmen, a friend said it sounded like drunken fairy saloon music. I think that is far too passive and sweet a description. It’s more like elfin mad scientists drunk on absinthe turning wooden knobs at a Narnian console.

Their dirge-ish songs alternate in flavor. Sometimes big band, sometimes calypso or country, you are listening to the soundtrack to a weekend in an Irish pub or a stormy Caribbean vacation. Or perhaps this is the music of the underworld that Orfeo’s true love heard when she was stuck on the other side. Lest the sounds get too sweet, the lyrics can be like a thousand little cynical papercuts. “What’s in it for me….I heard you the first time.”, “You’ve got a nerve to be asking a favor…we’ve been through this before.” “I don’t get some people, but I don’t really try.”, and titles like “Revenge wears no wristwatch”, “This job is killing me”, “Everyone who pretended to like me is gone” These reveal a certain callous and unsympathetic look at what once was happy times. I suppose it’s the duality which resonates with me. The inner idealist wrestling with the voice who has seen disappointment – a ‘fuck you’ to over-sentimentality, which by nature is somewhat sentimental.

Ham at SxSW

The show at the Troubadour was all of this and more. The guys, armed with a horn section, took the stage in an un-assuming, modest way, but hit the crowd confidently with a beautiful, ethereal, punk wall of sound. The performance was so startling and arresting, and then lulling and then engaging.

Paul Maroon of The Walkmen

Ham’s voice, an odd yelping cry which wavers between a Bob Dylan call to arms and a raspy Rod Stewart growl is an unique layer a top the swirling Wurlitzer and big band orchestrals. His fist over the mic like an MC, with the cord wrapped tightly around his arm, pulling on it, tourniquet style, he howled and yelped in epileptic fits, accessing and channeling some type of Brando rage.

Hamilton as Brando

There’s a sense of hearkening back when you’re listening in on them. Maybe it’s the vintage gear, or their somewhat formal and almost polite appearance. But one does feel like Hamilton is yearning for a time when people respected each other and did the right thing.

The Walkmen at the Troubadour

Of course nostalgia can be dangerous – looking at the past for those golden moments, and glorifying a time which was most likely the same mix of heaven and hell, is not an enlightened place to start from. But it is the stuff that bar dirges are made of. And old Hollywood movies. And sweeping novels. It is this magical lightning in a bottle, that the Walkmen capture for me. A bit of gilded memory with the somewhat sour taste of the present.

In fact, while listening to their set, this is what the music made me imagine:

The smell of library books. An empty field at twilight. A pork pie hat with a madras plaid band. Mass held at an all boys Catholic boarding school. A black and white Robert Doisneau photograph. The first time reading JD Salinger or Mark Twain. An old Frenchman covering Bob Dylan. A 400 year old pub on the cliffs of Dover. The ignited sugar cube dropped into a glass of illegal absinthe. Dickie Greenleaf in a late night jazz club. A flamenco dance on a honeymoon.

I can only blame The Walkmen and their gorgeous music for making me emoscribe like this. I want to go for a walk in a rainstorm. I want to smoke cloves while watching the sun set. I want to go plant a freaking tree. See? YOU AND ME has turned me into a mushy mess of flowery prose. Who knows? If I keep listening, perhaps I may just finish my Great American Novel.

The Walkmen perform at the Troubadour Friday, August, 22, 2008. Their latest album, You And Me was released on August 19th.

AFTER THE GLITTER FADES – PASSENGER AND THE PAPARAZZI

When bands on the road roll into town, they usually are looking for some hedonistic Hollywood fun and want to see the sights: The Capitol building. Lemmy’s barstool at the Rainbow. The Viper Room sidewalk where River died…the beach. Often times the cool indie rock chick in Los Angeles can fall into the role of platonic fluffer. This can be a nice change for a local girl as she can give a tour and see the sour city with fresh and glitter soaked eyes.

I gave up giving tours several years ago. After a few platonic friendships crossed the line into the murkiness of long distance love, followed by a looong spell with a live-in boyfriend, I became too busy, too important, to drive around the city with a band in tow. But something about the lads in the British import band Passenger, made me change my tune.

Passenger came to my tv show via Brighton and were sent to me by the gals at Girlie Action. Lead singer Mike Rosenberg, a baby face with a sharp wit and old soul, proved to be a ready opponent for my snark and subversive interview style. Their performance was impressive enough to raise my jaded ass’s interest and I actually stayed in the studio to watch.

Passenger

Still with a good show in the can, I didn’t suspect I’d see them again. The invite to a gig after a taping is something I normally deflect with a lame excuse, more often than not. But that night, when out searching for my first meal of the day, I found myself pulling up in front of the Hotel Café.

Yeah, I know. The Hotel Café. While I had created a new singer songwriter show, Songwriter’s Stage, for Vlaze TV, it isn’t exactly a haunt that you’d ever find me in. No offense to the many talented songsmiths and troubadours that perform there…I just like my music with a healthy serving of edge and vitriol.

Mike Rosenberg of Passenger

Perhaps it’s the fact that Passenger’s comparisons to David Gray are a bit misleading. Yes, the melodies are soft and pretty and the harmonies give it that Starbucks song-of-the-week feel. But those who have likened Mike’s lyrical sense to Nick Drake are a bit more on the money. Drake and a lethal dose of biting British self deprecation. That’s the combo I’m all about. An ironic fist in a velvet glove.

So, while I normally distance myself from the interview subject, that evening I found myself on an all night adventure. The guys took me to an odd house party with two grand pianos and a Fuse TV crew goading us into doing fake vodka shots for their program about ‘partying’. It was somewhat amusing to watch Mike and guitarist Stephen’s faces as they took in all the bizarre pre-mating habits of fringe Angelinos on the make.

“What a perfect Hollywood party to have gone to.” one of them remarked.

“Oh, this is by no means what a Hollywood party is like.“ I corrected.

For one thing there was no hosted open bar from a booze company that no one has ever heard of. No unemployed actors serving expensive appetizers in honor of a major movie release. No DJ with his stage name in glittery sticker letters across his laptop, pumping out banging disco house music. There were no roving club kid photogs goading under age kinds to pull their tops down for a moment of cyber fame. There wasn’t even a celebrity sighting.

In fact, the only real Hollywood thing I was able to show them was the La Brea tar pits – I drove them over to Wilshire, prepping them on the monument to our pre-historic predecessors. As I pulled my convertible up to LACMA, their faces fell.

“That’s it?” Their manager, Dan, yelled. “Those don’t look like woolly mammoths. They’re like cartoon fiberglass elephants. Fooking ‘ell!”

I had failed as a tour guide.

Luckily last week I had the chance to redeem myself. The boys were hopping back across the pond to support the drop of their album Wicked Man’s Rest. I bought me some spf 50, map quested Zuma Beach and rsvped to every annoying pool party and drink fest that came across my email spam box.

Dinner at Jones and a small gathering at the Woods with James Murphy in attendance, was a nice evening out for Passenger…but where was the gin soaked night? The evening of excess? The morning after where you aren’t quite sure where you are or which playmate you woke up next to? I’d have to try harder.

Passenger performed again at the Hotel Café. Even though only six weeks had passed, their performance was so much tighter and dynamic. I got chills listening to Mike warble songs such as Things You Never Done and Table For One. And the upbeat single about stalking (which was just banned by a radio station) Night Vision Binoculars, got the early dinner crowd clamoring to meet them afterwards.

Stephen & Mike of Passenger at the Hotel Cafe

Now, I suppose that too many years spent up all night and sleeping all day has jaded me. My smooth skin belies the time I’ve spent partying hard, and hitting the bottle harder. But a domestic partnership, a serious illness and a jaded ‘been there, done that’ glaze has seriously mellowed me out. My idea of wild fun would have been punk rock karaoke or maybe splurging on a really expensive bottle of wine. I must admit I’ve become more of a boho hipster, rather than a fun-thirsty scenester.

Passenger must have sensed this. Which is probably why they left nothing to chance this time and had their management company make a reservation at a club called Villa. Yeah, that Villa. As in the Villa I only know of from the check-out lane tabloids. Passenger told me the Weho address and I sniffed at it, snobbishly.

“I don’t go west of Fairfax Ave.” I chided.

“Why not?” They asked.

“You’ll see.” I warned.

The MacLean-mobile pulled up to what once was the yuppie pub, Sloans. Now transformed into Villa, the place looked like a Kubrick wet dream. White silk cord ropes hung draped from the ceiling. A giant stuffed peacock competed for attention with a giant silver hot air balloon and a white Apollo space suit. The walls were frescoed with paintings of books as if the Eyes Wide Shut orgies had spilled into a billionaire’s library.

The place was gorgeous. That is, until the clientele arrived.

If reality television had spawned a nightclub, then this is where they would come for re-runs. Every fake tanned, fake-titted girl teetering on heels, in a too short t-shirt-cum-dress, came in hungry for attention. It made me do a double take in a way that even blatant beastiality would fail to. It was so…Jerry Springer episode: Tanorexic oompaloompa girls and the trucker hatted dudes who love them.

If this place is supposedly good for spotting stars, then where were they? Where the hell was gorgeous Villa denizen Jonathan Rhys Myers? Where was Johniston or Brangelina? Was the lack of wattage because it was karaoke night? And why was Lukas Haas checking email on his Sidekick WHILE he was on stage singing Bitter Sweet Symphony? That’s enough to make The Verve break up again. Permanently.

“The décor is wasted on these people.” I remarked “None of them know what those strange oblong things called books are.”

“No.” Stephen agreed. “They probably call it ‘the wall with good children’s names’.”

“Yes, like Gatsby Silverstein. Or Nietzsche Jones.”

I shudder to think. Makes Apple Martin or Pilot Inspektor Lee sound kind a good Christian name. Doesn’t it?

We stepped outside for a cigarette to a hail of flashbulbs. That horrible swarm of parasitic paparazzi that you see on TMZ, were in the flesh outside of the club. Even with a little experience walking down a red carpet, I was a bit taken aback.

“Is this what it’s like when you go out in Hollywood?” Mike asked.

“NO.” I stammered. “This is how the other half live. I’m an east side hipster. We stick to indie rock, red wine and artistic integrity.”

Mike and Ali On The Air outside Villa nightclub

Actually what we were witnessing wasn’t exactly how the other half of LA lives. It’s really more like an eighth…the real Hollywood stars don’t hang out at Villa on a Monday night. They go to bed for an early call to the set the next morning. Or they attend a charity function where the swag bags include strands of black pearls and complimentary blackberrys. No, this type of Hollywood crowd is a very specific breed. The ‘dancing with the d-list’ kinda crowd. The reality TV has-been kinda crowd. And that includes you, Miss so-called World 2006.

Almost as if on cue, two of the perma-tanned d cup girls came out for a cigarette, and the parasites went crazy, clicking and sticking microphones into their faces. I couldn’t tell you who these trollops were, or what they possibly had to say that would hold anyone’s interest…but someone was paying the shutterbugs to capture their every move.

“Who are they?” Stephen asked.

“I dunno. Maybe they’re Hef’s playmates? Or maybe they’re on some reality show.” I offered.

“What show would that be, ‘Surgical Mistakes’? Stephen quipped. No doubt coming soon on Spike TV.

Mike & Stephen give the paparazzi a Brighton greeting

This was exactly the part of Hollywood that out-of-towners want to see, but are then very sorry when they do. It’s an embarrassment to someone like me to try and explain away why America is fascinated by this type of vapid vomit. It’s a peek behind the curtain at what glamour really ISN’T about.

Perhaps I should have stuck with ferrying them on a trip to the Sunset Strip. Even though the brains over there aren’t exactly firing on all cylinders either, at least it’s fun to watch the crowd that hasn’t made it past 1986. Watching someone like Vince Neil imbibe and make an ass of himself seems almost wholesome next to this slutbag contest. This was just…depressing.

It also served as a reminder to me underlining the fact that mediocrity and grotesque reign over talent and beauty. Why is Passenger, with their gorgeous melodies, playing an early slot at the Hotel Café? While Heidi Montag of The Hills is singing at Universal Ampitheater?!? Why, in a town of creative people, do we allow this to happen? Why can’t we urge everyone to stop reading OK magazine and stop tivoing Sunset Tan? Why couldn’t I convince any of my friends to go see the free Shakespeare in the park this summer? And who the hell greenlit Don’t Mess With The Zohan?

I'd rather stab my eyeballs with a fork

No seriously. I mean it. For fuck’s sake! I want to know who greenlit it, and I want his head on a platter!

Frankly I’m tired of having to go to the BBC for good comedy via Gervais and Izzard. I’m hoping that by the time I re-read my worn out copies of books by Evelyn Waugh, another Sedaris will be published. I’m really, really, really hoping Vicky Christina Barcelona will beat House Bunny at the box office but I’m not going to hold my breath.

Perhaps that’s what Silverlake is for. A place on the east side for those of us cultural snobs to retire to, after the glitter fades. We’ve drunk ourselves into an oblivion, partied like rockstars and watched our creative dreams slowly erode. So we barricade ourselves beyond the 101 beltway, light candles for Elliot Smith, eat at vegan bistros, and keep working on the great American novel or album.

Elliot Smith tribute wall

When a group of lads like Passenger come to Los Angeles, I want to have something worthy of them to show them. Something smart. Something thoughtful. Something truly glamorous – the type of glamour that inspired De Mille, Hawks, Altman and Allen.

I know I’m not responsible for the entire city of Babylon. But I am a citizen here and so I must accept that this is how it is, or change it. After all, it’s been years and I still live here. I could live anywhere in the world. It must be because somehow that promise of glamour, of greatness, of creative utopia is still somewhat alive. Perhaps like the song, the feeling remains, even after the glitter fades.

A Tale of Two Warm Up Shows: She Wants Revenge & Hot Hot Heat

One of the perks of living in a high priced, high stress, high-octane city like LA or New York is The Warm Up Show. Often limited to friends and uber fans, or kept a secret until the last minute, the warm up show allows a bigger act to play in a small intimate setting and perform new material or just get the lead out of their rusty performance. As the summer ramps up for the onslaught of music festival mania, warm up shows start popping up in unexected places.

Last Saturday I joined Mia and her posse to head over to the Swinghouse party. Swinghouse Recording Studios throws these events once in a while which allows people to come down, have a few drinks and a few laughs and watch the bands that record and practice there either showcase or warm up for a tour.

The nice thing about Phil’s Swinghouse bashes is that they’re like a house party. The downer is that they are like a house party…whose address was posted on Facebook. Call me jadey, but there were way too many brown lipsticked lookieloos who were pushing their way in to see the bands, and triple fisting the free cocktails…if we were going to rate them on a groupie scale, well they would be the ones who eat all the steak. Getting trampled while trying to get an interview is so not filed under fun. And for what, valley girls? If you’re five inches closer is he really gonna sleep with you? Sigh, one of the hazards of an embedded music journalist.

I plowed my way to the middle of a small recording room for Electric Touch, a band I interviewed at Coachella. Far from a warm up show, ET weren’t exactly ‘cooling down’, though this was the finale of their week of LA dates. Their energetic poppy set which included covers of American Girl and Come Together. Now, it’s a rite of passage for a band to cover the Beatles, but I’m surprised by all the bands I’ve met lately that site Tom Petty as a big influence. It’s like the kids are finally listening to rock again. It’s encouraging to me, especially now that LA is drowning in robot music…and impressive, considering Petty’s rather disappointing Superbowl half time show.

Electric Touch

As I sat on an amp and listened to Voxhaul Broadcast and Astra Heights, I spied Adam 12 making his way through the clammy crowd. She Wants Revenge practices at Swinghouse. And not only do they have a new EP about to drop on some very happy Suicide Girl heads, but they’re moments away from going out on the Nylon Tour. The secret guest revealed.

For a band that has over-inked girls with Sailor Moon haircuts losing their freaking minds, Adam is sweet and decidedly low key. His fedora belies his down to earth and thoughtful cadence. (No offense to a man who accessorizes – normally I applaud – but so many LA douche bags wear fedoras) It’s good to see Adam taking back the hat.

Anyhow, no matter how much Adam tried to find a quiet place to prep, the crowd seemed to swell his way.In fact, on a rather chilly night, the room was moist with the scent of humid human in the air. Sure, an intimate secret show is something many girls dream about, but if I get jostled and trampled by the Shes who want She Wants Revenge, then the music portion of the night becomes a casualty.

Adam 12 and She Wants Revenge

Mia and her lingerie modeling friend and I decided to slip out of the Soylent Green smelling studios and take off early. Not something I would have been caught dead doing in the past, but as a retired hipster, I often get home before last call. As we tried to exit, Mia’s friend took an exaggerated pause by the door and scanned the smokers in a last ditch effort. I noted to her that many of them couldn’t afford to take her for dinner, let alone pay for Plan B. She wrinkled her nose. For her, this warm up show was more like luke warm.

Speaking of Luke…I had been remiss in making it out to see Luke, play. He’d invited me several times but I work most nights (and days too). Now, I’m not an industry prick tease. So I don’t say I’ll show up and then flake. If I’m due to cover another show or I’m overwhelmed and exhausted, I say ‘I probably wont make it’ or ‘I’ll try but I don’t know if it’s gonna happen’.

Note: This is how all industry types should conduct themselves, no matter what industry they work in. I don’t want to get all miss rock n roll manners on your asses, but for fuck’s sake! If you say you’ll do something, do it. Don’t lie. Don’t flake. If you can’t or don’t want to, just excuse yourself from the event.

Why lie about it? It’s like the agent that used to promise to read my scripts just so he could try to cop a feel. We both knew that no matter how much of my c cups I let him juggle, he was never going to read past the title page. Damn, I probably would’ve let him juggle if he had just been honest.

Anyways, back to your regularly scheduled blog…

When Luke invited me to see his band Hot Hot Heat play at The Grove, I was willing to make the 45 minute drive to Anaheim. It’s a known truth that I don’t dance very often at clubs. Justice just doesn’t move me. But if you drop something from Make Up The Breakdown, I’ll be on the dance floor like a shot. But then Luke explained that it wasn’t the venue, The Grove in Anaheim. No. It was the Grove at Third and Fairfax. Hot Hot Heat was playing at a MALL. Yes, they’re poppy. Yes, Steve Bays is cute in a kitten way…but a MALL? That seems a purgatory reserved for the Ace Young idol rejects of the world, not a well to do indie rock band.

If you haven’t been to The Grove mall in Los Angeles, it can best be described as why Al Quaeda hates us. Not only does the mall feature a train trolley that gives rides to weary shoppers walking the 500 yard length of the mall, but in the middle of this Disney-Dali shopping experience, there is a six million dollar water fountain. Why did it cost six million dollars? I’m glad you asked. The fountain spurts water in time to the musak, which is a list of barely bearable songs like ‘That’s Amore’. Money well spent.

The Grove

When I arrived, I noticed that they had constructed a bit stage…right over the water fountain. Because when you’re sending enough volts of energy to power a rock band with lots of amps, the best place to ground the entire stage is in a pool of water. Is the Grove trying to kill off Canadians one by one?

Stage over troubled water

Surprisingly, the place wasn’t as much of a indie zoo as I thought. Though there were a lot of Gen-Wii, Forever 21 tweens buzzing with excitement. But a far cry form the tat queens at Swinghouse…though I couldn’t help thinking…were these little Hello Kitty Heat lovers the sweaty Swinghouse girls of tomorrow?

Finally, Luke sauntered out on stage with Dustin and Paul and Le Petit Prince himself, Steve Bays. Despite the crazy kiddie pool, the warm up show was relaxed and the guys looked like they were having a lot of fun. The aftermath of a mall show? Lots and lots of homemade cupcakes and hot pink and purple bags filled with fuzzy things piled in the green room. A nice juxtaposition to the rows of bottles of whisky and beer. Which made for much more colorful fun.

And at the end of the day, fun is what it’s supposed to be about. Los Angeles often treats music like a competitive sport, so it’s nice when a show is just a show. Ironing out the kinks, playing some songs and having fun…even if it is at a mall. With cupcakes.

Tis the season of the warm up show. Let the fun begin.

The Little Prince of Victoria

Luke on his way to rock out

Made In Canada: Hot Hot Heat at the Grove Mall

All Along The Watchtower

Luke and Wooly, a gift from a fan.

Paige has great jugs. Mine are a little lopsided.