show today/tonight!

It’s like instead of having to make friends at school, they’re all coming to meee! Find me drinking faderade somewhere in the outskirts!

jeopardy asshole

I just watched this guy win his third straight day in a row on Jeopardy and I can’t get him out of my head. His “three-day cash-winning total” of over $75,000 (unheard of in Jeopardy dollars) does not complement his smug look of self-accomplishment or his cocky “music nerd” vibe that emanates through the TV. Normally I watch the show so I can play along and pretend I’m hanging out with my grandparents again, but this time, it became a challenge for me to see if I could beat Fred Beukema from Minnneapolis, St. Paul. I kept my own score (giving myself the benefit of every first buzzer if I knew the answer) and if it wasn’t for Final Jeopardy (“19th Century Architecture,” answer: Statue of Liberty) I would have had that fucker in an intellectual headlock. I even got all the lame questions about the mountains of the world as if my adreneline looked them all up in the encyclopedia so I could beat the guy. He just stood behind his podium with his perfectly-etched name on the blue screen below him and smirked every time he got an answer right as if to say “give me something difficult, Trebek, you know I’m better than this” and I spent half of Wheel of Fortune fuming over his promo clip on the Jeopardy website, in which he plugs himself with the worst sentence to ever be uttered in the history of the English language.

Hey Twin Cities, I’m Fred Beukema from Minneapolis, home of Prince. Now that I’ve purified myself in the waters of Lake Minnetonka, I’m ready to take on Jeopardy.

Haha. I bet he practiced it in front of the mirror for days and called his mother to ask if she thought it was clever. Still oozing with unearned arrogance and sporting “I’m so indie rock” glasses, he definitely bragged about being from the richest suburb of the Minnesota capital. The only other person I’ve known from Minnetonka got an Audi TT for her sweet 16 and was severly punished for being busted for underge drinking at a party by being grounded from use of her boat for 2 weeks. Seriously, though, who makes sure to drop Prince’s name in their Jeopardy publicity video? And why do the people on Wheel of Fortune make more money for getting really good that those word puzzles in US Weekly than actual smart people on Jeopardy (except Fred)?

EDIT: For everyone who thinks that Fred is a non-asshole-douche who would pay for your coffee while you make Purple Rain references to each other and help you move into your new apartment (even on short notice), I would like to admit that my rant is just that—a rant. You don’t have to tell me I’m mean spirited, try and “call me out” to prove he’s really “a nice guy” or tell me I’m the real asshole because these are things I already know. I write this shit for myself because my sense of humor is worse than Fred’s and no one reads anything I write on this piece of crap virtual diary. It’s not meant to be well-researched Truth with a capital T and never in a million years did I think it would rile up all his best friends. It’s just a rambling, angry comglomorate of words that I wrote before Wheel of Fortune finished because I needed to get it off my chest and I hope that one day, even Fred can laugh about it with me.

dt

I’m still suffering from the effects of SXSW deprivation, but at least we’ll always have articles for our school newspaper about it that confuse everybody on staff so much that they edit the words, water down the form and leave all the gross factual errors that I made (sorry about that).

I also did the print layout, which includes photos from the trip (as above), which are all up on my flickr.

Quote of SXSW 2009: “I’m high as hell and shooting shit!!!!”

And I promise I won’t mention Texas anymore (until next year).

SXSW recap

So, I’m home again. Back from the Austin dead, still nursing a three-day old hangover and thinking of dropping out of school (sike). I spent a lot of time with friends—some old, some new, all amazing people—and if I could relive any four days of my life (even the poor drinking decisions), it would definitely be these. I didn’t have work or school or domestic life or any responsibility except to listen to new music and surround myself with a Los Angeles music scene that had transported itself 1500 miles away. I caught up on two years of missed local shows and fell in love with live music all over again. There were a ton of adventures had, but basically, my days at LASXSW2009 saw the following music:

THURSDAY

LA.Record Official SXSW Showcase @ The Independent

• Castle Door—I missed most of it, but there were a lot of pretty girls in skirts on stage?
• Blank Blue—Niki’s voice soared (as usual) while Elvin shredded for 30 minutes without looking up once.
• Henry Clay People—Mmm straight-forward happy rock that made all of their friends climb on stage to dance (plus an Operation Ivy cover!)
• Very Be Careful—Traditional cumbia with an untraditional lineup of old punk rockers that make sounds like an East Los Saturday afternoon. It made me want to take giant dance steps where my knees come up past my waist and then go to King Taco real bad.
• Busdriver—Busta Rhymes meets Travis McCoy with loafers and polyester thrift store pants, Bus is backed by the formidable DJ duo of Nosaj Thing and Antimc and spills out so many songs that the SXSW crew has to drag his sweaty ass offstage.
• Exile (and two songs from Blu)—Exile freestyled beats like he was high in his bedroom and all three drunk frat guys in the audience were loving it!

FRIDAY

Trailer Space Records

• Spider Problem—Singer Shayne screams and writhes on the floor with ripped tights and her hair in her face like a twacked out Olsen twin throwing a temper tamtrum, but walks around after the set as if it were her sweet 16.
• Non+—I didn’t know they let Jews play drums shirtless!

Fader/Levi’s Fort

• Tinted Windows—The rumors flowing from the free Southern Comfort bar were true and James Iha (Smashing Pumpkins), Taylor Hanson (MmmBop), Adam Schlesinger (Fountains of Wayne), and Bun E. Carlos (your drumming dreams/Cheap Trick) got on the same stage and played the power-iest pop that’s ever been called power pop. What Velvet revolver is for 80s metal, Tinted Windows is for 90s rock. I got grossed out at the middle Hanson’s crotch sock (and his attempt to dress like Jack White) after two songs and left to vomit under the I-35.

Touch and Go Showcase @ Flamingo Cantina

• All the Saints—Always a sucker for a Southern drawl and buzz like “if Radiohead were a hard-rock band with a metal edge” the guys live up to their drone rock reputation and take me back to when music sounded like it was coming out of a drive thru speaker and that’s the way we liked it.
• Crystal Antlers—Long Beach friends and SXSW vets kick their usual amount of ass, this time putting Sexual Chocolate back with the other percussion to make room for the return of former member Errol Davis. Silly string was flung and the monitors were pounded by front row fans as their now-two guitar-sound played into the night.
• Sad speech from Touch and Go A&R guy—”There’s a lot of talent in this room and I’m sorry I won’t be around to help it anymore.” Group photo, tears.

Lamar Blvd. Pedestrian Bridge

• Annihilation Time (SF)—By the time we schlepped two vanloads of after party-ers to the peder bridge, the metal outfit was almost done, but I could hear the sick shredding of guitars as it moved the long hairs of many at the annual impromtu party. Finding lost shoes and making fun of local fixie kids until the cops silently walk through the crowd is the best way to end a great day of music.

SATURDAY

Teepee Records and L.A. Record day party @ Club 1808

• Tweak Bird—A drum and a guitar twosome that thrashes so melodically, you’ll thank them for not ruining it with other, pansy, instruments. Unless, of course, it’s a gong or a theremin, because then you can set those up and play them with the head of your guitar whenever you want (oh wait, they just did)!
• Night Horse—Blues-heavy Southern-ish rock played by guys from LA.
• Warlocks—Wasn’t really interested in watching them and after they started, I wasn’t really interested in standing outside any longer so we left.

Parking lot BBQ @ Owl Tree Roasting

• Non+—This time, Matzah kept his shirt on, but one of the guys from Audacity came up to play guitar and a guy that told me he’s moving all his crap to LA on Amtrak stood on the side dance-laughing. I’m mad that at this point, the only band I’ve seen more than once is this one.
• Tweak Bird—Hot damn, they made it to the next venue fast and without four walls to box them in, the sound this time is cleaner than a speed freak’s apartment. I can hear every note coming from the guitar (instead of garbled rock juice) and swoon along with the theremin until it’s time to leave.

Mess With Texas @ Waterloo Park

• Soft Pack—A Hilo Hatties-clad frontman wearing Ray Bans looks more fit for a Beach Boys cover band than a group formerly called The Muslims, but as the sun started to set over the free Coachella-esque extravaganza the sounds of surf rock (that leans more towards the rock) was the perfect accompaniment to my growing need for alcohol.
• Circle Jerks—Free Sailor Jerrys and Jones cream soda fueled my moderate interest in pushing through the crowd for the Circle Jerks and aside from an Altamont-worthy plea for peace in the crowd, we were treated to the same Circle Jerks set they’ve been playing since I was in high school.

Lamar Blvd. Bridge (3am)

• Dirt Dress—With amps hooked up to a standard car battery (via a converter), they jammed three intense songs that I don’t remember much because I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that they were playing an impromptu show under a fucking bridge.
• AM [Alma Mater]—First battery died during their second song, but you can’t argue with a chick drummer that loves American Apparel and an album pressed on cassette tape like it was 1995 again!
• Audacity—I have a weak spot for North Orange County punk (with a touch of Thee Makeout Party) from kids barely out of high school who love alcohol. If I had a little brother, I hope he’d be in Audacity.

SUNDAY

Texas BBQ @ House behind the CVS on I-35

• Strange Boys–Twangy Austin locals play in the carport of an artist’s house of jealousy to 20 mid-day hot dog eaters. Rattling screws in the Zildjans and an around-the-neck harmonica get-up make their southern sound even more appealing (or maybe it was the bloody marys).

Room 710

• Annihilation Time—Same shredding as the bridge but with more sweaty dreadlocks, headbanging people with gauged ears and outside alcohol that caused us to get booted out while screaming “these guys are on stage and you’re kicking me out?!”

And then I came home and was confronted with reality, which always sucks.

diesel party recap

Jax and I went to this uber-exclusive loft party on Friday night where everyone talked about “the newest thing” and how nice it was to be away from the riff raff. Perez Hilton was leaving when we went in and Steve Aoki left not long after but we just drank free Makers Mark and talked about music and Eastbound and Down with Jessie from Cornerstone until everyone cleared out and we made a makeshift pipe out of a Red Bull can and smoked dabombaustinchron with the young-hip kitchen help.

Here, however, is the official recap of what went on that night, marketably speaking, of course: 

greetings from texas!

Back at the house we’re renting for a few minutes with Jax, dropping off her stuff and eating some cookies. Since getting in last night, I’ve spent 6 hours at the LA Record SXSW Showcase (which was awesome–as I wrote this morning) then flyering on 6th Street for another 2. I’ve eaten breakfast, watched Spider Problems at Trailer Space Records (run by the Strange Boys) and now have to run to Diesel parties (for Jax), Fader Fort (for James Iha and Taylor Hanson) and then to see Crystal Antlers and revive last year’s SXSW tour crew!

Ta!

102,418.60

 

 

This bike is fucking crazy. Not only is it the closest actual thing to a mountain bike made of diamonds, the company that makes it also incorporates braille into the logo (that is also inlayed onto the crossbar with “Swarovki crystal elements”). Arumania made 25 gold plated fixed gears that are worth $102, 418.60 apiece and if you shell it out, let me know because I want pictures of this thing rolling through the Dorthy Chandler Pavilion fountain plaza. The fucking gold plated bike covered in crystals screams class with its “no questions” 2 year warranty and I want it for no other reason than capitalistic superiority. It would look great n the front yard of the house across the street that I might be moving into. 

Flight to Austin in 8 hours. Next stop: Standard Time!!!

sxsw ahoy!

Yes, yes. It’s about that time of yearrrr [singing voice]. Spring (break) is in the air, shorts are now acceptable daytime gear and thankfully, so is traveling Texas—but for only one week. I’m making some “special” chocolate chip cookies, giving half my crap to Buffalo Exchange and dressing like it’s laundry day because my flight to the great city of Austin (via Fort Worth) leaves in the morning. But as I’m running around making authoritative-looking LASXSW2009 laminants for no reason and listening to too much Mae Shi and the Eels, I cant help but know I am missing out on today’s kick-off festivities. This is the time of the trip to SXSW—the pre-trip—where reality and the alternate, mid-March in Autin reality begin to merge. Phone calls from tour vans and text messages from the east coast ask “Are you in Austin, yet?” and I say “no” from my living room where I’ve slept in until 3pm because I was stuck at work until well after the drunk rush and no one understands why I am taking the next 5 days off, but, oh I have ants in my stomach just thinking about all the live music-watching and LA Record promoting I’m going to be doing over my very early in the year Spring Break. Here’s to year number 2! May I pass out more business cards than at the first!!

If you’re going: Make sure to go to The Independent tomorrow night for our official SXSW LA Record Showcase with Blue&Exile, The Henry Clay People, Blank Blue, Bus Driver and Very Be Careful. And save some for Saturday’s Tee Pee Records & LA Record SXSW Day Party with The Warlcoks, year Long Disaster, Tweakbird, Night Horse and moreeeee! My good friend Ashley at Rock Insider has made a pretty comprehensive survival guide to the independent music clusterfuck that will occur over the weekend, so first timers beeeewaaarrreee!

If you’re not going: You’re missing out.

civic center’s brutalist park

The 16 acres between Los Angeles City Hall and the Music center are set to be turned into a giant park (a la Millenium Park in Chicago) and the latest redesign to the plans have been unveiled. While the guys over at Rios Clementi Hale Studios see a public space that bridges the government buildings with the city’s cultural center, all that I see is a concrete monstrosity that reeks of bureaucracy. Having a free reign on a space like this is the perfect opportunity to physically, visually and metaphorically connect arts and politics within downtown, but the newest design continues to lack innovation. In typical Southern California bullshit fashion, the place is so perfectly planned with designated “event spaces” and “pedestrian walkways” that none of that will ever actually happen there. People don’t want to be led through a public space in a way that makes us feel corralled into certain activities; the most successful parks are ones that provide an arena for us to mold into our needs. If Pershing Square and Long Beach’s Lincoln Park have taught us nothing, it’s that we don’t need more concrete landscapes interspersed with bound patches of green. We spend our lives in an endless stream of streets and parking lots and they want to make our sites of escape concrete too!? No one is going to be jogging down 30 foot wide walkways just because they’re lined with “native, drought-resistant trees.”

When I first heard of a prospective re-building of the space, I envisioned New York’s Central Park or San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park–parks (if you can believe it), with grass and trees and jogging paths that aren’t likened to streets. What has been shown so far looks like unusable plazas with segregated quadrants that don’t eliminate much of the current street traffic and underground parking, building on top of an already in-place failed city planning mechanism that perpetuates the rigid, bureaucratic influences that permeate the city’s architecture.

I’m disappointed that despite stating their attempt to bridge the cultural and political centers of the city, the design itself is a statement of governmental overload. The concrete steps and The Court of Flags (and that oh-so-lovable brutalistic lack of regard for the human scale) are physical testaments inscribed in the park’s very design that show our need for order and social control. Where is the influence of the free-flow of art or the incorporation of the cultural community’s creative message? If any of this design was to represent the culture surrounding the nearby Music Center, then it needs to take architectural clues from such places and, at the very least, throw a curved line in there or something that say anything besides “government rigidity wuz here.”

Oh, wait. That is apparently taken care of by the suggestion to pump classical music to the upper part of the park. You know, because pretending that upper Civic Center “park” is a fucking area at Disneyland by playing muzak through rock speakers really screams “Downtown Los Angeles culture.”

Rios Clemente Hale did an amazing job incorporating art and public space with Santa Monica’s city parks so I know they’re not incapable (even though the Nokia Theater Plaza makes everyone feel line a blinded ant)–please bring some of that shit to downtown!

new-wave mccarthyism

Oh, for the opportunity to reach through the internet and have a hearty talk with the the chauvinism going around fixed gear blogs the last few days. I mean, could you have a more narrow-minded reaction to those bikes that you claim to love than bashing an attempted documentation of Long Beach’s local fixed gear scene? Overusing words like “poseur” and running a boat metaphor home (apparently, it navigated the Sludge-son before it came to the largest port in the country), the elitist East Coast riders at Prolly Is Not Probably and the redundantly-titled Bike Snob NYC blogs were so offended by a 30 second trailer for the UC Irvine student film that their headmasters declared an end to fixed gear identity-formation and their readers ridiculed the unsuspecting filmmaker into removing it with apologies to the burroughs’ bike gods.

Fuck that. As the fixed gear-riding girlfriend of the moustachiod mechanic interviewed for the documentary in question (TRAkTION), I have watched the popularity grow around his shop in the 5 short months that LBFG has been open. There is finally a store that sells what is needed and it has helped spawn rides, community activism and a shitload of after-hours hanging out in my living room. We desperately needed a bike store that didn’t sell just beach cruisers and when Eric started helping LBFG set up shop in the East Village Arts District last Summer, my thoughts were all about how we can use this store to help cultivate what’s going on and ever since their insanely over-attended opening party last November, that’s exactly what it’s been doing. And now that some Williamsburgers saw one video, what we’re doing is not okay?

Long Beach has as much right to a bike community as New York did when it first started and our identity is definitely new, albeit different than your pompous, cynical one. No one out here needs to be “grandfathered in” because there are no grandfathers here; everyone is discovering, learning, creating, collaborating, building (most importantly, accepting); and soon enough, our clothing lines and frame builders will be known for doing it with a Long Beach twist (not just the spokes–haha?).  Some of the kids might be young but they’re starting something just like you did and just like San Francisco did and just like Seattle did. And if anything, bike riders in larger cities should be pleased that the message of not being an asshole to the environment is prevailing in an area so centered on car culture because its popularity in Los Angeles is a hell of a lot more intriguing than in New York, where getting on a bike is a big huge “DUH.”

Moreover, maintaining an attitude that judgement must be passed in order for a burgeoning community to be “legitimized” in the eyes of the larger communities just perpetuates the same high and low culture distinctions held by the very society you’ve dedicated so much of your life proving to be separate from. And I’m aware that all of this stands in direct negation of my previous post about my scorn for the word “emo” (where I hate on the younger generation for exploiting themselves on Myspace and being lumped in with the tamer, less-depressed scene my friends and I were a part of in high school), but the main difference is that my guy, Marwin, Tanner, Congo, Spencer, Mike, JP, Jay, Evan, Steven, all the Chris’, all the girls and everyone I missed that rides in Long Beach (I’m horrible with names) aren’t trying to deface what Portland, Seattle, San Francisco and New York are doing. If anything, we’re trying to homage it and do those scenes justice in a place whose only cyclists that get attention are Russ Roca and his Bike Station brigade (who think that they’re saving orphan children in Uganda by not spending money on car insurance). At least the 18 year olds you so excitedly mock aren’t spandex-clad weekend warriors. They’re not butchering everything “street” that you stand for, they just got wind of it later. By your own admission, Macaframa and Long Beach Fixed Gear kids “are doing the exact same thing.” The only difference is that somehow, miraculously, as if it could be done, you have permanently disallowed their acceptance and put and end to national growth of an urban subculture at the exact moment that it is needed the most.

May be if you had done some more research into what’s going on out here instead of reading waaaaaay too much into a student film made by someone who admitted to being a non-rider, you’d find that we’re not all that different, just on a smaller scale. I know it’s hard to see from your dumpter-diver-high-horse, but we definitely have our own identity (ever had a ride end in the Queen Mary parking lot, bitches?) and our own flavor for going about fixed gears (we can ride in the winter, assholes!); one that might be a victim of pastiche, but is definitely not wrecking what you’ve built. Fear us not—we come in peace.