In which it becomes
apparent why our flights to the US were so damn cheap… Turns out that on the
leg from Honolulu to LA, in light of it becoming a domestic flight rather than
an international one, you don’t get any food and have to pay if you want to
watch movies or play games. Fine by me Hawaiian Airlines, it was only a five
hour flight and all I wanted to do was sleep anyway. Upon arriving in LA, there
was quite the disappointment though, in that the tickets to the L7 reunion show
(only 300 available!) I’d been desperately hanging out to get sold out in
literally three seconds, and despite being online and clicking the button at
the exact designated time, I somehow missed out. I then spent the next few days
playing out the whole ‘it’s bad to support scalpers’ versus ‘I actually don’t
care, I just want to see L7!’ debate in my mind, and anyone who knows me will
guess which side I chose in the end (ugh, tickets on eBay cost me eight times
the face value! Remind me of my folly when I’m unemployed, homeless and
starving in Canada). But, L7 in a week and a half! I justified it by the fact
that if someone had asked me a year ago if I would pay $160 USD to see L7
reunite, I totally would have, no questions asked. I shall add the scalpers to
my personal Shitlist though…
We started off our stay in
LA with an Airbnb in Silverlake for five nights, and it was totally the best
place we’ve stayed through Airbnb; I had thoughts of changing the locks while
we were there and ignoring the owners’ knocks when they returned. There was
even a guitar, so Sam was able to ease some of his withdrawal symptoms, and so
conducive was it to creativity that both of us managed to get some design and
artwork done while we were there (a first for us while travelling, I think). On
night one I searched for ‘vegan’ within walking distance on Google maps, and
there were like five options; this alone makes me want to move to LA. We went
with Vegan Joint, and were reacquainted with the joys of the fake chicken wing
(Homer Simpson drool face). It was then exploration time, and to our disbelief,
as we wandered the streets of Silverlake, we seemingly conjured the weather of
Dunedin, and were quickly caught up in a downpour, complete with lightning.
What, LA, what? (This would also subsequently mar most of our stay out in
Venice Beach too; I’ll dash all your hopes now, and admit that the victorious
surfing Andy of Honolulu did not get another chance on the mainland). After a
very restrained one beer each at Bar 4100, it was back through the rain to our
apartment to get our art on; I believe bedtime ended up being 5am, but it was a
productive evening so worth it.
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| The view from our awesome apartment in Silverlake |
Arising at around midday,
we kept the arting going (deadlines etc, who would have thought this was an
actual holiday?!), and got things done and dusted at around 4pm. We then headed
to nearby Café 1950s (old school American diner, burgers and shake style) for a
quick dinner. Quick it was, and delicious, with amazing décor, although no
booze; feeling rather wholesome, I indulged in a chocolate shake instead. At
least there was no twist contest… We then boarded a bus to West Hollywood to go
check out our friend Harley’s exhibition opening at Stone Malone Gallery. In a
rare move, we were early, and ended up at the Snakepit for a warm-up drink
first, the last one we would pay for that night. Free art opening beer is
dangerous. The exhibition itself was super cool, with lots of reasonably priced
prints (a set of three will be coming home with me), and a piece painted
directly onto the wall. In addition to Harley, there were also a bunch of other
Kiwis who came out of the woodwork for the opening; apart from a couple of
exceptions, every really intimidating looking styley American I got up the
courage to talk to turned out to be a Kiwi, and we were soon chopping back the
free beer in the true manner of our people. Chur bro or something… We ended the
evening with Harley and his awesome friend Mikey at the place Harley was
staying, which – joy of joys – had a cat! It didn’t seem to like me much, and
had recently been shaved so looked like more of a poodle, but I’ll take
whatever kitty interaction I can get at this point.
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| Cafe 1950s... What they lacked in beer, they made up for in cool wall decoration |
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| Sam at Harley's opening. The print set I bought are the red ones closest to him. |
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| Look, Harley painted a wall! Cool! |
It was certainly hangover
time the next day, and I think I finally crawled out of bed at around 4.30pm,
and even then only because we had tickets for the Sonics show that night
already. I remember the distinct moment purchasing them online in Auckland
Airport and pointing out to Sam that it was the night after Harley’s opening,
and there was a good chance we wouldn’t been feeling up to it, and perhaps we
should wait? I was overruled (I’m sure he knows from past experience that if we
didn’t have tickets pre-bought I would definitely have piked), so had to suck
it up and get back on the horse again. Intermittent waves of nausea aside –
those are fun on public transport – we made it to Downtown LA on the Metro, and
had pizza at a place attached to the venue. The Facebook event page had lied,
the first band was not on at 8pm sharp, things didn’t get going until around 9;
there’s nothing like being at a gig hungover before even the first band (of
three) has played and knowing you’re already feeling like being back home in
bed. This was not the ideal mood to be in for the Sonics, and I valiantly tried
to get my enthusiasm on, but body was not co-operating.
The first band was
pretty good and I HATED the second band (singer’s voice went right up and down
my spine, not in a good way), but somewhere in the build-up to the Sonics
taking the stage, I got a bit less nauseous and a lot more excited, and braved
my first PBR of the evening. At that point I was standing upstairs in the
mezzanine area away from Sam who was on the ground floor, because it was the
only spot I could actually see the stage from properly (#shortgirlproblems),
and found myself, somewhat reluctantly, befriended by two girls called
Priscilla and Sally from a small town outside of LA who, granted, were big Sonics
fans, but also evidently strippers. Now nothing against strippers of course,
but in any state - let alone a precarious hungover one - I don’t really want to
be forced into dancing with newfound friends as they seemed wont to have me do,
when said newfound friends are twerking and doing other professional and acrobatic
moves I don’t even know the names of, when the extent of my own dancing usually
goes as far as waving a couple of token ‘Dunedin party hands’ in the air as I
shuffle awkwardly from side to side. We came to a comromise whereby they
danced and I took some photos for them and held their drinks. One of them then
spotted Fabio (yes, Fabio) emerging from the VIP area and pointed him out in
time for me to see him and his people walk downstairs and blend into the crowd;
no time for a hilarious photo opportunity unfortunately. Even from quite the
distance away, his hair did look really well groomed though. I chose the moment
of Fabio distraction to mutter something about needing the bathroom and leaving
my friends to their dancing, while I got another beer and reunited with Sam for
the rest of the Sonics show, which was rather epic. Still consummate showmen,
they came across as dapper bad-to-the-bone grandads, whose suave suit-attired
stage appearance was offset by footage of old-school underground street car
races projected onto the backdrop in changing monotones. Wayne Kramer from the
MC5 came onstage and played guitar on ‘Louie, Louie’ with them, they covered
‘Leaving Here’ (which I’d always thought was Lars Frederiksen and the Bastards
covering a Motorhead song, but googling it just now I see it goes back even
further) and they saved best-known songs ‘The Witch’ and ‘Strychnine’ for the
encore. I’m fairly sure no-one wanted them to stop, and would have been happy
if they’d remained onstage till dawn just playing covers.
At the end of their
set, I was feeling alive enough again to agree to going out for another drink,
but we weren’t quite sure what was what in DTLA, so asked the bar girl for
recommendations. She directed us to a punk looking guy at the bar for help, and
he turned out to be from the band the Casualties. Once Sam realised this
(apparently because of the guy’s recognisable nose? I’m not sure if this
comment endeared him to us or not), rants ensued, but he did recommend a bar to
us (Bar 107), that we eventually made out way to. Time for one PBR before they
kicked everyone out, then unexpectedly outside the bar we made friends with a
group of four local guys who hadn’t been to the Sonics or Bar 107, but seemed
to be on our wavelength, and we hung out on the street with them for more time
than we should’ve. Thus, when they walked us to the Metro stop at around 3, we
realised we had missed the last train, and would have to wait for the trains to
start running again in an hour and a half. So much for the early night I’d been
craving as soon as I left the house… Deciding that an hour and a half was too
long to wait without food, we wandered back in the direction of the Regent
(where the Sonics had played) in search of a place that was open, and made it
all the way back there without coming across a single option. Luckily there
were still people outside the Regent though, and one of the workers there
hooked us up with a guy he knew called Austin, who lived nearby on the street
and was happy to walk us to a 24 hour place for a tip (kindly paid for by the
Regent guy, although we ended up giving him some money as well). Austin was a
heartbreakingly friendly older dude who said he really missed having people to
talk to because it was lonely being homeless, and it transpired that he had
lived in Australia for awhile at some point in his youth, and knew a bit about
New Zealand too. He proved a very adept tour guide who delivered us safe and
sound to a 24 hour restaurant about a fifteen minute walk away, and shared with
us his perspective on the current crop of police brutality and racial profiling
problems that have gained recent media attention in the US. It was refreshing
to hang out with him and the guys we spent time with earlier in the evening; a
lot of your experience as a tourist here is just the perpetually happy and
perky greetings of servers in restaurants, or meeting other tourists, but I
ended up having one of our best nights so far because of some more genuine
kinds of interactions that came about by chance.
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| New friends! |
Having forgotten to
collect and take with me the prints of Harley’s I paid for at the exhibition
opening night on the Friday night (I blame the free beer), it was back to West
Hollywood to get this sorted and have a look at the stores. Sam ended up selling
a couple of Gravemind LPs at Headline Records, and I resisted the urge to buy
overpriced pretty 1950s dresses at Tatyana. It was particularly hard because
there was some mogul type in there with his lady who was trying on dresses
publicly, and he was sitting in a seat nearby, all like “Yes, get her one of
this, and this, and this” to the sales assistant, and I’m pretty sure she got
bought most of the dresses in the shop. Where’s my mogul dress-buying boyfriend
eh Sam, you need to pimp those Gravemind LPs harder. It’s probably a good thing
that the Dr Martens store was shut… We then found the piece de resistance of
all vegan chicken wings, ever; Bulan Thai in Silverlake. I heartily recommend
to all should you ever find yourselves in the vicinity, they came with ranch
sauce and were the best thing I’ve tasted. We got them again the next night,
and then were prevented from continuing our love affair only because we moved
to Venice. Oh how I look forward to you again in a week or so fake chicken
wings of the gods… Sam was determined to try and sell some Gravemind records to
Amoeba, and although we got there half an hour before closing time, the
record-buying bit had closed early, so it was not to be this time round. We
then hit the Burgundy Room, our number one dive bar of the last trip for a
beer, and were easily able to limit it to just the one in the knowledge that we
had a newly released Game of Thrones episode to watch upon our return home. Oh
the excite! LA may be awesome, but Westeros is better…
The next day was spent
exploring Silverlake and nearby Echo Park, hipster kind of neighbourhoods with
lots of record and vintage clothing stores. The actual park itself was really
amazing as well, and I spent some time sitting there (‘letting it come together
in Echo Park,’ having also walked down Hoover Street earlier in the day.
Everything is a Rancid reference in America!) waiting for Sam to do the record
thing. A bit of an oasis in the middle of LA, it had a lake with a fountain,
strange geese and pedal boats for hire. I resisted the urge to do the tourist
boat thing and instead sat and finished reading the new Martin Millar book I’d
started. My only complaint is that it was quite a short one, so a rereading
soon will definitely be in order. The day had started off with a cheeky beer in
a bar called Good (purely because we needed to pee), and it ended at another
bar called Chavito, where we became quite partial to
their very strong happy hour margaritas and potato tacos. Picking up some fake
chicken wings on the way home, it was quiet night in time and I caught up on
some blog writing and then we started watching Better Call Saul, the spin-off
series from Breaking Bad. Unbeknownst to us though, we accidentally watched the
last episode first, and it didn’t become apparent until many days later when we
went got to the last episode and were all like “Oh they must be repeating the
opening scene of the first one.” Nope, we’d just done things back to front. We
then went back and watched the first episode and the entire thing made lot more
sense and wasn’t as disjointed and flashback-y as we had believed. Dad, I shall
never hassle you again for having missed out a Game of Thrones book and not
clicking; apparently these things are easily done!
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| Echo Park prettiness |
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| More Echo Park prettiness... |
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| Echo Park prettiness? |
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| Some awesome skateboard furniture we came across on our walk |
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| LA sunset, not quite captured in all its glory by my photo... |
It was a shame to have to
leave the apartment in Silverlake the next day – particularly as the place we
stayed in Venice was more of a 6/10 than a 10/10. Not horrifically bad or
anything, but cramped, and with constant noise coming from a neighbour’s TV
that seemed to be permanently tuned in to some sort of religious televangelism
show. We also finally gave in and got the Uber app after Harley had got us an
Uber ride home from his place the other night and we realised how convenient it
is (for those not in the know, it’s a sort of replacement for taxis, where
people sign up to be Uber drivers and then get paid to drop you places. It’s
all pretty safe and regulated, but in most cases you save money, and don’t have
the same waits as for a taxi). In this instance, we just weren’t in the mood
for wrangling suitcases onto the Metro and then two different buses to get from
Silverlake to Venice, so Uber it was. Upon arrival in Venice we had the first
of a number of meals at Seed Café (healthy vegan café), and then spent the
evening checking out the boardwalk. Or should I say fighting off people trying
to sell us mass-produced crap and bad art on the boardwalk. Venice has a
reputation for being one of the centres of the 1960s counterculture movement,
which it still proudly lays claim to, although it seems these days to have
morphed into a weirdly trashy ‘bohemian theme park,’ with medical marijuana
stores, henna tattoo stands and stall after stall of the same awful t-shirts
and sunglasses, all being aggressively hawked by eccentric hippy types, and
street performers of rather dubious talent. Certainly a place to go and check
out the spectacle, but it quickly became clear that maybe booking four nights
here was a bit excessive, and two probably would have been more than enough to
get the Venice experience. This was compounded by the fact that the weather was
terrible, and rained on three of the four days we were here, so although the
beach was gorgeous, it wasn’t even warm enough to swim. After tiring of the
boardwalk, we found an acceptable happy hour at Larry’s near the beach and had
a couple of drinks, then went back to the apartment for some Better Call Saul.
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| Venice, with apparently uncharacteristic cloudy skies |
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| Sam pole-dancing on Venice Beach |
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| A sneaky Dunedin sticker for Venice to remember us by... |
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| Venice skatepark on the beach |
On day two there was sun,
so did the roughly hour long walk along the beach from Venice to Santa Monica.
I’m disappointed not to have seen David Hasselhoff or Pamela Anderson, because
I totally felt like I was on the set of Baywatch, with the little lifeguard
towers placed at regular intervals along the way, and a number of rollerbladers
making it easy to believe it was still the early 90s. We briefly explored the
Santa Monica pier (I wasn’t quite quick enough to get my camera out to take a
photo as an LAPD helicopter swooped over the iconic ferris wheel, but it would
have made a great LA photo!), and then the downtown Santa Monica area, where
most of the high-end stores weren’t really of interest to us. We had a beer at
a supposedly British themed pub (hilarious their idea of what constitutes
British; it was all US beers and food on the menu, with ice hockey playing on
the TV. The sole concession to ‘Britishness’ seemed to be that the bar was very
dark and had some pictures of ships on the walls). Sam then decided to get a
bus to the University area where the record stores were, and I thought I’d
instead make the most of the sun while we had it, so we went our separate ways
and I walked back along the beach. At Venice I realised I didn’t really want to
go hang out in the cramped room by myself, so went back to Larry’s from the
night before, had a few beers and did some blog writing, feeling glamourous
when some guy asked me if I was a journalist.
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| "Some people stand in the darkness, afraid to step intoooo the light..." |
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| Santa Monica Pier ferris wheel |
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| Sam-ta Monica |
On day three in Venice we
awoke to rain, which continued on and off throughout the day. They’re obviously
not used to rain or well prepared for it here; the café we had lunch in –
Kreation - sprung a leaky roof, and
ended up with about twenty icecream containers placed strategically around to
catch the drips, and the staff were struggling to put a tarpaulin over the roof
as we left. We found a couple of cool spots on Abbot Kinney Boulevard (namely
the awesome pop surrealist CAVE Gallery, where I bought a Young Chun print),
and then meandered over to the canals, definitely a Venice highlight. Back when
it was conceived by Abbot Kinney (he of the titular boulevard), the town was
designed to mimic its namesake in Italy, and thus based on a huge network of
canals. Sadly, with the rise of the automobile in the US, the powers that be at
some point concreted over most of the canals, and the remaining few only
escaped because they ran out of money. The canals went into disrepair, and it
was mostly hippies and the homeless who inhabited the area for years, until
reclamation efforts in the 1980s and 1990s. It’s now one of the most
picturesque and pricy neighbourhoods in the entire US, and was one of the
drawcards for me visiting Venice (having seen them in the L Word and thinking
they were pretty cool). Incredible houses (Michael, you would have loved some of
the designs!), and scenic walkways and bridges, with each house having its own
little pier with attached boat of some description; people do actually hop in a
boat and paddle a few blocks to visit friends or go to the store. So cool! And
totally unattainable, probably even with a Lotto win…
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| Venice canals |
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| More canals... |
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| Pretending I live in the canal neighbourhood |
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| One of the more eccentric houses on Venice Beach... |
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| ...and its next-door neighbour |
That night and most of the
next morning was spent booking flights/accommodation/concert tickets and
coordinating the finer details of the last leg of our trip, having made the
decision to come back to LA after Vegas in order to catch some more bands, and
then fly direct to Toronto from there (we’re coming for you on 2 June Toronto!)
With that locked in, it was time to enjoy our final night in Venice, by leaving
it and heading to West Hollywood instead! Sorry Venice. There was a gallery
opening we wanted to attend, and a band Sam wanted to see, so we braved the
loooong journey on public transportation (two buses there – an hour and a half
– and then two buses back which I think took even longer; we could have made it
from Dunedin to Oamaru in the time it takes to get from one suburb in LA to
another). Dinner was at Pink’s Hotdogs, and then we headed round the corner to
Gallery 1988, for the opening of a solo show by Cuddly Rigor Mortis, featuring
small paintings on wood of cute animated food items. I was sorely tempted to
buy, but transportation issues with artwork while travelling are not fun, so I
restrained myself. Next bus trip of the evening was to Sunset Strip for drinks
at the Rainbow. You pay a $10 door charge to get in, but in exchange they give
you tickets to get two free drinks. We were in luck when, after offering to
move over so a group of people who were standing round awkwardly because there
were no other tables could sit down, our kindness was then rewarded by them
giving us three free drink tickets when they left shortly after. This did mean
we were a bit late for the gig next door at the Roxy, so missed the opening
bands, but no matter. We caught Ex Hex, the band Sam really wanted to see, and
then it was time to brave the two buses back to Venice again. These ones were
characterised by loud snores from a number of passed out homeless people, and I’m
pretty sure I came close to joining them at a few points on the trip.
Coming soon: Andy decides
to take an early retirement in Palm Springs….
