Welcome to 1.16am. Saturday morning.
Let’s dispense with some fact.
• Jon, myself, Lauren, and a friend of mine (a good friend of Lauren’s, and I guess after a couple of days hanging out, Jon’s as well) are going to Vegas in about eight hours.
• Jon and I have broken the ticket hex, and have tickets to Modest Mouse in Vegas tomorrow night. I also have tickets to Peter, Bjorn and John on Monday, and the Arcade Fire, LCD Soundsystem double bill on Thursday.
• I’m slightly intoxicated after another hostel party and unsure how badly it will affect my writing.
So. Let’s dance. I’ve been doing some thinking about Los Angeles.
Out there havin’ fun / in the warm California sun.
Firstly, I’ve been having a good time hanging around my old hostel (where I stayed in 2004) with current American companions, and Jonathan. We’ve had Mellissa and Jeff over, two friends I made in the USA in my 2004 visit. Tonight, our second night at the all you can drink $5 hostel keg nights, with all five of us in tow, it was in stark contrast to the timid, solitary 19 year old New Zealander that cut a swathe through Melrose last time. It was easy to feel proud about my last trip as I looked out at my current tribe.
I had a posse.
After our first day poking through Melrose, we headed down to the Orange County (oh go on, the OC) to see Melissa on Thursday. We had lunch, checked out some stores, and I reveled at a 1950s jacket in an antique store that was on sale for a near 300 dollars. We were fed like kings at Mellissa’s house, with a Korean barbeque laid out for us. Unfortunately, I reacted dramatically to spice in the food, turning bright red and sweating profusely, which seemed an indicator that I was not enjoying my quite delicious meal. After the initial concern, I think everyone found it quite entertaining.
Our trip to Orange County and back of around 40 miles was stressful. I get nostalgic for Wellington. The motorway, is really just “the” motorway where we come from. Here we had to catch the 101 to the 60, and then to get back the 60 to the 57 to 10. But you can choose and are often demanded to cross between the 5, 10, 57, 60, 101, 405, and the 701 (and those are just the roads I can remember). I couldn’t do it always. I couldn’t live here, always traversing this concrete jungle. I really do like Los Angeles though. There’s just so much road.
We found a park perfectly coming back into town on Thursday outside the Troubador in Beverly Hills, and paid our fare to see the Brunettes. Who we had discovered were crossing paths with us on their debut headlining American tour. Lauren and I were sidetracked by photographers for SPIN magazine to talk about the Brunettes. Check out the website. Subsequently I forgot to tip my bartender and felt guilty.
Man, I crossed over. I still resent mandatory tipping though. C’mon? Where’s the incentive?
Somewhat self-explanatory.
I thought the Brunettes were exceptional. And I had a very strange moment of cultural association. The Brunettes are not one of my favourite local bands. I like them, but out of the ten or so times they probably came through town in my time in Wellington I probably saw them 3 or 4 times. But seeing them on a big stage, complete with security guards that would take anyone out who was humorously dancing on stage it was cool.
Hell, the Brunettes name was in lights outside. And they responded accordingly. They were 1-2 in my books. One great show, with a cranked up tempo where they weren’t afraid to just be a fun pop band and two boring, plodding shows. But now it’s even. They were fast, tight and fun. And not just easy, they still showed enough brain and variety to show they were clever. It’s fun to see the Brunettes move past being a 60s gimmick and start being an actual a band.
Today after a later start, Jon and I went to Hollywood. We went to the Walk of Fame, looked at the hands in the concrete, Jon got a photo of the Hollywood sign, we had a sandwich, bought some tickets, and went to Hot Topic in the mall and talked about the commodification of punk rock, and the relationship between popular culture and personal taste. And how one gets in the way of the other.
Jeff came over, and we recoiled to Canter’s, the famous LA Jewish diner (60ish year old Fran, our waiter, stole my heart). I had a Philly Cheese Steak and a Bloody Mary. We then took the evening downhill from there.
In front of the Chinese Theatre. Hollywood, California.
Tomorrow we head to Vegas. And I’m excited, because even if it sucks, it can only be a hell of a sight. Two nights in a hotel room that per person is little more than a hostel. And it’s luxury we’ll stay in. The swimming pool at our hotel has a pyramid in it. Apparently the care not for realistic rates; it’s got more to do with how much you gamble than how long you stay. I heard the drinks are even free usually. Drunks gamble more.
Hell, as a gullible sucker, I’m going to watch myself.
Our current hostel is hip. Melrose is a hip part of town. It’s nice. I like LA. I recently decided. As the largest shining light in California’s crown, I can’t but help but feel how it is derided. Maybe unjustly.
Why is it hated?
Because Los Angeles equals Hollywood. And Hollywood is everything you don’t like about the perpetuation of every cliché that you also don’t like.
But Hollywood is really only a historic signifier of what has gone before and a bunch of desperate tour guides trying to make a buck of that. (Which is on one level extremely entertaining. Where else can you idly walk amongst Chewbacca, Spiderman and Boba Fett. And then get startled by Batman as you try and decipher a map?)
“I just don’t know about this Ja Ja character, George.” Hollywood, California.
People say that Los Angeles has no soul. But that is pretty harsh. Los Angeles has around about the population of New Zealand. And people want cohesion? It’s pretty much it’s own country such is the diversity. At one point when we were lost traversing the freeways, I was pretty sure that I was back in Mexico City.
So. It is sprawling, and that is tough. It’s suburbs spread out, it’s downtown insignificant. It’s possible to never feel like you’re actually ‘in’ any part of LA. It’s all movie obsessed. (And smoggy, which you do see, but it seems to not be as bad as the last time I was here.)
But then again, who cares? Los Angeles is an industry town. The Emmys get their own pull out in the paper. Hollywood success stories are written on the ground at the local mall. It may not be everyone’s aspiration. It may not be for everyone. But this is where so much of it happens, where so many come to make it big, to come from outside LA to perpetuate the Hollywood myth that everyone ends up resenting LA for. And smack talk all we like. But when Hollywood came Wellington’s way we bent over and renamed ourselves Wellywood in a flash.
We like to make fun of ourselves for the fact that we like to read tabloids, and by the same token people like to make fun of Los Angeles. But celebrity is something that we’ll always pay attention to, no matter how much we try and distance ourselves from it and pretend that it’s uncool. And by that token the Hollywood sights are worthwhile, and a laugh, if the most clichéd part of this town.
I guess Los Angeles is just a lot more than status obsessed Hollywood climbers mixing among the select few Hollywood chosen ones. I for one find the screeds of palm trees pretty irresistible.
Anyway. Bed time. Vegas beckons!
Posted by James
Tags: Los Angeles, Music
