Hi, it’s been a little while. Well, been busy, in a good way.
Since there are no dates yet for an East Coast US tour, and with our living in New York, we said, ‘screw it,’ and made a little vacation trip to California. We caught Coroner in Los Angeles and Pomona. First off, I should say, this trip almost didn’t happen. We were a week out from a major snow storm that left about a foot of snow, and then a major cold snap froze our pipes. We canceled the trip — the BnBs, the flights, etc. Two days after we should have left, our plumber could thaw the pipes and that afternoon we scrambled to rebook everything. The next day we were on a plane heading to L.A.
The Pomona show was slightly subdued — good turnout, but the odd gymnasium-like venue, with way too much floor space, made it a little weird. There was plenty of pit space but few takers, though those that did partake were very enthusiastic. The Whisky-a-GoGo show, though, was packed and full of energy, none of which was wasted.
At the risk of TMI, I have to explain this was a particularly meaningful show for me, not least for which it was the first time I’d heard, live, a few of the songs I’d written for Dissonance Theory. That was surreal, but then so was the following. See, I used to live in Los Angeles, in fact, the very neighborhood around the Whisky. I lived in the middle of a short, two-block street called Holloway that stemmed right off of Sunset Blvd. where the Tower Records used to be, and then just up the street, the Whisky, Roxy, and the Rainbow. This was over twenty years ago and I had not seen the place since then. It’s important to note that, when I lived here, it was one of the worst times of my life — I worked a job supervised by a manipulative, shitty boss; I was living with an emotionally and physically abusive boyfriend; and my father had fought a losing battle with cancer. Specifically, the boyfriend aspect was exorcised during the Whisky show. Any survivor of domestic abuse will understand: He had told me, repeatedly, that I was worthless and would never accomplish anything. Well, I had accomplished much since that time, but this moment was special, because I had returned to the scene of the crime.
The first thing we did when we arrived at the hotel — the Marquis Sunset — was walk to the old apartment, No. 10, 8616 Holloway Drive. That was strange, but cathartic. The next day was the show, and we hung around for soundcheck, then grabbed something to eat between then and the show.
The entire place was packed. We stood in the upper balcony area and watched the undulating mass below, and it wasn’t until the last song before the encore, “Renewal,” when I noticed the guy next to me was singing along…to my lyrics! To say the least, I was pretty proud of myself, and I realized that I was at the Whisky — about a three-minute walk from where, twenty-plus years later, I had been basically torn down to the studs — listening to “my” songs, written for the mighty Coroner, in addition to the biography I was writing. I had made good, and the only thing missing was that jackass to witness it, but that was fine. I knew what I knew.
And the guys were, as usual, tremendously gracious and happy to be playing the iconic Whisky. Afterward, there was an abortive attempt to spend a little time at The Rainbow, but by the time we arrived, they were closing. So, back to the hotel, which I realized the next day had it’s own Rock n’ Roll history, with photos of The Ramones taken at the intersection of Alta Loma and Sunset, and Joe Strummer by the pool. It’s not too hard to catch a celebrity sighting in this area, but oddly enough, it was Ethan Hawke that Hubs walked past at the hotel. All those many years ago, I worked in Santa Monica, and it was not unusual to see Ethan Hawke, and then-wife, Uma Thurman, walking past the shop with their toddler daughter. Full circle.
After the Pomona show, the next day, we took it easy and I drove us on my former work commute — down Sunset all the way to the Pacific Coast Highway, make a right, and then another right onto Topanga Canyon Road. This was after the Santa Monica job — I was making tile glaze for ceramic tiles sold to the rich and sometimes famous (I can tell you that, circa 2003, John Cusack had royal blue bathroom tile). I liked the job, hated my boss, whose worst crime was acting as if taking time off to fly back to PA and see my dad would be fine, but when I did that, he treated me like I had betrayed the company for weeks after. (Worse, when I made that trip, my dad died as I was en route from the airport to home — I didn’t even get to see him, not alive). Hear this: There is nothing more satisfying that taking that old commute to a job that was psychologically abusive, then just driving past the final turnoff, middle finger aloft. We drove past, continued on own the hill, and were greeted by a fabulous view of the entire San Fernando Valley. Then we hit the historic Tail o’ the Pup — which had moved to a new location, the building where the Doors recorded L.A. Woman — for hot dawgs.
We spent the next day breakfasting at Mels Diner and touring Hollywood Forever Cemetery, which, as you can expect, was a ton of fun — we visited Johnny and Dee Dee Ramone, Fay Wray, John Houston, Darren McGavin, Vampire, Birth Reynolds, Virginia Rappe, Paul Reubens, David Lynch, Tyrone Power, Holly Woodlawn, Eve Babitz, Bugsy Siegel, Peter Lorre, Joe Turkel, and Rozz Williams. Before we left L.A. for San Jose to visit friends, we hit up the Museum of Death, which…tip: Don’t visit the Museum of Death right before a road trip. The series of photos depicting victims of the road was not conducive for an stress-free drive. Otherwise, it was brutal, gross, poingant, and titilating. Highly recommend, if only for the guillotined and mummified head of 19th/20th-century serial killer, Henri Désiré Landru. In San Jose, in addition to the friend visit, we visited the Winchester House, and then the Peace Garden of the Rosicrucians. Then we headed over the Guerneville to see more friends, where we went to Armstrong Redwoods State Nature Reserve, visited the Pacific, and took a tour of a few film shooting locations (Hitchcock’s The Birds, and Carpenter’s The Fog). Then it was back to New York, and the cold and a new snow storm that added another eight inches to our already-smothered, hardly melted yard.
Back to work. Guys…I am only now beginning with Mental Vortex and my word count is well over 100,000. I still have Grin, the comp, the interim years, and now Dissonance Theory to get through. I’ll obviously be doing some heavy revising, but this is going to be a whopper, whatever I do. Otherwise, I have six video interviews with Marky left to notate (out of forty-three). I am at a point where, information-wise, the writing has caught up with the notation, so I have to abandon the every-other-day routine of writing and notating, and just get through the videos. This is tedious — not nearly as fun as the writing — but it’s gotta be done.
Long post, but exciting times.
Lee Harper Oswald 