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Sunday, February 23, 2003
I did intend daily entries, really I did, but this'll have to do. I need to get ready and git to Disneyland with Rich, who works for the mouse and has free access. Some scattershot observations about the past few days...
Met Miles at the Frolic Room on Friday. Great little joint with Al Hirschfeld murals, but the LA no smoking thing is REALLY annoying. You have to go out front where there are stools and and ashtray provided, but you can't bring your drink outside. So it felt like taking a bite of an oreo cookie, having to cross the street for a sip of milk, return for another bite, etcetera. So we wound up at The Cat and the Fiddle, a place with an outside deck where one may enjoy both toxins together, just as nature intended. Everyone here is on the make. A pleasing open friendliness shadowed by the feeling that it's all "just in case" you can help them careeristically. For example, once when Milo left for a minute, I decided to record a few minutes of crowd chatter on minidisc. So I'm sitting there holding the mic and three young women at a nearby table all get up and come over to me. "Are you recording the sound in the place? "Yes" (well, no... now I'm recording you asking me this). "For a movie?" She looked beatific with excitement. "No it's for a project of mine." The beaming smile collapses. "Oh. A project..." and they turned together like a flock of birds, headed morosely back to their table without a further word.
Visited Amoeba records, a very large store with a lot of everything. Nothing by Sport Murphy, however. Everyone else, though. Lots and lots of Sleater-Kinney. I did not belong in there. I fully grasped the enormity of my nonexistence in the music business at any level whatsoever, and it was not especially troubling. It felt more natural wandering past the old shoeshine joints on Hollywood Blvd, the Capitol tower and other relics of old times.
Last night we went to a party at the home of a musican named Jack Lancaster. I knew his work, especially a version of Peter and The Wolf, which featured people like Brian Eno and Viv Stanshall. Jack is a great guy, and told me lots of Viv stories. All the guests were smart, interesting and very pleasant people and all was well until some guy took a seizure, turned gray and collapsed on the kitchen floor. This put a crimp in the merriment, to say the least, and we didn't stay too much later. Over at UCLA, Van Dyke Parks was appearing in a sort of Avant Garde opera by Pere Ubu's David Thomas. At first I had slight regrets about going to the party instead of that but it all worked out well... including, I think, the guy who collapsed.
I'm a little frayed, mostly on account of the first night out with Miles. Still regrouping. Maybe Space Mountain'll set me up again... there were all kinds of things I intended to mention, but all I can think of right now is how much I miss Shelley. Oh, here's one quick thing: driving along the highway, there's this huge fracas by the side of the road. Two guys duking it out with a screaming audience of upset friends circled around them. Hot Damn! Then we get closer and see the camera crew. Shooting a movie! I wished I could call those girls from Friday night and say "get here quick! A MOVIE!"
Claudia's been great, squiring me around and seeing to every concern. Some of the nicest times have been just shooting the breeze with her and her daughter Cleo, listening to Scott Walker, eating french fries.
Brad and Claudia have an orange tree and a lemon tree. The lemons have invaded the orange tree, creating mutant lemoranges on one side og the tree. They taste more like edible lemons than inedible oranges. During one of the very few times I've seen any TV, I caught a local access show with musicians from "Assyria." Absolutely bizarre stuff... trying to figure out measures, I had to quickly count 1,2,3,4,5,/1,2,3/1,2/1,2,/1,2,3,4,5,6/ and like that. Truly baffling changes and very specific dissonances creating a flavor unlike anything else I've heard. And this was a regular civilian ethnic musician, cam-cordered at a local family event at a rented hall... not some arty knitting factory band or someting. Hypnotic shit.
Nuff said. Off to Disneyland.
Met Miles at the Frolic Room on Friday. Great little joint with Al Hirschfeld murals, but the LA no smoking thing is REALLY annoying. You have to go out front where there are stools and and ashtray provided, but you can't bring your drink outside. So it felt like taking a bite of an oreo cookie, having to cross the street for a sip of milk, return for another bite, etcetera. So we wound up at The Cat and the Fiddle, a place with an outside deck where one may enjoy both toxins together, just as nature intended. Everyone here is on the make. A pleasing open friendliness shadowed by the feeling that it's all "just in case" you can help them careeristically. For example, once when Milo left for a minute, I decided to record a few minutes of crowd chatter on minidisc. So I'm sitting there holding the mic and three young women at a nearby table all get up and come over to me. "Are you recording the sound in the place? "Yes" (well, no... now I'm recording you asking me this). "For a movie?" She looked beatific with excitement. "No it's for a project of mine." The beaming smile collapses. "Oh. A project..." and they turned together like a flock of birds, headed morosely back to their table without a further word.
Visited Amoeba records, a very large store with a lot of everything. Nothing by Sport Murphy, however. Everyone else, though. Lots and lots of Sleater-Kinney. I did not belong in there. I fully grasped the enormity of my nonexistence in the music business at any level whatsoever, and it was not especially troubling. It felt more natural wandering past the old shoeshine joints on Hollywood Blvd, the Capitol tower and other relics of old times.
Last night we went to a party at the home of a musican named Jack Lancaster. I knew his work, especially a version of Peter and The Wolf, which featured people like Brian Eno and Viv Stanshall. Jack is a great guy, and told me lots of Viv stories. All the guests were smart, interesting and very pleasant people and all was well until some guy took a seizure, turned gray and collapsed on the kitchen floor. This put a crimp in the merriment, to say the least, and we didn't stay too much later. Over at UCLA, Van Dyke Parks was appearing in a sort of Avant Garde opera by Pere Ubu's David Thomas. At first I had slight regrets about going to the party instead of that but it all worked out well... including, I think, the guy who collapsed.
I'm a little frayed, mostly on account of the first night out with Miles. Still regrouping. Maybe Space Mountain'll set me up again... there were all kinds of things I intended to mention, but all I can think of right now is how much I miss Shelley. Oh, here's one quick thing: driving along the highway, there's this huge fracas by the side of the road. Two guys duking it out with a screaming audience of upset friends circled around them. Hot Damn! Then we get closer and see the camera crew. Shooting a movie! I wished I could call those girls from Friday night and say "get here quick! A MOVIE!"
Claudia's been great, squiring me around and seeing to every concern. Some of the nicest times have been just shooting the breeze with her and her daughter Cleo, listening to Scott Walker, eating french fries.
Brad and Claudia have an orange tree and a lemon tree. The lemons have invaded the orange tree, creating mutant lemoranges on one side og the tree. They taste more like edible lemons than inedible oranges. During one of the very few times I've seen any TV, I caught a local access show with musicians from "Assyria." Absolutely bizarre stuff... trying to figure out measures, I had to quickly count 1,2,3,4,5,/1,2,3/1,2/1,2,/1,2,3,4,5,6/ and like that. Truly baffling changes and very specific dissonances creating a flavor unlike anything else I've heard. And this was a regular civilian ethnic musician, cam-cordered at a local family event at a rented hall... not some arty knitting factory band or someting. Hypnotic shit.
Nuff said. Off to Disneyland.
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