Morat Photography

Los Angeles isn’t burning…

It took just one Saturday night in London to confirm that Los Angeles is dead to rock n roll. Gallows were playing the Bizarre Ball and they came on stage wearing balaclavas, with a truly ferocious cover of ‘God Save The Queen’, all attitude and uncaged aggression. It was one of those moments, all the better for being shared with friends. A week later AC/DC headlined Download.
It’s been four years since I was back in England and almost ten since I moved to Los Angeles, foolishly seeking something that had died with Kyuss in the desert not long after Demon Cleaner. Those wild generator parties that Kyuss made legend were replaced by corporate, sterile, festivals, where the cops are unnerving and you can’t take your overpriced beer within about 100 miles of the stage. So much for stoner rock.
But who the fuck wants to live in the desert? I can see the Whiskey A Go-Go from my window. That mecca of rock n roll, where the Doors and Guns N Roses and System Of A Down all played back in the day. Iggy Pop overdosed on stage there. Nowadays it’s nine band bills with some pay to play bullshit and, in all fairness, you wouldn’t pay to watch any of them play. Awful death metal bands (with due respect to good death metal bands), with stupid names, clogging up the pavement and usually playing to no one. It’s as close as Sunset gets to a music scene unless you count Steel Panther every Monday, but, as fun as they are, surely someone sees the irony. There’s also thriving underground punk scene if you fancy venturing down to Compton and you’re prepared to have a gun pointed at you by the cops. And so much for the capital city of rock n roll.
Aside from the odd gem at the House Of Blues (Revolting Cocks being a rare example) the only venue in LA consistently booking good bands is Club Nokia and words cannot fully describe what a turd that place is. Suffice to say you won’t be able to see or hear much of the band unless you’re among the first 400 to get there (the place holds about 2200). This is one of many genius rules that seems to be catching on in LA in order to discourage dancing. Probably best, since dancing at Club Nokia will ensure that three bouncers dislocate your knee to stop you doing it again.
There’s a reason that bands likes living in LA and that’s because if they’re touring then they don’t actually have to live here. It’s a beautiful, beautiful city, where you can surf in the morning and snowboard in the afternoon (no one ever does, they just like to rub it in), but beyond the bar culture there’s no real rock community here and not enough passion for it to even hope for one. If you’re looking for the heart of rock n roll then it still beats on a soggy little island just north of Calais. And no, it’s not the Isle Of Wight.

Introduce yourself…

It’s been some months now since our long suffering editor and Gibby Haynes look-a-like Alex Milas suggested that I write some sort of column, perhaps beginning with an introduction of myself. Which, frankly, is why this has taken so long to get started. Why should you give a flying proverbial? Well, aside from loved ones, music is the singular most important thing in my life and it has informed literally everything in my life from my political views and the clothes I wear to the city I live in. I’m a lifer, an obsessive even, but I’m far from alone. That passion qualifies anyone to write about it. I just got lucky and got the job.
The thing with music though and the problem with writing about it, is that it is entirely subjective. Everyone’s lives and everyone’s experiences are different and the way we listen to music and what it means to us is different. Rob Zombie blasting out in a Vegas strip club is a world away from Leatherface on your i-pod in a leaking council flat in Hackney and another world away from AC/DC at Download. Even the ways we discover music are different, from that slither on the radio to a cool album sleeve or, maybe once in a while, an album review. And that’s probably where I come in; I’ve been writing about and photographing rock n roll for 22 years now and if I’m honest I only ever took the job in the first place so I’d get to see all my favourite bands as often as possible.
But with that privilege comes a responsibility of sorts, and that is to be honest. And it’s not always as easy as it seems. If your favourite band plays a shitty show it’s not exactly the best feeling in the world having to write about it, particularly if you have friends in the band. And what of the people who had the best night of their lives? Maybe they got laid that night or had never seen the band before and thought it was great. Maybe they just stood in a better place where the sound didn’t suck. All you can do is be honest and, hopefully, entertaining.
And in all honesty, it doesn’t matter the aforementioned flying proverbial whether you like what I have to say or not. Indeed, sometimes it’s better to find a writer whose tastes you dislike. I remember, for instance, an awful review of Discharge that said they “made the UK Subs sound like a male voice choir”. I went out and bought it immediately and I’m still a big Discharge fan. And let’s not forget that someone gave the first Kyuss album a bad review. Someone even turned the Beatles down for a record deal! Mind, there’s still an argument that he was right and they were just a precursor to boy bands, but Kyuss fucking rule! Then again, without the Beatles there might not be a Motorhead. There we go being obsessive again. If you’re still reading then I’m sure you understand and you’re very welcome.