Wednesday, March 15, 2006
This post is not very serious. I realize that. But it's still something that irks me and points to a bigger issue...
People in LA don't dance at concerts. Seriously. Not even a head bob. It's the weirdest, most Stepford-wife thing ever. Eerie. Can't even imagine the bands' view, looking across a sea of still people, staring directly at them like automatans. I'd throw down my guitar and flip the crowd off, if I were them sweating onstage. Somehow, when everyone got off the bus from Ohio, they must have been handed a brochure that said "Hipster Hollywoodians and their ilk do not physically enjoy live music."
I had the fortuitous pleasure of enjoying Elephant and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club Monday AND Tuesday night this week at a great little club on Hollywood Blvd. called the Henry Fonda. The bands were AMAZING. And as usual, me and the cool cool people I went with (type of people who know you make your OWN cool, you don't look around the crowd and do what everyone else is doing) were some of the only people rocking out in the audience. So sad. Though an added bonus is, you quickly make friends with the other brave dancers. Sort of like how motorcyclists always wave to each other.
If you ever get a chance to see BRMC live, I highly recommend it. Their live set has an amazing eroticism to it that was captured forever in Michael Winterbottom's fantastic hardcore film "9 Songs." God I love that movie and the BRMC songs they used. I even got my Tuesday night companion Miss C. to do some big hip circles with me...so great. And her friend Jason, a fantastic dancer and great guy, kept picking out songs I should S Factor to (my female friends always end up spilling the beans for me...I swear I don't go around town talking about my pole).
It was such a great two nights, I could tell you a zillion stories from both. But I don't have time. So remind me later to continue this thread, and also that I need to tell you my Michael Stipe tale. It's apropos.
"Now she's gone and love burns inside of me..."