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Summerland 2014 – Love letter to a tour.........

This was nothing less than a great show. A night where you didn’t want to miss a thing. A chance to see some of those bands born of radio in the 90’s who still shine and clearly love what they do. This was no nostalgia tour….this was great musicians playing music that has stood the test of time for a reason.

Spacehog up first. I remember seeing them with Everclear and Tracy Bonham at The Santa Monica Civic Center in the 90’s. And they were great. Now, with a much better sound system and much clearer heads, Spacehog are great. And clearly I was not alone in this belief. At least one member of each band told us to make sure we saw Spacehog because they were awesome and still writing great music. It’s true. And the audience, which was much bigger than the audience of most opening bands, clearly agreed. If you get a chance – see them.

Eve6 was up next. I find it very hard to be at all objective about this trio made up of Max Collins, Jon (Sweet Pea) Siebels and Tony Fagenson, who is the only band on Summerland that has all the original members. The audience went into a near frenzy as Eve6 played with a confidence, joy and power that moved even the most jaded of music fan. Tony plays like he’s still 19, standing up and grinning at the audience as if they share a secret. Max and Jon still seem to be two limbs of the same brain and all three musicians lock into each other while they power through songs that the audience sang so loudly, it was hard to hear the band.   Max’s voice, if anything, is better now than it ever was and Jon’s guitar playing has matured and seems so natural, it’s hard to imagine him without an instrument in his hands.

OK, so some of the musicians are a little older (let’s be honest, so are the fans, myself included) but in the case of Soul Asylum, age is just a number. Dave Pirner drops 20 years the second he steps onstage and has the voice, the energy and the stage presence of a hurricane. His band is smoking and his drummer gets a snare sound that should be preserved in amber. Every song was amazing and this band could give a lot of new musicians a good schooling. I would go see Soul Asylum anytime, anywhere if given the chance again. Go see them, go see them, go see them. Really.

And finally, the purveyors of the tour, Everclear. If Art Alexsakis ever decides to retire from Everclear, he clearly has a future as a promoter. He knows how to put a night of music together that is entertaining as hell. The music and the musicians (and the crew) mesh well together and get along very well. Art is clearly the patriarch for Summerland, and he revels in playing host, front man to Everclear and beloved Papa Bear. Now a five piece, Everclear played the audience like a 6^th instrument, having fun with them and entertaining the hell out of them. Art still performs with that huge smile and that clear love of being onstage. His band follow him like musical soldiers, following Art’s lead and obvious experience as a front man.

The audience, who clearly grew up with these bands, was enthusiastic and ecstatic.   And as a refreshing change, most actually watched the show and danced as opposed to staring at the little screen masking their faces.   The only complaint I have regarding the show is that I could have listened to much longer sets from each of these bands. I hope that Spacehog, Eve6, Soul Asylum and Everclear continue writing and playing music. All of them…..Jennifer “Chaos” Herold

**A special shout out must go to Kim, who kicks ass and runs a tight ship. Oh, and she knows good places for dinner, too.

I am dedicating this to Kelly – because she didn’t tell me about the damn bugs

Monsoons…

When one is ‘excommunicated’ to the desert, one is challenged on how to entertain/educated oneself. You learn about ‘stupid driver tickets’ (yes, we have them) and get over the shock of seeing people with guns (and big ones) at the 7-11. You hang out at Hotel Congress and hope when your friends stay there that they get to see a ghost. You start Halloween Season in August instead of Sept. You are so thankful for The Surly Wench. You go see Tesoro. You find out about places like the Tucson Wetlands and you fall into the vicious myth of the monsoon…….

So here I am ‘enjoying’ the Tucson Monsoons. You know, those refreshing, invigorating rains we desert dwellers are supposed to be so thankful for……

Bullshit.

The monsoons are like a commercial for “Finding Bigfoot”. You know, the commercial shows a quick, foresty glimpse of something big and dark, and then cuts to someone gasping and someone else in the background confirming that yes indeed that may have been a squatch. So you wait for the very cleverly edited show and find out, as ususal, no squatch. It’s a deert. But the deer still proves the existence of Bigfoot, because ‘everyone knows’, Squatch’s follow deer. And rivers. And creeks…….but I digress.

So by the time we get to May in Tucson, if we are lucky and it’s not an overly hot spring, we are already topping 95+. And June of this year was simply a plethora of 104+ days. With not one drop of rain, in fact not even one, tiny, fluffy, cottony cloud.   Forget about black rain clouds.

So as usual, the residents, especially the ‘lifers’ start waxing poetic about the monsoons.   “Oh they are so refreshing,” they gush. The night blooms are gorgeous……it smells of juniper and creosote….oh, and sage…..I could go on but won’t. What they don’t first mention are the bugs. Palo Verde bugs are bigger than a Fiat. They fly at you. They are evil and could be saddled and ridden. And cicadas. Loud. Big and fall out of trees on you. Nasty little corpses and creepy holes they lay eggs in. Yuck. And then there are your frightening garden varieties of 4, 6 and 8 legged critters that will outlive Cher.

And just before the monsoons? You know that term, it’s a dry heat’? It absolutely is. I just happen to hate hearing it or experiencing it as I now find myself craving the monsoon. I picture myself, wet hair and big smile as I jump around in this refreshing rainfall. Of course, my mascara will not run and my hair will achieve that lovely wet tousled look of all beach models.

The monsoons arrive. It takes a day where we go from 105 degrees with 11% humidity to 98 with 77% humidity. IN ONE DAMN DAY. That’s right; the desert is apparently bipolar and changes personality quickly. And no, there is no gentle, day of rain. A light mist of moisture gently kissing your skin and beading off your face. After the day of humidity where my gently tousled hair is actually frizzy and resembles a fight between cotton candy and a Tina Turner wig.   The winds kick up to over 40 mph and we are warned about blowing dust storms. Go outside and eat sand….whoo hoo.   Where is my lightning and thunder I have been promised. The rain is kicking up, coming in at all directions and it’s actually very refreshing. I get it. I’m happy for those 28 minutes of moisture and cooler temps.

Ah, but no less than 20 minutes after the rain blows over and the grey clouds are ripped apart, showing that endless old whore of a blue sky back there, the temp is rising, and the bugs are coming out in droves. The humidity returns, a physical presence. It’s like being in New Orleans without any water around. All moisture is sucked into the ground, except once again that high humidity which molds the bread, makes guitars go out of tune and you know, the hair thing.

It does smell good after a good rain. Just don’t drive as this is the desert, so there are flash floods, washes and streets under water. And those stupid driver tickets.

Tongue placed firmly in my cheek – and wishing you all a happy summer.

Jennifer

Ode to the Powerhouse: A Rememberence

The Powerhouse was not just a bar. An old man, smelly, never redecorated, filled with mice and roaches pub. A place to listen to music, to play pinball or darts, to smoke pot in the alley and to escape the bullshit glitter of Hollywood and its craziness. It was the place we all went to feel at home together. It was a place to see surprising famous people who also just wanted to drink without hassle. Duran Duran, Rowdy Roddy Piper, Traci Lords, I could go on and on but why? They didn’t matter really. They were like landscape…..cool to see but peripheral.

It was here that King Cheetah got their new name. It was here that I spent hours playing pinball; with or without Tre’, who I still swear has a way to cheat. It was at Powerhouse where I started the Isa Quote Book, including the screaming about getting her period when wanting to get laid. It was also the place that I experienced “martooni night”, a frightening night of martini’s, Isa puking, Colin naked in my hall and my first ‘swim’ in the fish pond at our apartment building. Jill Swan throwing up down the side of her car and Brian getting caught with ‘his dick in the glitter’ so to say….. Stacy cheating at trivia. All of us fighting to make sure Sister Christian did or did not get played…. Powerhouse was where Kelly was a Devil in a Blue Dress and a sharp shooter at darts (she also cheats at pinball). Steve (big daddy) dressed in drag and looked better in my black velvet dress than I did. Brian was a gay sailor and Mia the pimp acted out Hotel California. ( I cannot hear that song without thinking of that). Gary taught us all the beauty of vodka, SJ the enforcer often set the bar on fire for us and Bobbi Sue…..well what can one say about Bobbi Sue. If you try to explain her to those who didn’t go to Powerhouse, they would never believe you. And Bob, our beloved Bob, with his crazy mustache, his amazing food and his big heart. And crazy, fabulous Drew, who looks great in a dress and takes sarcasm to a whole new level. It was where I met the lovely Delores and learned that she was not only not a bitch, but was a really great person and mother. I always loved the fact that none of the staff of Powerhouse catered to or cared about who “anyone was”….in regards to being famous or infamous (except for Isa and SJ losing their shit over Roddy Piper or us all being in awe of the Lone Gunmen sitting together. The true characters at Powerhouse were the regulars. True weirdo’s of Hollywood. Individuals who probably never would have met had it not been for this crazy bar. Almost always a good time was had by all -   and I even loved the walk (or stumble) home through the Magic Castle grounds and the sprinklers in the park.

But mostly the Powerhouse was a safe place. For me it was the grown up version of the fort you had in your back yard when you were a kid. It was the place you could go when you wanted to zone out and be alone. It was the place where you got laid, you didn’t get laid, or you sat in your apartment with Kelly and Tre hiding from the crazy Swedish guy from G.I.T.. It inspired me to start a dinner group that led to some of the most amazing conversations I ever had…..and I think that’s the thing I have missed most about Powerhouse. The conversations. No one spent time staring at a screen unless it was the music/film/entertainment/porn trivia game we all used to compete on. You could go there alone and either just chill or find company if that’s what you wanted. The ghost used to show up on those great nights where we all hung out after hours and just laughed and talked and drank. I loved that ghost. And the jukebox, half great and half torture…… I still cannot listen to Low Places by Garth Brooks without screaming.

To the Powerhouse, I raise a vodka cranberry with a lime. In a glass maybe not so clean, but poured well and definitely designed to put you on your ass.