from tres awesome to quel disaster
Three years I’ve been in LA and people still ask why I moved here. These are just the highlights from last month.
Saturday, Sept 8
I caught wind of what was being billed as an HHH "CD Release Party" at a dance club in Hollywood. Now, I knew the album wasn't coming out until the next Tuesday and I knew the guys were in New York the night before, but hell. I didn't have anything better to do, and I knew the curiosity would get the better of me if I didn't go, so I went down to check it out. My best guess was that this was really just a party thrown by Friends of HHH as an excuse to load the joint with posters and play inordinate amounts of their music. Hey, I'm not complaining!
While I was digging the fine musical selection (when they played OK Go and HHH back-to-back I wondered if the entrance to the pearly gates of heaven are actually located off Hollywood Blvd), it was super lame to be there all by myself. It's one thing to go to a show alone, but an entirely different kind of awkward (and frankly, boring) to hang around a dance club alone. I was standing off to the side, head bopping along to Franz and thinking about heading for home when some hot, young Ecuadorian stud asked me to dance. ME? Oh, what the hell, why not? A few hours and a whole lot of hot hot and heavy later...it was time to really hit the door before the lights came up.
Usually not my style to go all Dirty Dancing in public (with a 23-year old, at that!), but sometimes you just gotta let go and have a little fun. Of course, things never would have gone that far if anyone I'd known had been in the building. God. But come on. He was taller than me (unheard of in this town! I have to ship 'em in from across the border!), with a head of curly dark hair thick enough to rival even the best JF. And homeboy could dance. Among other things. How am I supposed to resist? Coo-coo-ca-choo, Mrs. Robinson.
Tuesday, Sept 11
Sorry, where were we? Hot Hot Heat album release, right. And how did I suddenly come down with this cold? Ahem.
I was at my local Best Buy at 9:59am on Tuesday to pick up my copy of the new album and my pass to the show at Cinespace that night. I love me a laminated lanyard! Aw, I'm so special. I know the small turnout and lackluster crowd response was not what exactly what they were hoping for, but it sure was a treat for me. (All that really matters, right?) The venue was so small and the stage so low that even three rows deep, I could have reached out and touched the ol' Roland. And we got a bunch of new songs, including the first time I've heard "5 Times Out Of 100” live.
I hung around for a bit for the "afterparty," but not much was happening, as far as I could tell. I decided to go out on a high note and leave while I still had the memory of the show fresh in my brain. Resigned to the fact that I was not going to get to see the guys and tell them congrats on the album release, I made my way down the stairs and back out on the street. I came out the door and practically ran into all the HHH equipment that was piled on the sidewalk waiting to be loaded into the truck. And who was standing guard over all this equipment out on Hollywood Blvd? Steve. Singer/roadie, apparently.
I was so taken by complete surprise that I just walked right on past. As I headed off down the block, I was reminded of a certain pinky swear and I stopped to consider going back. I turned around and what do you know? Two doors down from Cinespace, I saw my buddy Margaret standing there. OK, I'm a little bit worried that I'm running into people I know on Hollywood Blvd at 11:30pm on a Tuesday.
I stopped to chat with her and the improv peeps and offered to walk M back to her car. I mean, if I had to walk past the guys again, so be it. Heh. We walked past and all of the Heaters are now out there and Bays has his hood up like he's trying to hide or something. Luckily, I'm with my friends so I have an excuse not to stop this time, but I know MW is going to ream me for being there and not doing anything while she sits at home and misses out entirely. Goddamn pinky swear is going to be the death of me.
We rounded the corner and walked down the block to M's car. Or, more accurately, where M's car was. Poor girl got towed. Talk about a buzzkill. Luckily, her roommate was there, so she had a way home and everything, but still. What a royal pain. As we were standing there trying to comfort her about the car, I see my other old friend, the unmarked van, roll down the street. Looks like someone finally got relieved from equipment-watching duty! The van crawled to practically a stop as it approached. My head says they slowed down to get around the tow truck, but I've seen the way people drive in LA. A little piece of my heart wants to believe that they were playing their own game of "Hey, it's that girl." Yep, that’s me: Mindles, International Woman of Mystery. Notice they didn't roll down the window and offer any rides, haha.
Friday, Sept 14
Still can’t kick this cold. Stupid Ecuador.
Hold up. I can use this to my advantage. Don’t get me wrong, I really was sick and really should have gone home, but I might have played it up just a tiny bit as an excuse to bail early from work and haul over to Jimmy Kimmel for my second free HHH show within four days. LA, people. I love being in the middle of it all.
I’ve been to one of these outdoor Kimmel tapings before (Have Yourself A Merry Little OK Go!), so I knew the drill. I even managed to score free parking right across the street. This turned out to figure prominently into the evening as the girl standing next to me in line quickly befriended me in order to use my car to stow her bag during the taping. This girl, I swear. 15, looks sweet as can be, but a real spitfire under that innocent cover! She apparently comes to tapings at least twice a week and knows everyone (security guards, crew, etc) on the premises. She will also do/say anything to get an inch closer to the action. More on that later.
This was one strange crowd. I had my trusty iPizzle to keep me company, but I was too distracted to listen. Why does everyone want to talk to me? And why does everyone want me to guess how old they are? Have I crossed that invisible line into adulthood where you just don’t feel the need to go around telling people how old you are anymore? And did somebody seriously just tell me that they grew up in the carnival circuit?? Little kids and carnies - the Heat brings all kinds.
So, anyway, we get inside and Little Miss Spitfire’s sister joins her. Before I even know her name, the sister is asking me why I’m so old (yes, we had to play the guessing game again) with no husband and no children. What?! When did 28 become the new 80? I feel like I’m some sort of dinosaur specimen they’re examining on a class trip. I always miss my concert buddy when she’s not around, but I was really feeling it that night. Seriously. When did I become the old lady at concerts?? This is certainly a new role for me.
As we waited for the guys to come out, the Spitfire Sisters chatted up everyone in sight. Everyone. I could not believe the things they got the security guards to do for them - just for the fun of seeing if they could get it. A total handful, but amusing as hell. Best of luck to whoever crosses their paths later down the road!
Go time! The guys taped “Let Me In” and “Harmonicas and Tambourines” for the show and since it’s Kimmel, they got to play a few more for us after the taping. They stuck to all new stuff (5 Times, My Best Fiend and So, So Cold) and I was right down front defending my (self-proclaimed) lip-sync championship. The album had only come out earlier that week, but I did have a bit of a head start from all those summer shows. Plus, what can I say? I’m a quick study!
The guys wrapped and Captain Spitfire grabbed me and hauled out to the car to retrieve her bag. Bag in hand, she literally ran back over to where the show guests come out for pics/autographs. Girl knows what she wants and knows how to get it! She kept trying to drag me up to the rail, but I hung back and just watched the scene. I think she asked Steve for a hug on at least five different occasions, ha. Poor guy is too nice to say no, but it got ridiculous there. I was half-listening to her talk to Paul when I heard her ask him something about getting backstage. He was joking around with her and I had to pipe up. I said “Don’t tease her, Paul - she’ll totally do it. You gotta keep an eye on this one!” He goes “I’m starting to realize that” and looked up to see who he was talking to. When he saw me, his eyes lit up and he said “Hey! I saw you singing along to all the songs. The album’s only been out four days!” He held out his hand and gave me the secret handshake. Too Tall Paul Hawley! You just made my night (and fulfilled my pinky swear duties, thank you very much).
I hung around until everyone had their chance to talk to the guys and went up to Steve just as he was about to go. I didn’t want pictures or autographs, I just wanted to be able to say congrats on the album and thank you for letting us be a part of that week. And just like TTPH before him, before I could say anything, he was all “I saw you smiling down there…” What can I say? My happiness, it is unlimited.
Sunday, Sept 17
My coughing, that is what is unlimited. Yuckers. I am imposing an embargo on all things Ecuadorian.
Night 1 of Justin at Staples with E. About as opposite of a vibe from the previous week as you could possibly get. I will always love la Timberlake and I am sure I will always shell out to see him, but I really felt such a strong sense of disconnect that night. We were in 100 level seats and I couldn’t even see his face. And E and I stood out like sore thumbs in that crowd. Ladies, really. Nobody wants to see you bring your sexy back.
Don’t get me wrong, I always feel better just being under the same roof as the boy, but it’s all gotten so massive that I get so swept up in the spectacle of it all that I practically forget that he’s really there. I felt more connected watching it on HBO than actually being there.
My mood was probably not helped by the fact that I really did feel like death warmed over. Luckily, the screaming was so overpowering that my constant coughing didn’t disturb anyone. I could have hacked up a lung and nobody would have noticed. Did I mention that Kanye West made a surprise appearance? Complete madness. Their shit, the Angelenos done lost it.
OK, I take it all back. Just seeing Justin sing “California Love” and do the C-Walk was worth the price of admission. Goddamn, I love that kid. Why is he so fucking good at everything he does?
Wednesday, Sept 19
JT, The Sequel. No surprise guest appearances this night, but our seats were slightly better. I was amazed by how much more I enjoyed it just by being a few rows closer. I am one spoiled concert girl. More California Love and he even threw in some old school Snoop for good measure. Have I mentioned just how great this kid is? Love him.
Monday, Sept 24
Enough with the arenas, back to my comfortable indie scene. Out of some twisted sense of obligation to that Irish band I used to babble on about, I went to see Martha Wainwright at good old Hotel Café. Martha sings a duet on the most recent SP album and Gary has made no secret of his love for the woman. I had to go see what all the fuss was about. Besides the SP connection, the only thing I knew of Martha’s was the infamous BMFA song, so I was a pretty open book.
It didn’t take long for her to win me over. She was quite funny (I don’t know why I was surprised by this) and I think the small venue really suited her. She told lots of stories, liked to interact with the audience and she was comfortable trying out new things. Hell, sometimes she would just stop and re-start if she didn’t like the way a song was going. Her mom came up and played piano (how cute is that?) and when she sang a song in French, her mom chided her for flubbing the lyrics. “But mom, they didn’t know it was wrong!” Heh. I was trés impressed and very glad I went down to check it out. It was one of those tiny, special shows that you just know you’ll look back on someday and realize how lucky you were to be there. It’s a pity she doesn’t seem to get as much attention as Rufus.
Friday, Sept 28
What happens when your concert buddy starts to feel HHH-deprived? She buys a ticket to join you at the Ventura show. What happens when said concert buddy can’t find a babysitter? Well, you hit the road with an 8 year-old in tow. I knew going in that it was either going to be a riot or a complete trainwreck.
The lovely ladies from the YL picked me up from work and we hauled out the 101 up to scenic San Buenaventura. We made pretty good time and managed to get a fairly decent spot with only one row of people in front of us. Again, MW and I were clearly the oldest fogies in the room. And her daughter, Miss S, was one of the youngest. What a strange and motley crue we are.
De Novo Dahl (opening act #1) sufficiently freaked the kidlet out. Hell, even I wasn’t quite sure what to make of them, so you can imagine the poor kid. Bedouin Soundclash (opening act #2) practically lulled her to sleep. I was distracted by the man in white watching from the wings.
Holy hell, the place cleared out after Bedouin Soundclash. They apparently have quite a following in Ventura. MW and I felt incredibly bad about how empty it was. Oh no, no bad vibes tonight, pleeeease. We were also concerned by the group of teenagers around us who were plotting a mosh pit. Oh no, no moshing tonight, pleeeease. I am too old for that shit and now I am trying to protect a wee lass who is too young for that shit.
As many times as I have seen HHH lately (good god, this show makes 9 times in 3 months), I have never seen them do a real, touring, headlining show. As MW has noted, the stage was very Snow Patrol a la 2007 Brit Awards, with the bare lightbulbs hanging down. Set against a heavy red velvet backdrop and minimal lighting, the whole show gave off a very spooky, almost haunted vibe. I totally dug it in person, but it really didn’t translate to video very well. You better believe we tried, though! MW brings the goods, as always, and while the picture isn’t on par with previous shows, the sound is still super fantastic.
Highlights included a Wallflowers-esque version of “My Best Fiend” that started out acoustic, then transitioned right in to the full rockin’ version, Paquin climbing on top of a tower of amps (he was seriously balcony-level!) for the “Talk To Me, Dance With Me” guitar solo and my first time hearing “Happiness ltd.” live. Wow, talk about spooky vibes! We lifted the kidlet up so she could see better during “Bandages” and Steve hopped down off the stage to sing it right in our faces. I’d like to think he was bringing it down to her level, but it could just be a new part of the show. How very Damian Kulash of you, sir. Steve talked all night about how much he dug the Ventura Vibes (“people either get Hot Hot Heat or they don’t get Hot Hot Heat”) and you could really feel the love in the room, even if it never did fill up to capacity.
We snagged a set list for the kiddo after the show and headed outside, but she was having none of it. Poor thing was tired, cranky and not willing to wait around any more. Can’t really blame her - she hung in there like a trooper for a long time - but it was still sad to have to pack it in before the post-show festivities could get underway. MW went Marino-style on me and struck up a conversation with “the guy with the head” about Sunset Junction and her “hardcore” kid on our way out. He actually tried to call TTPH to come out for us, but couldn’t reach him. Probably for the best, as it was really time to say goodnight, goodnight before anybody could start embarrassing anyone. Little Miss S. conked out immediately in the car and MW and I started plotting our return to glory for the Fonda and HOB Anaheim. Anyone know any good babysitters? Haha.
Sunday, Sept 30
By decree of Amendment 1 of the pinky swear, I am not to discuss the events of this day. The wounds, they are still too raw. But I can say that MW and the kidlet came back up to LA, we had a fab breakfast and we took in the rad offerings of the Abbot Kinney Festival in Venice. I even picked up an HHH-inspired shirt at one of the booths. Score! Oh, and I hear Minibar was there, as well…sigh. Frustration, frustration, indeed.
Up next: Mindles packs her bags and hits the road (and skies) for Rocktober! Wallflowers, east coast, here I come! Alas, I wish I could say it wasn’t with such un coeur lourd. Rami, you are irreplaceable and your presence will be sorely missed. Sooner or later, every season ends, eh? Thank you for being such an integral part of my musical fiber these past ten years. I wish you health and happiness and absolutely everything else.