Jason Toney

Video of the Day: Maybe So, Maybe No

Going to see Mayer Hawthorne on Friday. Getting ready for it this morning.

Blue Eyed Soul is takin' over.

The Nightmare in 4D

"A pox? How delightful a pox." - Danny Elfman, Town Meeting Song

Per usual, my Halloween is consumed with Nightmare. I've spent two Saturdays this month singing the songs all around the Park; I bought Nightmare Vinylmations of my favorite characters; we've got a little Oogie Boogie hidden in the music category. And, finally, last night we saw The Nightmare Before Christmas 3D at the El Cap.

Really, though, it's a 4D experience with an assault to the senses. Ghosts fill the theatre. "Fire" bursts from the balconies. Spotlights track Jack. Fog envelops the audience. The chilly wind of Christmastown blows through the seats. The smell of gingerbread and pie arrives on cue. And, of course, there's snow.

Maybe all movie experiences should be like this. We got similar experiences this past Sunday with Captain EO and the Tron Legacy Sneak Peek at elecTRONica. If you're looking for real immersion, the glasses can help but when the environment truly comes to life, well, you get applause and smiles and a century old medium that can still inspire awe.

Next time, though, we're going to get there in time to enjoy a few cocktails at The Library Bar. There we can visit spirits of a different kind.

Oh, and if you happen to kidnap Mr. Sandy Claws, would you please ask him about my gift request? I needs it.

L.A. Noir (23)

"In the night." - Exile, In The Night 22

L.A. Noir by John Buntin (Harmony Books, 2009). After the Watts Riots, our city's (and the nation's) Top Cop:

"They're attempting to reach these groups...by catering to their emotions," declared Parker (an emotional man who had no patience for that quality in others." 'You're disolacted, you're abandoned; you're abused due to color,'" Parker continued, mimicking and mocking the attitudes of civil rights supporters. The civil rights movement had unleashed the virus of civil disobedience—the belief that people "don't have to obey the law because the law is unjust." At the same time, a huge surge of black migration had "flooded a community that wasn't prepared to meet them." (Parker didn't hide his own feelings about the matter: "We didn't want these people to come in," he told the panel.) Both factors laid the foundations for the uprising. One thing was for certain: The LAPD was not to blame.

This is what L.A. Noir and L.A. history in the 20th century is really all about. While Buntin focuses his story on the intersecting lives of two men—Chief William Parker and gangster Mickey Cohen, what becomes obvious both at the beginning and end of the novel is that Los Angeles, like most american cities, is overwhelmingly impacted by the intersection of "the races".

I don't know what happened in Watts except for what I read and see in books like this but I know what an L.A. riot looks like. I was attending Van Nuys high school and living in the valley in 1992 when the Rodney King riots took place. As I read through the final chapters of this, the images of that time ran through my head constantly. With this reading, however, was more anger and less confused frustration. Now knowing where we had come from, it's obvious that a city that should have learned, that should have understood it's population, simply didn't.

But maybe that's not surprising. We live in Los Angeles, once touted as the last "white spot" of America. The last bastion of safety for those disinterested in mingling with their darker skinned brethren. A city that once believed it was better than Selma but that voted consistently to keep de facto segregation in place. A city whose black population connected more with Malcolm X than Martin Luther King. A city whose police force kept tabs on everyone (and probably still does) and who thought Communism and the Nation of Islam is what riled up black folks not injustice.

We're a complicated lot, Angelenos. Our city created the modern form of policing while, at the same time, much of our city's culture and charm has been birthed out of organized crime. My idea of Los Angeles is one of that salad bowl mix of cultures and I think that's true. But what is also true is that there is this constant tension between us all. L.A. remains a pressure cooker waiting for something to set it off.

Buntin's book conveys that well. While not as elegantly and entertainingly written as A Bright and Guilty Place, it covers a much larger swath of time and gives a much broader view of this city of dreams. And while I would have liked to spend much more time learning more about how the formation and growth of LA's Black community came to pass, as well as the deeper impact and history of figures like eventual Mayor Tom Bradley, that's not what this book is about.

Ultimately, L.A. Noir serves as a reminder for me of one thing: I love this town.

Video(s) of the Day: Hood Pass Intact

"Don't matter what you do never turn your back on your friends." - Dam-Funk, Hood Pass Intact

Stones Throw's Dam-Funk amuses me greatly.

And here's a re-cut version of Breakin' using the same song...

Keep your hood pass intact today, Los Angeles.

Night at the Museum

"Your smile reminds me of one shining soul sincere." - Kira Neris, Un Été Sans Fins

Photo by Melissa Acedera

As we walked into The Resnick Pavilion on opening night, Melle talked about wanting to know more about the people who endowed and supported The Arts and charities in such great financial ways. Locally, those are the Annenbergs, the Chandlers, and, now, the Resnicks (amongst others). These people with their names on the sides of buildings or whose names are spoken at every sponsor break on our favorite public radio stations.

I know a little. The Chandlers owned the Los Angeles Times and are, really, one of LAs founding families. The Resnicks, as we were informed upon entering the new building named after them, own, amongst other things, Fiji Water and POM Wonderful. And we are grateful for their support of the Arts.

The Resnick features some very old Olmec era stone work that sparked a conversation about what the craft must've been like at that time. How does one keep the vision of what they are making in their head and accurate in an age before paper? What types of tools were used? Who commissioned pieces of such size and grandeur? The placards associated with the pieces provide just a hint of the history there.

That sense of wonderment continued into the Fashioning Fashion exhibit. There, though, I was less concerned with how the clothes were made and more interested in what the lives were like of the people wearing them. We mock those who wear flashy suits today but these outfits showcase that flossing and peacocking aren't new inventions and aren't reflective of low culture but of high. It's the elite that are most likely to be funky fresh dressed to impress ready to party in these luxurious frocks.

And, so, yes, we are very grateful for all those who provide their ample resources to allow us to see these things affordably. Access to art and history ignites my mind.

But.

I'm also mindful, though, that in New York, the great patron of The Arts is David H. Koch who counters his great altruism there with aggressive spending in causes and politics that aren't aligned with mine. A man whose business ethics are regularly called into question is also the backer of Opera Houses and The Met.

Thankfully, in this case, the Resnicks, Lynda especially, has politics after my own heart. She was an anti-war activist during Vietnam and has been under great scrutiny by our government for her activism.

My kind of woman.

So, you know, thanks. It's nice to know that I can spend less of my time having my eye on you and more having it focused on the art.

Howlin' For Them

"The dark days are through." - The Black Keys, Everlasting Light

I don't know the Palladium like I know most other LA venues. I've only been there once before and while the sound is amazing, the space doesn't make much sense to me. So, rather than finding a clear view of the stage either on the upper levels or on the floor, we found ourselves towards the back and to the right standing behind two girls who created their own "dance circle" around their purses infecting all those around them with their messiness. They were entertaining.

They didn't hold a candle to The Black Keys, though, whose just over an hour set was raucous and wonderful. Patrick and Dan performed as a duo for the first 20 or 30 minutes going through classic Keys tracks showing off their incredible skill and energy on their respective instruments. It was when Dan announced that they were going to bring up some other players and perform "some new songs" that the show really took off, though. A disco ball rose from the stage as they kicked off Everlasting Light and the crowd was set ablaze. That frenetic feeling wouldn't dissipate until the lights came up after the encore nearly an hour later.

Bonus for me, amongst the general fun of gawking at the hipsters, fashionistas, and weird beards that came out for this show, was learning about Nicole Atkins & The Black Sea who wowed during their set. They are back in LA at the Echo next month. I will be going.

Today, though, I'm going to tighten up.

 

Wake Up

"Let 'em shine on." - John Legend and The Roots, Shine

On the season premiere of Grey's Anatomy last night, Meredith's closing narration kicked off with something to the effect of "When we say 'people don't change,' it drives scientists crazy. In fact, change is literally the one constant in science." Fitting that that reminder came last night right after being informed of a major and unexpected (at least by me) change.

I embrace change. I take advantage of changes. I welcome our fluctuating overlords. But, as I noted last week, with just so much change happening, I'm finding myself searching for stability agents.

Today, I'm seeing the value of the routine. Leo Babauta at Zen Habits wrote just yesterday (i think) about his simplified morning routine:

1. Sit. I wake up and start the coffeemaker, drink a glass of water, then sit on a small pillow. I just sit, and focus on my breathing. You don’t have to meditate — sitting still, contemplating, taking in the world, is a beautiful thing.
2. Read. I read a book. The paper kind, that doesn’t require electricity. I like reading with no distractions. I’ll read for about half an hour to an hour.
3. Write. Before I check email or Twitter or read my feeds, I sit down and write. It doesn’t matter what — a chapter for my new book, a blog post, answers to an interview someone emailed me, anything. I just write, without distractions.

I tried that this morning with some adjustments and some failures of focus. After a relatively early to bed night, I woke up early with work on the brain, revisiting some of yesterday's key conversations and envisioning the ones I hope to have today in my dreams (although I imagine they won't be happening outdoors near a babbling creek or on a college campus). Getting up and just sitting down for a bit to settle my active mind was nice. I swapped Leo's water and coffee for a little OJ but taking this deliberate moment felt very right.

Before I could get to the reading, though, I went to the music. Kanye West's Runaway was in my head and so I had a toast for the douchebags and assholes before the sun rose. I also had a shower and, perhaps appropriately, started listening to John Legend and The Roots's Wake Up for the first time. The shower and being dressed before getting lost online is actually really important for me. I usually am awake 2 or 3 hours before I head into the office and often I'm still scrambling to get ready at then end of my morning. That's lame. Today that won't happen.

Speaking of the internet, though, I couldn't stop myself -- I tweeted. I checked friendfeed briefly. And then I checked myself. I grabbed my book, went back to my chair and read for a good bit. A couple of chapters of L.A. Noir which, so far, is not nearly as compelling as A Bright and Guilty Place was even as it follows a similar narrative style (the tale of two men, one light, one dark, or maybe not, in the city of angels) but which I plan to finish.

And then, finally, to here. In case you haven't noticed, I've been having a bit of a blog revivalist movement of my own lately. I'm trying to write daily. To tell stories. I don't know what was the spark, maybe it was our adventures at Taste of Beverly Hills or watching people tell their stories at Lit Crawl or going through my Vox archives and remembering how much I enjoy putting words together. How much I like having a record of what matters to me and why. How much writing, hell, blogging brings to my life.

So, here we are, a routine. It's 7am and all I have left to do this morning is find some breakfast. Maybe I'll take some of this deliberateness and focus into the rest of my day. And maybe we'll do it all again tomorrow.

That would be a change.

Song of the Week - This Prayer: For The Whole World

"All the people." - Build An Ark, This Prayer: For The Whole World (listen + download)

 
(photo by Grace Oh and used totally without permission but I hope she won't mind)

I was going to write about how, while several of my friends have been praising Arcade Fire's The Suburbs, I just haven't been able to get into it but that's boring so let's talk about some music I'm currently in love with instead, yes?

My music listening habits made a right turn somewhere the night that The Martini and I made our way to Grand Performances to see Miguel Atwood-Ferguson and Friends. I knew who he was, of course, as any self-respecting Dilla fan boy or girl should have Suite for Ma Dukes in their collection but seeing him and his compadres live was a joy. Even though we were distracted by loud free concert attendees and the growing chill of our unreasonably cold Los Angeles Summer this year, there's nothing like hearing a 12 piece band perform some of your favorite old school r&b and hip hop jams. What I didn't know, truly, what I had forgotten, was how wonderful and eclectic (and familiar) our local music scene is.

Sure, Los Angeles's indie rock acts get a lot of play but this is a land filled with musicians. Real musicians. The play for peanuts musicians. The play every style imaginable musicians. The play every instrument imaginable musicians. The take the session gig, the concert in the park, the dirty club, the backyard bbq, the world tour and then go to the jam session for free after the show musicians. 

Which brings us to Build An Ark. The Los Angeles collective features not only Miguel and his impeccable arrangements and strings, but a friend—Andres Renteria, a local music scene icon—Carlos Nino, and a whole host of other local cats like Dwight Trible and Damon Aaron. They play this wonderful mix of improvisational and experimental jazz and downtempo that gets under my skin.

It's bright and shiny and deep and powerful. They've released two collections of music this year, Love Pts. 1 and 2, and whenever I hear just a single piece from either, I'm compelled to listen to it all. 

Their desire is to bring peace and calm to the world through music.

Let's everyone play it in our headphones and see if it works.

"All the children. All the people."

Shark Bitten at Taste of Beverly Hills

"This is my home." - Lanu, Mother Earth (Quantic & Aloe Blacc)

While we judged the barbecue, overall, as lacking with the exception of the fine folks at Rancho Rocke (slow roasted pulled pork and a tangy sauce), our favorite bites of food at The Taste of Beverly Hills BBQ event came from CHAYA and SOI 56. CHAYA presented us with melt in your mouth Kobe beef skewers drizzled with a curry sauce. SOI 56 gave us grilled chicken and fish each covered in a unique sauce that was heavenly.

The best bites, however, were the ones we encountered from a three and a half year old boy on the dance floor. As Tiffany and I got up to dance to Quantic's latin rhythms and world grooves, the long haired little one in light up sneakers approached us as his mom sat down nearby. He pointed at Tiffany and and growled. Tiffany growled back. He started to run away and then turned back and said, "No, you Sith," as if that would explain it all.

Tiffany didn't understand. "You Sith," he said again, "And I'm a shark! Rawr!!" I explained to my lady love, "You're supposed to run." And just like that, she was off. The young shark chased after her a few times around the rows of folding chairs before turning to me.

I know what to do when I come across terrors of the deep. Dodging and weaving until I could no longer, I took a seat as well and turned to find that the dance floor had filled. We returned to dancing while our finned friend sought new prey: Little girls, big girls, pretty ladies of all ages.

I said to his father, "These are skills that are going to do him well throughout life." His father nodded in agreement. His mother said with exasperation, "Oh god, no."

Maybe the energetic shark would lose his charm over time but as we spent the next 90 minutes dancing and laughing ending with a high five from our little buddy, it was obvious that it wouldn't be this night.

A Weekend of Words

"I play it. Words and Guitar." - Sleater-Kinney, Words and Guitar

There was a line. Like around the corner and on to the little Sunset bridge line. A 60 person deep line. A sold out music show style line. But it was 6:30pm. The sun was still up. For how cool most folks in this line were, this clearly wasn't for the indie rock concerts that most often make it on the stage at The Echo. The woman behind us, in her 50s or 60s, was a travel writer. She wrote about river rafting and adventure travel but this was her first time venturing into Echo Park from the Valley and she, too, was shocked by the line.

This isn't how literary events in LA go.

And yet, here we were, 20 minutes to get in the door to see 11 authors read for 8 minutes at a time and determine who was our favorite — "A F**king Read-Off" just as the flyer promised. And read they did.The obvious winner was Dennis Danziger, whose deadpan delivery of his excerpt from A Short History of A Tall Jew was uproariously funny. Katie Arnoldi's opening trio of shorts and Allison Burnett's sneak peek at his next novel were also memorable. For some reason, however, I was most interested in James Greer's The Failure. He read it quirkily, removing his glasses and bringing the book all the way up to his face, and then tossed the worn copy of his novel into the crowd, vowing that it was the last time he would read from it. I didn't catch the tome as it flew threw the air but it seemed a perfect first purchase for the nook app I just installed on my iPad.

You see, Lit Crawl 2 wasn't the only wordy nerdy thing of the weekend. Friday involved a trip to House of Secrets for a comic book party with discussions of the new Wonder Woman and my on-going obsession with 100 Bullets (currently on volume 9). The evening ended with a trip to Barnes & Noble, an in-depth explanation of the awesomeness of the Nook with one of their salesmen and a feeble attempt to get Miss Martini to buy Glenn Beck's Fiction Thriller. We needed that trip to Barnes & Noble, though, because that Cadillac Margarita I had with dinner was knocking me on my ass.

Oh, lest you think this weekend was just about me reading things, it has also been about me drinking things. That aforementioned margarita; a Colt 45 in the back of Stories while DJs spun real live records and inanimate objects stared at me; well-poured cocktails at Little Joy while we chair danced at the bar to the delight of all those around us.

You didn't know word nerds got down like that?

We do. We did.

Indubitably.

Look it up.