Near the end of CSS’ set at The Regent, singer Lovefoxx reminisced with the crowd about the band’s previous gigs in Los Angeles. There was their first show in the city, somewhere in the Fashion District. At least one person in the audience was there. There was some back and forth about a show where Lovefoxx lost her voice. As for this show, it was jam packed. But, Lovefoxx said to the crowd, the love for CSS in the room might not have been about the band itself.
“We were playing in the background of your life,” she said. “And I think that you’re all here because you just love your history and your songs. We’re just lucky to have been in the background on your MySpace page.”
Mary Ocher live at 2220 Arts + Archives in Los Angeles on Thursday, January 16, 2025 (Pic: Liz O.)
“It feels like the apocalypse,” Mary Ocher said on stage at 2220 Arts + Archives. “But,” the Berlin-based artist added, “it feels like the apocalypse everywhere.”
It’s Thursday night, one week and one day after the wildfires began, and we’re in a small, indie theater on Beverly Blvd., just outside of downtown Los Angeles. In all honesty, the city looks better than it did a week ago. Last week, the downtown sky was orange-gray, casting a haze over streets, still littered with the debris from the windstorms, that made everything look like a 1970s photograph. Even with a mask, it was hard to walk around those first few days without feeling ill. Headaches, sore throats, coughs— the sort of things you might expect when wildfires loom in the distance— came and went with open windows and errand runs.
Ride live at The Fonda on Thursday, December 19, 2024 (Pic: Liz O.)
Early on in Ride’s set at The Fonda on December 19, as the band played “Dreams Burn Down,” the spotlights danced furiously with every wave of guitar noise that crashed over the crowd. Small specks of light flickered across the dark walls of the theater, burning out as soon as the shoegaze interludes cut back to the song. Everything was tightly choreographed, the lights and sound so in sync with each other that it was as if I had been swallowed by the music. When you can imagine the music as this living, breathing entity and you are, if only for a moment, existing in the belly of it, it’s an amazing, and rare, feeling.
This was my first Ride concert and, honestly, I think it’s an ideal time to see the band. While I love the now-classic albums, Nowhere and Going Blank Again, Ride released an album this year, Interplay, that’s a career best. It’s a fantastic collection of psychedelic guitar pop and one of my favorite albums of 2024. If you haven’t heard it yet, you should fix that asap.
I’ve been listening to Interplay since it was released earlier this year and had wanted to finally catch Ride on this tour. In fact, I was about to check for tickets when my friend Melissa was all like, just won tickets to see Ride, want to go with me? Of course, I did. This was an even better opportunity. Melissa and I have been friends since sometime around Y2K, when we crossed paths nerding out over British bands first in a chat room and then IRL at places like Cafe Bleu, a club night in West Hollywood at the time where you could actually dance to “Twisterella” and sway to “Vapour Trail.” Yet, neither of us had seen Ride before, so this was bound to be a memorable night.
We were looking for a movie to see because it was Tuesday, when tickets at Alamo Drafthouse are close to half-price. The problem was that little looked particularly worthwhile. I have absolutely no interest in ever seeing Wicked, Nightbitch looks like something I might eventually watch if it turns up on streaming and, IDK if I was really in the mood to be terrified by Hugh Grant in Heretic.
But, this Y2K, the new movie directed by Kyle Mooney, sounds pretty funny, especially since we’re old enough to remember the build-up to that New Year’s Eve. In real life, people spent a full year playing “1999” ad nauseam and hawking survival kits, but, then nothing happened. The sky was not all purple. People weren’t running everywhere. We didn’t even get a computer crash. The world remained somewhat normal, or so we thought. And another two decades would pass before I could listen to “1999” again.
Cadal live at Slipper Clutch on November 7, 2024 (Pic: Liz O.)
There are two people in front of me in line at Slipper Clutch, but, from my vantage point at the top of the stairs, I can see inside the venue’s top level bar. The crowd is solid, especially for a Thursday night downtown. Out on the streets, there’s no foot traffic. I can only imagine that downtown Los Angeles’ residents are safely tucked into their luxury apartments, broadcasting night time rituals or sleep hacks or whatever inanity is trending on TikTok this week. Inside Slipper Clutch, though, there’s a lot of life. The bar is bustling, people are walking towards the dance floor. I can hear a band play live, but at this point, I’m not sure which band that is.
I’m at Slipper Clutch to catch Cadal, a band from Santiago, Chile. For the past couple weeks, I’ve been listening to their album, Fiesta Nueva, which came out last year and is full of raw, dark punk energy. On this tour, Cadal is only playing two dates in the U.S., one of which is this show on a Thursday night in early November. It’s the sort of show you wouldn’t want to miss if you’re into borderline-goth, danceable indie bands. Plus, it’s just not that often that you can catch a stacked lineup with a headliner who has never played L.A. before for just $10 at the door. That’s the kind of show I’m compelled to support.
The scene at Gloria Molina Grand Park for the Dodgers World Series victory parade on Friday, November 1, 2024 (Pic: Liz O.)
After Mayor Bass speaks and the Dodgers continue down the parade route, blue and white confetti rains across the mass of fans gathered in front of two giant TV screens at Gloria Molina Grand Park. The voice of the late, great Vin Scully rises over the cheers from the fans, sounding as if it was a broadcast from the beyond, before the DJ drops in “It Was a Good Day.” The crowd sings along with the Ice Cube jam, filling in when the DJ scratches out the less family-friendly lyrics, although I doubt anyone here would complain about the content of the song. Thirty some-odd years later, everyone in L.A. knows that Kim can do it all night.
An estimated 250,000 people turned up in downtown Los Angeles for the Dodgers World Series victory parade on Friday morning. My husband and I were amongst them. The park was already pretty packed when we arrived at about 10 a.m. We were able to get close enough to see the buses moving beyond the trees at the edge of the park, but the people on those buses were hardly visible. Those jumbo screens came in handy. Still, I’m listening more than I’m watching.
For the past week, I’ve been following the siren call of the World Series, a sound so captivating that sucks you deeper and deeper into the game until, suddenly, all of your timelines, both online and IRL, are Dodger blue.
Thomas Mellan live at The Grayson DTLA for Italo Horror Disco on Saturday, October 19 (Pic: Liz O.)
The Grayson is slammed when I arrive Saturday night. It’s just a little after 10:30 p.m., but there are crowds of people hovering over the bar, more huddled in the booths and gathered on the floor. Almost immediately, I spot someone on the dance floor, a friend who I haven’t seen in a while. We say hi and comment on the music and get back into the groove. It’s Italo Horror Night, L.A. Industrial/Dolce Vita’s Halloween party, and the vibe inside is giallo and jams. The Beyond, the 1981 Lucio Fulci film, is playing on a TV above the bar. David Christian just dropped “One Night in Bangkok,” but it’s not the Murray Head version that I know from countless spins on L.A. radio stations. I make a mental note to ask him about it.
Los Bitchos live at Teragram Ballroom in Los Angeles on Thursday, October 3, 2024 (Pic: Liz O.)
At 10 p.m. on Thursday night, Belinda Carlisle’s 1980s pop hit “Heaven Is a Place on Earth” played inside Teragram Ballroom, the volume increasing as the lights on the stage dimmed, then glowed purple. The members of Los Bitchos— four full-time members and one touring guitarist— take the stage and dance as they adjust their instruments, waiting for the song to nearly fade away before beginning a set that sounds nothing like Belinda Carlisle.
On Talkie Talkie, the new album from Los Bitchos, you can hear a bit of an ‘80s pop sheen in the production. It’s a subtle nod, but it’s there in the “La Isla Bonita” vibe of “Talkie Talkie, Charlie Charlie” and the dreamy Balearic disco of “Don’t Change.” On stage, though, Los Bitchos’ sound is raw and urgent, like they’re leading a party that might teeter— to appropriate a B-52s song title— out of bounds at any second.
Paul Barker of Lead Into Gold at Slipper Clutch on Thursday, September 19, 2024
Paul Barker is playing upstairs at The Slipper Clutch, in a tiny, attic-like space covered with murals and old show flyers. It’s loud, and I forgot my earplugs, so I hang out towards the back of the room, which is what I did when I saw Ministry many years ago— back when Barker was in the band— at a show that ranks at number 2 on the list of loudest concerts I’ve ever attended. This show at Slipper Clutch, however, isn’t as much of a raucous. The raw and rhythmic music is comfortably booming where I stand.
As for the vibe, it’s one that I’ve always known, the fringe of L.A. nightlife. It’s also one that I often fear is edging closer to extinction because there are fewer independent spaces in L.A. and fewer events that are more about the music than whatever shit went viral last week. And, in the most pessimistic moments, I think that there are simply fewer people who are interested in leaving the house and taking the chance on something that an algorithm didn’t send their way.
Future Islands live at The Shrine on September 18, 2024 (pic: Liz O.)
I saw the first Future Islands fan rush the stage at the end of “Corner of My Eye,” which closed out the band’s main set at The Shrine on Wednesday night. The way I remember it, which may or may not be 100% accurate, Samuel T. Herring was singing “thank you, thank you.” Someone in a plaid shirt ran up from audience’s right hand side and embraced the singer. Security appeared. Herring said something along the lines of, it’s okay. Later on, when Future Islands and openers Oh, Rose were in the midst of a “Vireo’s Eye” dance party during the encore, I saw two more people hop on to the stage, where they were promptly chased off by security. It was a déjà vu-inducing scene for me, and maybe for anyone else in the crowd who has been to a Morrissey show.
It was a fitting end to the night because, nearly two hours earlier, when Future Islands kicked off the show with “King of Sweden,” I thought, this vibe is so Morrissey. Herring has a different style of performance than Moz— there’s a good amount of HIIT-level cardio happening during a Future Islands show— but he also taps into a similar level of intensity that is infectious. The teenage girls in front of me bopped up and down excitedly. The totally ordinary looking dudes a few rows in front morphed into dancing machines. I wondered if anyone would rush the stage. It took a while, but they did.
