Los Angeles Downtown Arts District

mmmSo my neighbor Sheku (who has, or had by the time I ever finish this, his work showing over at Wieland's) told me about this place
called Hangar 1018, way over on Santa Fe and 11th, on the same
corner as that strip club and that gas station, with the entrance off Sacramento St. The paper scrap of a flyer describes: "Cannibal Flower presents, Hangar 1018 One-Year Anniversary, Group Art Show + Performance." Performances included Live Painting by Gear, cuts curated by guest DJ Homicide of Sugar Ray (+ others), Eddie Haskell and his Singing Saw, and the Aesthetic Meat Foundation presenting Sonic Suspension Ritual by Louis Fleischauer. To cap it all off,
Cam De Leon, artist for Tool, was available for poster signing.
"A portion of the events proceeds will be donated to: MAHAPACA
(A Guatemalan AIDS Project)." $7 was the suggested donation.

I don't have a car, so I decided to walk over there, a nice chance to check out the back alleys of our happenin' hood (too bad there are no "trusty woods" though). At least for me they're back alleys, since I live waaay over on the main (but it's not a) drag, at the so-called American Hotel, seeing as how I don't get out much, but more than I used to.
It was a pretty good walk, distance-wise and scenery-wise too.
Much of it seemed deserted, but except for the occasional crack
whore or schizophrenic in a box I felt pretty safe (being a male and
all - hey I'm a lover not a fighter but I can still run when accosted
by a screwdriver-wielding, residentially-challenged human being.
As long as I don't get drive-by shot).

Do you know the way to Santa Fe? I couldn't walk the whole way on
that street because there was a huge filming spectacle being made of us. I realized things are pretty calm over here on our middle, on the
main drag, when I saw motorcycles screeching around and a car exploding in a mass of flames. It looked like something out of Mad
Max, beyond Crazy Gideon's I guess. When I used to have a car I
hated filming because of the parking and the tickets and the
annoyance and the blah blah blah. Now that I've been on the bus for while I barely notice it. But seeing this strap-on of mass destruction, I have some new empathy for those of you living over there where
they filmed Terminator 3: Demolition of the Arts District. But there
is a place to live for people who don't want to be disturbed, um
I think it's called the suburbs? Then again you'd have to be
disturbed to live there.

Hangar 1018 was as described - outside, a narrow but long-enough grass/dirt outdoor patio led through one of those huge metal
garage-type doors into a spacious main room. You certainly could've
fit a small plane in there (or more if you're good at parallel parking).
The patio outside was swarming with people, milling about, drinking, smoking, drooling, looking (or trying to look) cool, bizzing and
buzzing like flies around a big steaming plate of art. What?
There was stuff to sit on. Plus the usual approximately 7,856,423
cards and flyers for other events and services sitting on a table
at the entrance.

Inside there's the main room (where the planes would go), with a
hallway going back and some side rooms (many filled with junk and materiel). All kinds of different types of art were hung on the walls all around, down the hall and going back. There was a lot of really great stuff, plus the usual riff-raff, but something for everyone. I loved
almost all of it. The coolest thing I remember was an enclosed
glass and metal booth with this like, working robot-like thing inside it.

A DJ (there were many throughout the night) was spinning music,
and a few freaks were dancing shamelessly, but most mulling about. You got two bucks off if you came "in costume/walking art," which I didn't know exactly what they meant, but you could tell who did. One guy came in a really cool red dress with a matching purse. At the front were drinks and stuff, good but not too big for about $4 if I remember right, like some beer and a couple other choices for mixing (don't
quote me on any of this, just get the gist ok?, catch my drift,
snatch my snift?).

In the back room Cam had some of his awesome artwork displayed, along with T-shirts. He was signing posters and throughout the night there was more or less of a line to talk to him. I've been designing some T-shirts and it's been a real pain trying to figure out how to get
designs on dark shirts, especially complex computer graphics.
There's special transfer paper, even though it's thicker and maybe
more rubbery because it includes a white underlayer. Some of my designs are bigger than 8.5x11 but I do have some paper I can get around to trying. Simpler designs it's easier to silk-screen. Some
of mine I will do that way, which means I'll have to pay per color per
side, I've seen about $20/screen setup, so that's at least $60 for my simplest shirt. That works when I have a temp job, but then my
energy level is low - you know the drill. Or I can get all the
silk-screening stuff, learn it and do it myself, even though at the
"otel" (you think it will help if you adopt a french accent) I have
no space. I talked to this guy Taz at the last annual LARABA meeting, and he had some ideas but I haven't been able to find him lately. Anyway so I talked to Cam a couple of times and it was a reliefto
find he had the same issue. His designs are so intricate that to silk-screen them takes a 12-step process of layering, starting by differentiating the colors with a computer program. That's 12 different screens for each shirt - he told me the process is so expensive
it was barely worth it. But they came out awesome! Now I don't
feel so bad.

So I left and walked home with a decent buzz and a head and
heart full of art, inspired to make some shirts. And maybe I even
used up the calories from the drinks walking home. Not a bad
evening for a hack from the main drag.
Park your soul plane at the Hangar sometime.

Photofighter Wins One By Rockout

Prelude
Dude, i am so jazzed. Rocked, more like. Plus i'm drunk. It's my birthday and i wanted to go to this "Major Africa Rager," a benefit for Ethiopian refugees sponsored by this cute girl from my church (I hate that word, it sounds like you're sitting in a "pew" and some guy with a wooden pole comes around and raps you on the head every time you start snoring.

But don't worry, this is a nice church in an ugly yellow building where they accept you for who you are - that's the goal anyway; the main guy wants it to be like an AA meeting where you're applauded (figuratively) just for showing up. Plus there's lots of young creative types there, and these four "core values": Grace, Growing, Giving, and Going. But i'm still afraid if they knew what i really think, they'd brand me (literally) a heretic and burn me at some stake or other. If everyone would just understand pantheism, or panentheism, then voila, there's the bridge between the "big three" and Buddhism, Wicca and everything...is that maybe what that song means, "I see my light come shining, from the West unto the East" - or more like vice versa? YHWH just comes from a word that means something like "being" anyway…)

buuuuuttt…after working for this lady at Foothill Records up in La Canada it took me 2 hours to get to Pasadena on the bus, but no busses run up to this party in North Pasadena after 8:00 pm, and it's too far and not too safe to walk (though i think nothing of walking around downtown at 4 am) plus it's far, so i call the cute girl Almaz from a pay phone (but got the message) and then my cute friend Yuniya to see if she could come pick me up, and after trying futilely (yes it's a word, i looked it up) to find a quiet place to hear on her cell she says she'll try and find someone to walk her to her car since it's not too safe, but i didn't get the call back (the pay phone doesn't say it doesn't take return calls, but the phone company must have forgotten not to lie) so i walk around for fifteen minutes trying to get more change to call her back since nothing's open (coffee shop #1 can't open a register unless i buy something, and 37 people are waiting in line at coffee shop #2, so i walk upstairs to Rubio's and they're closed but the guy gives me change for the stupid phone, gracias to him) but this time i get her message, so i leave my own message saying, "This is just too much trouble isn't it? I guess it just wasn't meant to be….but there's something going on downtown anyway, so it's cool." Which is where i wanted to end up eventually anyway.

The X on the back of my hand marks the spot
where the best-made plans of mice and man
to go to an African dance to benefit orphans
turns into a chance to go see some bands and benefit cancer

The Main Event
So i finally get off the Gold Line, go home and change my duds, and walk across the street to Photofighter, the photo studio and performance space on 3rd Street (at Traction Ave.), and they're rocking the block off. The bands rocked, the drinks rocked, the drinks rocked, my knees knocked, my body rocked, the drinks rocked and i danced myself silly (or maybe i was just born that way?). By the time i got there around 11:30 pm the place was blue-ing up with the azure sounds of Whitton, featuring Jamie Whitton and Hanna Smith. Following that the eleven-piece freakified funk of the Position, with its horn section funking it up and blowing away, girl duo harmonizing, lead zinger Solomon Burke, Jr., war guitar, free bass and far from doldrum drums. It was a treat to hear a horny sound around these days.

Somewhere in the mix were R&B rockers G-Otis & The Constellations, moving to the grooving with the coolest leopard-print hat i wish i had. Then the handsome dancesome Andersons (three brothers "Separated At Birth" - two white and one black or two with short hair and one scraggly Ronnie Van Zandt-looking dude or two guitars and one bass, plus an unrelated one on drums). It sounded like their songs might have all been pop covers, but it turns out they wrote almost all of them themselves (except for a few like "Gimme Three Steps," which was a crying shame they didn't even get to the chorus). I even bought one of their CDs for five bucks. Then finally making a killing it all off was the full-on blast of the Spencer Rogers Express. It all got louder as it went along, and there was plenty of variety to spice up the life of the party.

Bands performing earlier (that i sadly missed) were: singer-songwriter Michael Whitton with special performance by Kellie Maltagliati, and Hollywood film songwriter Peter Salett performing songs from his newest album "After A While" with special guest Don Piper, picking a peak of pickled party people.

This 1st Annual Photofighter Charity Band Night put on by Photofighter Studio (Barrow Davis) and Big Scary Tree Recording Studio (Jeb Lipson, next door), was billed as the Anti-Rave Real Music Festival (they aren't by any means "anti-rave" but it was good to see a good old rock show at the concert-gabow this merry go-round). The plan is to hold a festival each year, perhaps in the future to last a whole weekend, with benefits from each show and an accompanying CD to benefit charity. This year's well-deserved organization was the weSpark Cancer Support Center, in honor of their friend Rob Mulloy.

Did i mention I'm still drunk? The room was great, filled with plenty of people but good-n-plenty of space to spare to shake your beauty; and the crowd ebbed and flowed like the alcohol or my brain waves or both, in a sort of psychohellenistic symbihypnerotic orgy of fun.

And the drinks KICKED MY ASS. They had everything from Tanqueray and juice (thanks, Snoop) to Whiskey and rye (or something) to soda to water to Red Bull to red red wine. Plus there were a few free drink tickets floating (sic) around (not the best bet for a benefit i guess, but the last singer threw a few bones from the green room for our benefit). And i got to carry my merry home since i live right across the street.

Thank you God, whatever you are or aren't, for bringing me back home and letting me get drunk on my birthday to forget about…no wait, remember life, for awhile. And now i pass me out to sleep, but before i go bless mommy, and daddy, and photofighter, photorighter, photorooter, photoshooter, a photo's worth a thousand words. And music's worth a million.

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Arts' District North Side Represent- Part I
The Downtown Playhouse

The Line Chronicles are Red
Pedro's Bongo is Blue
We built this city on Art and Soul
Good as Gold is the line that connects you

(Not that gold is as good as peace, love and understanding. But I progress… )

A funny thing happened at the Downtown Playhouse the other night. It was called "The Red Line Chronicles," a slice of commuter life type thing that was very well done and quite interesting. The drama was written and directed by Michael Beubis, who co-founded the company.

Tim Keating's set design was beautiful in its bold simplicity, representing a station along the Metro Red Line. The audience was "on track," so to speak, and consisted of 4 rows of about 10 seats, with a good view for everyone. The performance I attended was extra seating room only, as chairs were placed on the side.

Stretched from one end of the stage to the other were flat overhead lights that gave a great sense of longitudinal latitude. The coolest thing was, the musicians were in the middle of the back of the stage, behind a black fabric that made a great effect when the light shone on them from behind it. Music was written and performed by The Elliott Cane Trio (half of the sextet). The set of six vignettes (off Vignes St.) showed some interesting interactions that might happen in Los Angeles while people wait for a train.

Scenes included: a high-maintenance woman wants to leave her ne'er-do-well husband, an organized woman tries to set her hippie sister straight, a wanna-be yuppie wants to go uptown but art doesn't get it, an attentive father tries to get through to his kid before the wife takes him away, former classmates meet again (What have you been doing with your life? --Sabotaging it), and a religious son-of-a-preacher man tries to restrain his profane mother.

The casting was excellent or the acting was great. Maybe it was both. The actors fit the characters so well, it was as if they weren't even acting. And that's the idea, right? (Some of the dialogue may have been a bit direct, but that didn't matter, as it was earnest and honest.) My favorite characterization was that of the father (Anthony Montes) trying to reach his son. The youngster (Kevin Elias) was excellent in his first role, and evidently he also contributed good dialogue suggestions. (In that scene was also a brief appearance by Mayra Rodriguez who did an excellent job as stage manager as everything seemed to flow effortlessly. Lighting by Cecil Schmidt and sound by Brad Ellis also worked well.) But all of the scenes contained good acting and memorable portrayals.

Along with Michael Beubis, The Downtown Playhouse was founded with Christine Lear in 1991 "with the goal of creating a company of theater artists who could combine their diverse talents to produce quality productions in the downtown area." It has put on over 20 plays to acclaim in the L.A. Times and other local papers, made an award-winning feature film, Fault Lines, and is currently in preproduction for its' second film, The Long Fall.

Cheers,

Tom Minkler

notes:
The Playhouse also holds an ongoing acting workshop based on the Meisner technique, including scene nights for invited guests. The location includes facilities (including a darkroom and full dance studio) used by City Hearts: Kids Say "Yes" to the Arts. City Hearts is a non-profit organization that has offered free visual and performing arts classes to children in Los Angeles since 1985. It was founded by Sherry and Bob Jason based on the belief that "…the discipline and healing of classes, workshops and performance experiences in…the Arts are the most powerful tools to communicate with and…provide positive role models, enrichment and inspiration for our children…at risk from…the cycle of poverty, neglect, abuse, homelessness, delinquency and violence."
The Downtown Playhouse: 213.626.6906.
929 East 2nd Street, Suite 205 (on the corner with door on Vignes St.)
City Hearts: 310.455.2898

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Archives-Out and About

After seeing "Urgemon" by Kathryn Hargreaves @ Dangerous Curve, I realized I need to get out more.

So many things to do in greater or lesser L.A, proper or improper, but it's been easier to stay home and be Saturday night dead. Plus, it was Valentine's horrid day and who wants to be alone without a heart? A good place to start was here. Normally when out seeing something I feel like I'm wasting time watching them when I should be home working on my own, but not this time.

Got there, at 8:10 pm, shortly after the performance started. Overhead were streams of strings strung parallel askew across the room, between the walls, symptoms of the unseen things that connect all.* (see installation notes below) High above on the wall, a screen flickered between symbols: peace, hammer sickle and swastika, emphasized excellently by the industrial rumble of husband Tim Quinn a set of algorithmic compositions called "All Those Jewels."

The artist was lugging a big box and struggling to get it out the window. A cell phone rang and the artist glowered, "...don't you know that's rude?" as she grimaced with the box.

When the box fell open it dumped a bunch of little valentine baskets. Parcels of heart packed in a box, wrapped in plastic, valentines inside trying to get out. Teddy bears in a cellophane, foiled again. A big burden to lug around and a struggle to give out. With great effort and at great length she managed to pick one up and struggle towards the onlookers against the wall. She finally handed a basket off and backed away. With great effort she repeated the gruesome task, at times hesitating or backing off. At one point she struggled to reach up to the flickering screen. Fell asleep on the floor, and asking how long maybe ten minutes? But it was only two. During the distribution her cell phone rang, "When is your performance? It's right now and you're in it!"

Afterwards the indefinable sounds of Drew Schnurr. Sorry, this was the part where I did most of my mingling, such as it was. I remember I liked it, and it magnified and expanded on the industrial accompaniment of the performance. For future events at this space it might be interesting to see what could be done with the acoustics of the room.

Throughout the event there was wine and healthy organic food from fantastic Chef John Saslow, plus chair massages from Life Balance Day Spa, all free.

And to crown the whole thing off, the soaring operatic vocals of Esperanza with amazing acoustic guitar accompaniment by Bret Farkas. The acoustics of the room worked much to her favor. They wrote the songs and she's working on a website. I hate to try and label music because each person has their own style, but two things this reminded me of are: new soprano Summer, and the sel-titled CD project "Slapp Happy Humphrey"- Japanese folk songs by Morita Doji, sung liltingly and accompanied by acoustic guitar (with added bursts of melodic guitar noise, not needed here).

*(They strung the string all in one day; especially designed for wrapping fireworks. Everything had to be ordered and took an extra week. They drilled all the holes in the ironwork surrounding the windows themselves.)