Monthly Archives: October 2014

Encyclopedia Britannica

Posted on by

Heard an actor–I can’t remember who–confessing in an interview that he was one of those kids who read the Encyclopedia Britannica for kicks. He grew up reading it all the time. He knew all kinds of worthless facts. Obscurities. Science terms and Roman emperors. I laughed and remembered that I too used to read the Encyclopedia Britannica for kicks. I still have the set. It’s shoved in a corner now, by the hat tree, and I’m feeling a little guilty about that. I mean, I grew up with that set. It was my wikipedia. I’d literally surf the set–they called it browsing then–and read whatever hit me as interesting. There were I think 27 volumes, from Aachen to zygote, and I’d sometime close my eyes and pluck one of those volumes out at random, just for fun. Seriously, that was my idea of a good time. My education was probably 99% my own reading, and 1% school. At least what I remember. Otherwise I was bored and not really giving a fuck. Besides, I could fake my way through anything with an essay test. Anything but math. I flunked math. I got a D in pre-algebra summer school. It was a make up class. I’d already gotten an F.

If you’re gonna flunk, I figured, flunk big.

Press thing

Posted on by

So Channel 36 is showing a gig from the John Anson Ford Theatre here in Hollywood–something called Jail Guitar Doors–and there’s all these bands and they don’t give any of their names. There were two rock bands I liked, then this Jackson Browne kinda deal that was, um, a little rough in the playing and harmony thing, and I’m telling my wife there’s some band here trying to sound like Jackson Browne–she can’t stand Jackson Browne–and suddenly they really did sound like Jackson Browne and no wonder, it was Jackson Browne, the real one, not the wanna be, running on empty, and I guess that was David Lindley. Then it was another act. No idea who. The crowd was up on their feet, following orders, and seeming to dig it. I was kinda uhhh but they jammed some on one tune which was cool. Still no hint who anybody is. They’re mostly young. I also don’t know what Jail Guitar Doors is, aside from a Clash b-side.

It just occurred to me that when I was at the LA Weekly I would have known who all these people were. They’d have this press thing, we’d all go, meet the promoters, a few musicians, be mugged by ill-clad samba dancers (well, that happened once), get a tour of the joint, be fed little finger things and drink lots of wine. One of those events where you’re just some bum on Cahuenga until you pull in and your name is on the list and you’re somebody and hanging with Lee Solters at a tiny table and eating pizza. Lee Solters, baby. One degree from Frank Sinatra. Hollywood. I said I’d tell that story some day and I just did. Ya know, the music press lives for this kinda shit. Free food, wine, samba dancers, people kissing your ass. And I always liked that event, but I had to be so nice back then. Not anymore. The less you get invited, the meaner you can be.

Uh oh, all the musicians are on stage doing a Kiss song. I wanna rock’n’roll all night and party every day. This is where I would have left, pulled out onto Cahuenga and been a bum again.

rear view

Those same samba dancers. Or three of them were, anyway. And maybe mugged is an exaggeration. This is from the Queen Mary, though. I was at this event. The table was right about where the photographer is standing. It was a tough gig. I was with a lady who was wearing about as much as these girls were. Weird things happen to jazz critics.

.