I'm back from the mines.
Finally finishing up the piece I've been obsessing over on the L.A. rock band. (Hint: they wear lots of socks) I have a warm feeling in my heart because working on this piece brought me home, to my childhood and adolescence in Koreatown and Hollywood. And to get the good news out about the secret and beautiful L.A. no one knows about.
Well, some people do.
I am so fortunate to have work like this. I have an essay in City Pages this week about the White Stripes et al. Nobody seems to like it much, but fuck them. What do they know.
Today Axel, my friend and guitar teacher, took my picture for the contributor's page in a home-made "X" wife-beater, with Hollywood palm trees behind me. Hooray for X.
Yesterday Morgan Freeman (white film director, not black actor) had a BBQ and Tsar played live, on the deck. Dan Kern has a nifty Gibson (non-hollow-body) that sounded warm and wonderful, and which he played beautifully. He is so centered onstage; it's magnetic.
Tonight I'm going to see Beth Orton. Got to go get ready.