Friday, August 29, 2003

Hi Hopheads:

In the middle of actually getting some work done today I passed out for two hours with no warning. Did this happen to you too?

I didn't watch the MTV Awards last night. I "should" have for my "work," but somehow I just kind of didn't. Sounds like it was a lot of shitty bands performing--Metallica, Coldplay... bummer I missed Xtina/Britney/Madonna but whatever. I have the feeling, somehow, i didn't miss shit. And you can take that to the bank, Frank. Plus, there were no good rock bands getting awards--all Good Charlotte this and AFI that and Evanescence whuh?

On that note, I want to give you this number to keep on hand: 1-800 SUICIDE. It's a number you call when you want to commit suicide. They will talk to you and make you feel better. I'm totally serious. It's a hotline. Just keep it around because you never know when someone around you might freak out.

I just found out suicide is the 2nd biggest cause of death among college students, and it doesn't surprise me a bit. When I was looking through all my youthful memorabilia in Minneapolis last week, I could see clearly that a funny, cocky 17 year old girl (me) had turned into a self-loathing, chronically depressed and overeating Steve Miller fan simply by going to college.

I blame my parents entirely for this. Sorry, Dad. Daddy, in his loving determination to see me survive and succeed, told me I would go to a UC away from home or I would be out on my own with no help from them. For whatever reason, my spine hadn't yet fully formed at 17. I truly believed I would die without my parents' support. I truly envisioned myself serving frozen yogurt for a while, then living in some crashpad in Fairfax, becoming a club girl, getting into drugs, having sex with 30-year-old cocaine dealers, becoming a go-go dancer and backup singer, wearing lots of thigh-highs, becoming a scenester/groupie, turning anorexic, and then dying in a bathroom stall either by some powder or a razor blade. To me, the idea of living on my own in L.A. at that time literally equalled clubs, anorexia, and drugs. I didn't have the confidence in myself to know I could totally handle the city on my own. It probably stemmed from the time I ran away from home at 10 or whatever, and my parents made me watch "Dawn: Portrait of A Teenage Runaway" starring Jan Brady.

Anyway. If I could teach that 17-year-old one thing, or if I could teach my future child one thing, it would be that parental disapproval is not the end of the world. There is no earthquake, or Ice Catastrophe, when a parent turns cold. The LAPD do not come and throw you in the squad car. Also, the Giant Locusts do not come and eat your earlobes. The Killer Bees still won't materialize, and Sasquatch will not appear to prove his existence. The Ghosts will stay in the way backyard like always, and Yertle the Turtle won't turn you into a slave.

Parental approval is not worth being miserable. In fact, nobody's approval is worth sacrificing your own instincts about what's right for you. It's a lesson I'm still dealing with, actually, because it applies to societal approval and personal relationships too.

There's lots of things I want to do that would prolly gain the disapproval of the people I love. Fuck it, man.

I wish I could jump the time-space continuum and go hang out with my 17 year old self again, and let her know she's OK. I think you can do that, actually. My favorite person does it all the time. He doesn't know he's doing it, because he believes in linear time. But I know that everything he does is to liberate the 13 year old back there, who's still stuck in junior high and can't get out. Since I don't believe in linear time, I know I can do the same.

This was a very personal entry and now I feel funny. I should let you know, in the next month I am going to turn this into a private blog. I have this pretty public project coming up that is going to make me want a lot more privacy. I don't know what the procedure is to gain access to a private blog but I guess we'll find out.

love n stuff


Wednesday, August 27, 2003


not much


you know.

what can i say. i got the new lester bangs book. it's not as mindblowingly inspired as Psychotic Reactions. Here we see a more realistic picture of the artist's (and the workman's) body of work. He doesn't always know what he thinks. Especially about the Rolling Stones.

But who the fuck does?

With the whole garage revival thing, lester's detroit/new york-obsession seems more prescient than ever. i heard a song on kroq yesterday by Jet (the band that Tsar completely blew off the stage at Spaceland recently) that's such a retread of the Stooges/Iggy it's not even funny. Oddly, it also sounds exactly like Hall and Oates' "Maneater" at the start. "Maneater" and "Lust for Life" have the same beat. Who knew?

lester said once, i can totally picture myself twenty years from now, puttering around the house, still fondling my old Velvet Underground and Stooges albums. Everyone's going to be doing that, he said, so why deny it.

what's weird is that despite all this, the MC5 still haven't had any kind of real moment-in-the-sun--even though Jack White totally mimics their vocals and his band owes as much to them as to Blind Willie Mctell or whoever.

Maybe they just weren't cute enough.

I have to do quite a bit of work, so I better get going.

I also have to finish watching the Monkees' movie "Head," which I rented like three days ago. It's weird because Julio just told me that he saw "Head" on the big screen a couple weeks ago at the Arclight, and Peter Tork and Michael Des Barres, of all people, were there to talk and shit. LA is such a crazy place. when i was a teenager I was sort of friends with Peter Tork's daughter, Halle. Her name was Halle Thorkelson. She had cool super-short dark hair and an amazing amazon dancer body. She dated Jake just before I did. Jake told me they had a wet-T-shirt contest, the two of them, on the beach in Nicaragua. You see, they were hippie teens who were always going on these political trips to commie latin places. Halle won the contest. Mickey's daughter was also someone that my more glamorous friends were all buddy-buddy with, but I never met her. But there were lots of those musician-kids around.

last night me and julio listened to donovan and tripped out on how good he was. I had never really listened to that much Donovan. It was a drag because I had to admit that Marc Bolan didn't spring fully formed from his own universe. So many of Donovan's lyrics were exactly the sort of thing that the Futuristic Dragon would sing about a bit later. Furthermore, I didn't hear any notable Dylan-rippoffs at all.

Well, anyway, I have to run now. Wish me luck with all the crap i have to accomplish over the next three days.

Love n sparkles


Tuesday, August 26, 2003

Oh, You Pretty Thing:

Today I bought tickets on eBay for Hanson's acoustic gig at the Roxy this Saturday. I gotta represent, yo. I mean, at one time these kids were the biggest stars in pop music. After their second, misdirected album tanked, I guess their label dropped them. i tell ya. These labels have no brains AND no sense of loyalty. If the label hadn't made them fire Ric Ocasek and lamify the production, it might have been a really interesting album. They were trying to grow up and rock out and be normal 18 year olds. Anyway, I still think they're the smartest, cutest 20 year olds around and I love their spirit. They are so into music. So into it. And so weirdly conscious of the poignant beauty of pop hookery. They're going to be a band forever, whether or not anyone buys their records. A few years ago i read they wanted to sound like the Raspberries and Big Star. I take a teensy bit of credit for that, as I've blabbed to anyone I've ever met. (i gave them their first Big Star record.) Of course, that was three years ago, and you know kidds: They wanna be someone different every two minutes. It's very possible they will sound like Blues Traveler. Crossed with the Go-Go's.

I'm still digging "Frontin'" by Pharrell and Jay-Z. But I'm just generally digging the Beat (100.3). Today, the morning DJ, Steve Harvey, made me weep on the freeway, and I knew I was PMS-ing. He gave a lovely little speech about confidence. He said, if you don't have the confidence or the kind of brain that sets grandiose goals, don't worry about it. Just set little goals. If you can't picture yourself five years from now, picture tomorrow. Just make little pictures. He said, inch by inch, anything's a cinch.

Since I am not a big-goal person at all, and I shiver at five-year plans, this felt like deep wisdom.

Radio still makes me cry sometimes. I wish all radio was like that.

After his speech finished, it segued into that song that goes, "is there any more room for me in those jeans?" Black radio is fun. The Beat is a lot closer to old-school black radio than Power-106. Every afternoon Spinderella does the drivetime show with this dude. She kicks ass.

Tonight I had my first scary police-search experience in my new hood. There were five helicopters hovering over the street near me, shining their lights all over the houses and trees for about 20 minutes. It was terrifying. L.A. is a rough place. I made my landlords promise to get deadbolts all over the property, even if they don't do anything but make you fumble for your keys at night. At least my landlords live on the property with me.

I saw a picture or Har Mar Superstar making out with Kate Moss. Har Mar is a great old-fashioned mall in Roseville, a suburb of Minneapolis, and it is the best place to see a movie. I wonder if those two are actually dating? That would make Kate Moss seem more interesting to me. I'm not much into Har Mar but I liked his old bands.

Right, then. The train whistle is blowing across the canyon and that means it's bedtime. Sorry I've been absent--I was in minneapolis for eight days working on my thing and all. I was psychically engulfed. Now I'm back.



Sunday, August 24, 2003

Du Lang Du Lang:

Totally back in L.A.

Minneapolis was gross, and amazing. The air was overheated and steamy and yet somehow too dry--my skin felt syrupy and congested. It was gross. Also, I barely got to go out because I was so busy doing my project thing. That part was amazing. I was so focused on it, I completely lost all sense of courtesy with friends and loved ones. That's not very nice, I'm afraid. I want to apologize especially to my beautiful girlfriend Suzanne. I suck at compartmentalizing. If I am super-into something, which honestly hasn't happened that many times in my life, I get obsessed. It is because I have an obsessive brain. My goal is to obsess over FUN instead of BOYS. Historically I have obsessed over BOYS and it kinda fucked me up a tiny bit. You can't have a good time with a boy you're obsessing over. It's better to obsess over FUN, your own fun, so that the boy-aspect doesn't carry the burden of fun and happiness in your life. It took me a real long time to get hip to this. About twenty years. I'm still learning.

When I got back I went straight from LAX to Orange County to see Argent and Blunstone, better known as the Zombies, with Julio. Julio first turned me onto them, so it was kind of a special thing. It was one of the happiest moments of my life so far, actually. Not much better in this life than sitting next to the likes of Julio, with some glassy rapture-eyes, singing "Beechwood Park" along with Colin Blunstone who's 10 feet away.

I played "Beechwood Park" on Cosmic Slop. That was good.

It was only the third time they had ever performed that song live.

If you haven't done it yet, I will recommend once again that you go to the record store and buy "Oddessey and Oracle."

It's a beautiful day here in Los Angeles and I'm itching to get out in the yard and do some of God's work.

I also want to lie in bed and watch the Monkees' movie "Head," which I have never seen.

More music news in a minute.

There's a "top-gun DUI lawyer" with ads during "Breakfast with the Beatles" on KLSX, which I'm listening to right now. He begins the ad by thanking the police and firefighters for doing all their work to keep America secure during these vigilant times. Then he says he's also doing all he can to keep California secure by helping drunk drivers avoid jail time. I'm not kidding about this. It's classic Bush-era doublespeak. What a weirdo.

I predict the new Outkast song "Hey Yeah" is going to be a HUGE hit. Just a tip. Keep an ear out for it. Outkast inspire me to be a better Beatle, every day of my life. They're really good Beatles.

I will explain what I mean by that if you don't understand.

Welcome home!



Monday, August 18, 2003

the secret spy club is now in session:

the heat here, and the humanity, i guess, are getting to me.

nah, the humanity's all right.

it's the other thing. i tossed for 12 hours last night too tired to get up and too antsy to fall asleep. the heat. the heat the heat the heat. i was sleeping in a teenage girl's bedroom too (she was out of town), which may have added to my mental frantications. the mental vibes, you know. i had an obsessive frantic mind at 15. my life has been defined by an obsessive frantic mind. cliche, it's a blessing and a curse.

i will become like those other people: i will get into the meditation, like the meditation people do. right. that's the cure.

or maybe i'll just get into the medication.

or maybe i'll get into the AC asap, eat popcorn and play music. music, won't you come to me now, let me magnify your glory?

i'm so hot i want to cry, about anything. yesterday i cried like a monkey on the freeway listening to Xtina's "beautiful."

we're the song inside the tune, full of beautiful mistakes

that line kills me.



Sunday, August 17, 2003

totally in minneapolis

a reminder i'm gonna do cosmic slop today 2 pm central time, that's noon in l.a. and 3 pm in new york. i think this is the link to listen.

i am soooo excited.

it will have a uniquely, magically shitty sound for a few reasons: the music's gonna be mostly obscurish '60s and '70s stuff; and it's an AM station; and it'll be coming in over your computer!!!!

I don't know why, but Radio K sounds like AM radio even on the computer. It's something in their spirit.

the bad thing is, in my rush to get to minny and work on my project and everything, i tolly forgot to bring most of the music i wanted to play on cosmic slop. ouch!!!

it's gonna suck!!!



Wednesday, August 13, 2003

Great News!

I love the Stripes again. And now I can admit to myself that truly I loved them the whole dang time. I was just a little hurt, a little shocked, a little bent outta shape. Mostly confused and sad.

The way I felt love again was this: I discovered some wacky and disgusting pictures that saucy jack posted of his finger surgery. Careful! Gross!

When i saw the bone with the crack in it, and i saw how the bone lives inside the skin, and i thought about all the times and ways that bone has moved, and moved my heart, i felt the magic of the miracle of music again. from his bone to my soul, baby.

Nobody but a compellingly insane frontman posts something like that.

I'm so relieved.

I also discovered someone I love, and I have no idea who he or she is: this blog is everything my blog isn't: snappy, factual, up-to-the-minute and actually focused on rock music and L.A.

I also discovered that Katie Hall had a run-in with the Hiltons at the Bev Cen. She's funny as a three-armed monkey.

but just cuz i talk about love and music it doesn't mean it's real love and real music. that's something i just can't talk about. i don't even want to.


Tuesday, August 12, 2003

What it is, Fiddle Faddle:

This was cute. My friend Mark Baumgarten, who knows nothing about girls but plenty about music, is the new music editor at Willamette Week in Portland (congrats Mark!) and he won the gig in a drinking contest.

Mark may be skinny but he does know how to drink. He also has Elton John on vinyl, with pride, and that's OK with me.

I don't really expect any of you to care about Minnesota insiderism, but my other friend Pete Scholtes wrote something funny on his blog about the latest shakeups among the Minnesota Mafia.

The Minnesota Mafia is kind of like the Gay Mafia or the Jewish Mafia, but with different interests: It secretly controls about 75 percent of "serious" music criticism in the U.S. and a high percentage of other arts writing as well. It controlled the LA Times calendar section during the Seventies and Eighties, it controlled the Spin for a while (I'm going to start calling it the Spin), it has a lockdown on many major alt-weeklies, with moles at all the rest. It has been the engine behind my so-called career every step of the way and I'm not ashamed to say so. In fact, it is the ONLY reason i am working on a top secret project--and a secret weather machine.

What i want to know is: how can so many good music writers come from a place with such bad music?

And don't even start with me about the Prince, Bob Dylan, Husker Du and the Replacements. I'm over it.

Nobody ever wants to say it, but Bob Dylan is really not a "Minnesota" artist. Prince, OK. Westerberg, for sure. But Dylan just isn't. He's just Dylan. Jim, I know you're smiling and cringing and you've got some ammo to fire at me, so fire away. You can't win.

I know "Blood On The Tracks" was secretly recorded in Minneapolis and everything, but it isn't a Minnesota album, I'm sorry.

It's a homeless album.

It couldn't be any other way.

I sooooo have to go finish up this article I've been writing for ten years. I have to finish because I am going to Minneapolis in two days, OMG, and I need a clear mind and body for all the mojitos I plan to ingest immediately upon landing.

It's not that I hate Minneapolis. I love it like nothing else. For all its rotten music, Minneapolis is the most rock 'n' roll place I've known. Lot of smokers and people who know about Colin Blunstone's first solo album, One Year, which my Favorite Person just taped for me (with the Idle Race on the other side). Lot of Kiss and Van Halen fans, lot of people who get GBV all the way, lot of people who have the coolest new shit even though they can't hear it on the radio. I get all my cool new shit from my friends in minneapolis, and when I come back to L.A., arms full of cds, my record collection gets instantly hip and ever so elegantly wasted.

I am going to be on Cosmic Slop: Forgotten Pop of the Seventies (and '60s and '80s) again, which is so thrilling I might just barf all over my Donny Osmond record right now. I am in the process of composing my "set," and this time I won't let them strong-arm me into any Paul Williams-making-fun-of-Nilssen-and-Newman bollocks.

You can listen to it live this Sunday--noon-2 p.m. PST. Click on the link above.

some ideas:

Rock N Roll Girl (the beat)

Ooo You (Paul McCartney)

Down On me (Jackal)

Tomorrow (we all together)

Ariel (dean freidman)

(i know there's some repeats from last time, so what)

i'm alive (elo)

it's hard to say goodbye (donny osmond)

magic (pilot)

hurdy gurdy man (donovan)

Lucy (mark antonides--the lost '70s genius from the '90s)

God gave Rock 'N Roll To you (Argent)

beechwood Park (zombies)

let me come closer to you (blunstone)

goody gum drops (1911 fruitgum)

skooby doo (archies)

i think i love you (partridge family)

something faces

what do all the people know (monroes)

switchin to glide (kings)

so it goes (nick lowe)

precious to me (?)

you were so warm (dwight twilley)

still working...

It's so hot today that the Swiss chocolate with whole hazelnuts i'm eating is melting in its foil on my desk.

It's so hot you could kill a fly with your own hand.

It's so hot even the sun is sunburned.

It's so hot the gentle breeze through my house only makes the place warmer. Shoulda kept all windows and doors closed today, as we did growing up in the heat wave Eighties in L.A., and as my mom does now in Minnesota at the peak of summer. Keep everything closed and dark till late afternoon, then keep everything wide open till 6 a.m.

It's so hot, the Led Zeppelin guys on the cover of my MOJO mag are sweating.

It's so hot the flowers in my couch-cover are wilting.

It's so hot my baby just makes me hotter and i don't know whose sweat is whose when he puts his cheek against mine, and it's very fine.

It's so hot and i am so glad i don't have to work today in the sun, i don't have to take the bus, or go to school, or even drive a car anywhere. I am so grateful and happy I can stay in my little house and drink ice mint tea and write and smoke if I want to.

I appreciate it, because there's been plenty of times in my life when I had to be out in the sun.

Weather extremes make you appreciate your life.

In Minnesota, I used to come home from a club at night during a frightening winter cold snap, with snow and mush and crazy cold, and I'd get in bed, and I'd get snuggly and warm, and I'd think, this is the best thing in the world. I get to be snuggly and warm inside my own place. How did I get to be so lucky?

It's something about weather; it heightens your experience of life.

I like extremes of weather for this reason. I'm more alive now that it's crazy hot. The nights are luscious and long, and you want to stay up all night just thinking, or talking with a friend, or looking at the stars, or writing in your journal. I did that last night. I sat on my land lady's porch till maybe quarter to two, then I went up to my house and wrote in my journal till four. I looked down the hill at their house at 3:30 and they were still up, too. She was sitting on the porch smoking, and they were making plans for rebuilding their house.

Last night it just didn't make sense to go to sleep at a normal time. You'd be missing out on too much summer night. I saw Mars too. It looked like a big old crazy pink diamond.

Yesterday me and a few friends of mine worked together on my top secret project. We got to drink beers in the middle of the day, too. That rocked. In time I will tell you about my project. it has to do with music and talking.

Anyway, i have a lot of work to do before tomorrow. So bye.



Sunday, August 10, 2003

hi french fried love chiggers

i just found out that the yucky harry potter herbs i drink for my tummy, the herbs i get from the chinese doctor, contain the key ingredient of "dragon bones." they come from china.

the doc says she doesn't really believe in dragons. she thinks they're fossil bones, maybe dinosaurs.

trip out, man.

i had a friend visiting all week, which was why i didn't blog. she was sleeping on the couch and it just wasn't blog-conducive.

today must be insanely hot. my house is always cool and shady and breezy, and even in here it feels arid and oveny. a good beach day, except i went to the beach friday. we went to malibu, to zuma. it reminded me of my old days writing for Spin and going surfing with this one rock star guy. that was so long ago. since i stopped writing for them, my contact-level with corporate radio stars has plummeted. on the one hand that sucks, because it's really fun to tell your girlfriends stories about hanging out with rock stars, even lousy ones. it seemed to make my friends happy, and i like to make them happy. on the other hand, i don't have to write articles anymore where i pretend bands are better than they are. i get to speak my mind now. everyone should be able to tell the truth. you shouldn't have to lie to earn a living.

the undertow at zuma was so strong they had a lifeguard in a boat watching the beach all day long. there were also cops scooting around on dune buggies looking for beer. those beach cops have the cherriest jobs in the lapd. my friends and i had our beer in a water bottle. we got kind of drunk, lying there on the sand.

i'm overloaded with work so i got to run. i am going to minneapolis thursday to work on my Top Secret Project and I have all kindsa shit to do before then. Plus, last night instead of working or sleeping I got high on Vicodin and sat outside under the pepper trees and watched my landlords build wooden stairs and move plants around and shit, and talked their ears off about multiple dimensions.

it was the best saturday night since---shit, at least since last saturday.



Monday, August 04, 2003

baby sugarpants

I just found out a band I'd never even heard of, with the best name ever, a band called the Exploding Hearts, who apparently wore pink and yellow, and white jeans, and played cool pop punk rock, well, they died in a van accident a week ago.

I don't know, but I just know that they would want new fans, even if those fans only heard about them cuz they'd died. It's sick but I know they would want me and you to like them and be their fans, even if they were dead. they died in a van, for Christ's sake; they wanted fans.

i don't know who you were, Exploding Hearts boys, and I just heard your music now, but I want to thank you for playing your pretty fun smart loving rock music, and for wearing white jeans, and for having the best name ever, and for rocking. it seems like you died while living your dream, so here's to you, beautifuls.

love, your new fan,


ps: nobody was wearing a seat belt except one lady who didn't die. so i think they should invent a kind of seat belt for rock bands sleeping in vans whose seats have been removed. Like some kind of thing attached to the side of the van or something. just so you don't get tossed out. of course, no one would ever use it. that sucks.
hi fussy

I forgot to mention, I need your help. I need two things. One, can you think of, say, the top five cowbell songs of all time? ("Honky Tonk Women," for example.)

Also, I need Music-Related Jokes. For example: How many deadheads does it take to screw in a lightbulb? (50,000--one to screw it in, 49,000 to follow it around till it burns out) etc. Or, what do you do when a drummer comes to your door? (Pay him for the pizza.)

If you could get on this right away, that'd be great.



golden snitch of my heart:

this week i have a story i have to finish that i was supposed to have written months ago. i have never flaked on a story this way before and i don't plan to ever again. it's pure torture. it ruins everything. well, almost everything.

in any case, i prolly won't be able to blog much until it's done.

so a short update: saturday night i sort of accidentally had a housewarming party, my first gathering at my new place. it was supposed to be a very intimate board game party but it kind of almost turned into a party-party. if you invite five people to your house and they each bring one or two people, suddenly you have a party. it was tremendously fun. the party had three engines to keep it going: sangria; board games, and my friend "julio," who made it his job to be the life of the party and get the yahtzee madness going. julio never reads my blog but i want to thank him anyway for helping to make my party special. i also want to thank ben, who partied like a rock star and then jumped a plane to Salt Lake City.

i almost didn't have anyone over, because i thought, no one wants to come to my house, and no one wants to play board games, and i never throw decent parties, and it's going to suck. but julio said, we'll *make* it fun.

there's a lot of people i want to invite over to my house now that the first mini party went ok. so please don't think i'm a bitch for keeping the first one teeny.

now i really have to do this story.

oh yeah by the way: i watched "how to lose a guy blah blah" last night, the video they're trying to sell in all the supermarkets for some reason. they must have lost so much on that one at the box office they're trying to make it up in video. anyway, i thought it would be a good way to eat ice cream and be hung over on a sunday evening. instead it was the worst movie i've seen in two lightyears. it wasn't even worth the actually charming and funny parts. whatsername, goldie hawn's daughter, kate hudson--why did she take this stupid part in this dreadful movie? both her character and matthew mcannoyinghay play evil jerks. evil, evil people who talk like bad scriptwriting.