I’m excited to see New Jersey’s finest, The Bouncing Souls at the 3rd annual Horton’s Hayride this afternoon. An odd choice for the event, but I’m on board. Here’s to day drinking with coworkers down in San Pedro!
Stupid ballgame plans are keeping me from attending what may be the last Punk Rock BBQ at Liquid Kitty. Stupid building owners not renewing leases make the top of my shit list, and are the reasons for the lack of Punk Rock BBQs. By far the best invite design, that I’ve seen, I may have to finagle some things to make this one happen. Afterall, there will always be more ballgames, am I right?
Another amazing outing at West LA’s prime dive-o-rama entertainment refuge, the Liquid Kitty. Free punk rock, free hot dogs, $2 beers, and a slew of yesteryear dirty-punk icons… BY FAR, the best dive bar in Los Angeles, and this, coming from a guy devoted to the dive bar. Dear Liquid Kitty… thank you.
I ran across a stack of concert tickets last week while digging for non-music related fall decorations (such a thing should not exist in my humble opinion), and I thought that this would be a nice change of pace from the standard peak, pull, and photograph post. Cleverly dubbed the NINJA Tour (combining NIN and Jane’s Addiction… see what they did there?), 5/20/09 would mark the first time I’d ever see Jane’s Addiction perform, and as I’d been listening to them since early Jr. High, I jumped at the opportunity (by driving to the venue) to see this historically prominent act. I all but completely ignored NIN, but Jane’s were nothing short of astonishing, and with no hint of anticipatory letdown. Jane Says… you listen.
It’s a few weeks early, but let’s flashback to Halloween of 2008. The Shrine Expo Hall, good friends, and Simian Mobile Disco. Justice’s DJ set left us a bit unfulfilled, but Perry Ferrell (and the 7 people that showed up) gave the night an interesting, yet unforgettable twist. Hard Fest, kids… circa: 2008.
A close friend and old roommate had a copy of this record back in the day, so when I saw it at Nickelodeon Records in San Diego for a cool $3, I had get it. From the cover, to the tracklist, to the Darin-esk cool within, Darin at the Copa, at least this copy, has found a welcoming place to call home in our collection.
Side note time: Nickelodeon Records was where I found my first Tim Hardin record, 1967’s This is Tim Hardin. I own all but a few of his albums now, and I’m grateful to the two women at Nickelodeon for helping to supply the essential ingredient to arguably the best discography known to man… arguably.
Bob Dylan, for me, has never been the pedestal-placing monarch that many people view him as. I’ve always respected Robert Zimmerman, the Minnesota native, and have conveniently dodged his raspy snarls when hand-selecting my life’s playlist. I certainly have nothing against his revolutionary impact on pop music, or his distinctive brand of folk-rock, I guess I just never really got around to it. With the (more than) understood philosophy of “too little music, not enough time,” the bellowing observations of Mr. Dylan never made the cut. He’d been Chopped before ever entering my personal music kitchen, for those of you who are fans of The Food Network.
An opportunity presented itself back in (date) that would have been unbelievably stupid to pass up. My mom scored free tickets to a Bob Dylan performance in Madison, WI, and kindly offered them to me. Using the term scored as a drug reference when referring to my mother is humorous to me, and kind of appropriate for ol’ Bob’s transcendent vibe. Anyway, to make a short story even longer, my show-going companion and I got the time of the show mixed up (by a good couple hours) and we arrived just as ol’ Times They Are A Changin’ had started his 2nd encore. He played All Along the Watchtower, something else I didn’t recognize, and then he was gone.
Perhaps if I’d been more of a fan (or one at all), I’d have made sure of the correct time, but never the less, I can truthfully say, I’ve seen Bob Dylan.
When the internet goes down at the family B&B under the bellowing roars of a violent, Midwestern thunderstorm, The Groove takes an unscheduled backseat. Completed, but no way to transfer (without retyping from my phone), is a write up about the mishap surrounding my Bob Dylan experience, but instead, all I can offer is a poorly phone-o-shopped fanning of my ticket stubs. Don’t take your wifi for granted, kids.