Monthly Archives: August 2012

Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

Ok, so now it’s almost the end of August. Where has the Summer of 2012 gone? To be honest, I’m too tired to know.

I would love to say that I will spend this fine Labor Day weekend “kicking it,” …well, resting like an old hippie, but it’s not in the cards. The Idelic Hour is back and so is LA’s favorite son, Sean Carlson and his annual Fuck Yeah Festival—now called Fyeah. It really is the best of what our fair city has to offer—two days of delicately chosen artists.

In the past it’s been a volatile event, even at times pure chaos. The festival’s roots are what we in Hollywood would describe as a “beautiful mess.”

“Blacklist” Sean is one of us, and he and his festival are part of why LA continues to be the heart of rock ‘n roll. The cream of the crop in terms of hip touring artists—past, present and future. Food trucks, beer, Red Bull, sweat, The Orwells, Wild Nothing, Dinosaur Jr., Two Gallants, King Tuff, Black Mountain, Redd Kross, Atlas Sound, Twin Shadow, Turbo Negro, Fucked Up, James Blake, The Men, AA Bondy, Hot Snakes, Lighting Bolt, Paul Banks, Nick Waterhouse, and Yeasayer to name some. This festival should be called What the Fuck!

All I can say is I’m “getting ready.” Here we come!

The Idelic Hit of the Week:
King Tuff – Losers Wall

Four years after the release of her self-titled debut solo album, Ladyhawke is finally well-rested and eager to return the spotlight.

Following the release of Anxiety this past May, Ladyhawke and her band are preparing for their North American tour and are ready to play longer and louder than before. Her tour kicks off on September 8th at NYC’s Bowery Ballroom. I chatted with Pip Brown, the writer and musician behind Ladyhawke, about her love for vinyl, fear of Twitter, and what fans can expect on her upcoming tour.

What was the first record you ever purchased?

I can’t remember because I got my mom and dad’s—they had lots of records, and they were the first records I ever played. Our record player broke when I was about twelve, and I remember putting on a Beatles record and spinning it with my hands so I could hear it.

There’s something magical about vinyl for me. We had a Christmas record that was a big medley of ’70s disco Christmas hits that we used to play that on the record player non-stop all Christmas. I basically stole all of my parent’s records when I left home. I took them all with me. I can’t even remember the first record I actually purchased myself.

Is there one record you think everyone should own?

I think everyone should get David Bowie’s Low on vinyl. I love it. One side is like, “this is incredible, how have I not heard this before?” And the other side is really trippy and takes you in a really weird place. Anything old. Or anything in general, really.

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“When I was growing up in the 80s, my parents had a record player. My Dad was a radio DJ in college, and had several crates of classic rock albums from the 60s and 70s. Dylan, The Stones, The Beach Boys, Hendrix, Steely Dan, The Beatles, even an original pressing of the White Album. That record wasn’t in the best condition to begin with, but unfortunately once I discovered it, I played it until the grooves wore out.”

“The first piece of vinyl that I purchased was U2 War for 25 cents from my neighbor’s garage sale. When I was old enough to drive, my friends and I would take regular road trips to the Princeton Record Exchange in Princeton NJ, or to Bleecker Bob’s in the Village. It was always so exciting looking through stacks of records until you found some hidden gem among the piles. I remember finding an original pressing of Led Zeppelin I during one successful search.

U2 has always been my favorite band, and over the years I’ve amassed a great collection of U2 records. Their early singles, in yellow, orange, and white colored vinyl, are some of my favorite pieces. I have the first pressing of their first 45, before they were signed to Island Records. But my favorite of all is “Angel of Harlem” on red vinyl from Australia. There are rumored to be less than 500 that were ever pressed.

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The format that best suits the loud and fast patois of punk rock is the 7-inch. Studies have been done, experiments have been undertaken, and the superiority of the short-player in relating the form’s unsubtle essence has by this point been rather securely established. But the 7-inch wasn’t the only way to harness the genre’s energy. Another method was the compilation, and one of the best of the early bunch was Dangerhouse Records’ six-song one-sided clear-vinyl silkscreened picture-disc Yes L.A.

Indeed, compilations were incalculably valuable in getting a premium of information into the grooves and onto the sleeves of one slab of vinyl, preferably with some tangible theme along for the ride, the better to hip listeners to what was occurring as punk rock gradually slid underground. Those themes could unravel and possibly intertwine in any number of interesting ways. Some comps attempted to detail the diversity of a specific city’s scene, shooting for including as wide a cross-section of styles and attitudes as possible. Other releases retained the focus on one locale but instead of assembling an assortment of sounds for variety’s sake chose to hone in on one sub-sect of the scene, the intention being to illuminate the activities of those defiantly standing apart from the pack.

It’s important to remember that the early days of punk displayed with regularity the opposite of what folks might call “playing nice.” It was music bred from unhappiness with the status quo after all, and the concept of “punk unity” was at this point nowhere in sight. Bad politics, suspect ideologies, and general social ineptitude surely abounded, but far more often there was arguing, backstabbing, arrogance, pettiness, immaturity and competitiveness, the kind of stuff that can happen in any office building or tiny village across the globe.

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“My introduction to the world of vinyl has proved to be a very lasting and visceral one.”

“My parents first bought me a Fischer Price portable (and I believe battery powered) record player when I was probably about 4 years old. It was one of those old super Eighties looking tan and brown colored plastic ones that were popular at the time, the ones that only played 7inch 45s, with a built in speaker and a knob for volume. That thing would ultimately become my prized possession until a (then new) Casio SK-1 “sampling” keyboard forever de-throned it.

If I can remember correctly, the first records I had were a veritable cornucopia of Eighties staples and one hit wonders. Their staying power however had little effect on their integrity, to me they were all amazing and as far as I was concerned, the only music worth listening to in my little 4 year old world. I had Stacey Q’s ” Two of Hearts” (forgot the B-side, I think it was the instrumental), Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer,” Kenny Loggin’s “Danger Zone” (sick!!) The Bangles’ “Walk Like an Egyptian,” The Fixx “One Thing Leads to Another,” and The Romantics’ “Talkng in Your Sleep”.

While those were pretty much all one hit wonders except for Peter, they are still really good tunes, forever etched into the annals of memory. It’s funny when I read back over them because I see quite blatantly where my propensity for minor keyed pop songs comes from.

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Of late there’s been a very welcome flurry of prime reissues originating from the powerhouse vaults of Arhoolie Records. Two of the best come from the man renowned near and far as Lightnin’ Hopkins, the most recent being the 1968 LP Texas Blues Man. It’s a fine batch of tunes from a true legend in prime form, and it’s also an opportunity to get up close and personal with a still potent artifact from the golden age of blues vinyl.

The collecting of blues records can be an intense experience. Over the years so many albums have seen release in this sneakily diverse genre that attempting to become a completist is a foolhardy endeavor. Hell, that’s an understatement; trying to assemble the complete works of a certain prolific artists alone proves to be a mug’s game.

Small press runs, high prices fueled by the rarity of discs in good condition, obscure imports and the maddening fact that assorted 78 and 45 sides never made it to LP or compact disc can turn the discography of a fruitful lifetime bluesman into a study in abject frustration. And that’s to say nothing of some of the outlandish, at times exasperating merchants/dealers that will cross the path of a hopeful collector in their desire to obtain an elusive piece of the enormous jigsaw that is the American blues.

Beginning for the small Aladdin label in the mid-‘40s the guitarist known as Sam John Lightnin’ Hopkins amassed what’s been called the largest output of any single blues musician, a truly formidable stack of wax that will take a dedicated listener a lifetime to fully absorb. He recorded acoustic and amped-up, in ramshackle dives and at Carnegie Hall, in rough and tumble band configurations and in the stark solo context. Along the way his cool and calm demeanor was captured by documentarian Les Blank in the short film The Blues Accordin’ to Lightnin’ Hopkins and had his suave likeness rendered by the brilliant pen of Robert Crumb. And through it all his music remained distinctly identifiable as belonging to one powerful and unique voice.

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