Oh man, how did these kids sneak up on me like this? I've been watching the Chromatics with an eagle eye ever since I first heard the dark, moody atmospheres of their song "In The City." From there it was a treasure trove of cool tunes via their Myspace page, including covers of Bryan Ferry's "My Only Love" and Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill." The music is kind of drone-y and weird, with singer Ruth melodically talking over the narcoleptic beats and tinkly synthesizer squiggles. In short, they're tops in my book. Imagine my excited surprise to discover they'll be doing their thing in town twice this weekend.

The Portand cuties start on Friday night at the "Weekend Warrior" party. It's happening at 122 Glendale Blvd in Echo Park on the 2nd Floor. Enter in the back alley behind the Bob Baker Puppet Theatre. Other acts include Hard Place and I Can't Read. DJs are Savage Fantasy and Blazing Lazer. Doors at 10PM.

Our deliciously detached anti-heroes will also hit the stage at the Echo on Sunday, 9/1, as part of the Part-Time Punks Party, which we already love. Talk about a nice way to kick off the Labor Day festivities. Word. I'll be the one coveting whatever they're selling at the merch table. 

 

OK, I’ve now officially lived in L.A. longer than any other city outside of my beloved hometown of Detroit. How it is that I’ve done it without catching at least one game at Dodger Stadium is a mystery.

I made my virgin voyage to the stadium earlier this summer to catch the Police reunion concert (awesome show, and Stewart Copeland is among the greatest rock drummers of all-time), and was immediately taken by the grandeur of the place.

So when I got the call that there was a ticket available for last night’s game against the Washington Nationals, I was intrigued. When I found out that the ticket was in the LA Times executive suite, I couldn’t say “oh HELL yes!” fast enough.

The field shot above is the view from the suite. But really, I should’ve been taking pictures of the elaborate and calorie-laden spread inside the room. I mean, the Dodger Dog station alone was enough to bring tears of joy to my eyes (or maybe it was just the onions). The refrigerator full of beer quickly became my new best friend. But then, the magic happened. The dessert cart arrived.

The dessert cart was loaded with piles of the most decadent displays of confectionary magic this side of the last time you got stoned and ended up in front of the bakery counter at Auntie Em’s Kitchen. The Red Velvet cake was divine, and the carrot cake was among the best I’ve ever tasted. I couldn’t even look at the Snickers cheesecake. But this was my favorite treat found on the cart.

A candy apple covered in M&Ms? Is this a baseball game or the munchies room at the Cannabis Cup?

By the time we rolled ourselves out of the stadium at the end of the game, our Dodger heroes had come from behind to beat the Nationals in a blaze of glory. Think Blue!

There are still plenty of games to take in before the season ends. And I hear that they can be as much if not more fun in the cheap seats as they are in an executive suite. Plus you can stuff your face just as righteously as the fatcats upstairs with their all-you-can-eat deal. I’ll try it one of these days, but not before I get my hands on some of that Snickers cheesecake in the suite. And another Dodger Dog. And maybe a couple more Heinekens…

1. Friday night was spent at the Hyperion Tavern hanging out with Metromix style maven Caroline Ryder at her party. It was fun. Chilling outside, met the very cool patrons of a new café two north of the joint. It’s yet to officially open, but they were kind enough to hand me a Red Stripe and make Jessie an exceptionally tasty cappuccino. Good people.  

2. Saturday was super-fun. First up, a tasty morning brunch at Mani's. There was a quick cloudburst over Fairfax while eating. The rare phenomenon made everyone in the area a little giddy. Later, the eternally cool team of Motormouthmedia honcho Judy Miller and her hubby Mark had a little get-together around the pool. The guys from No Age and Deerhunter were there, although Bradford Cox was passed out in the bedroom most of the time. When he finally emerged groggy and in search of In-N-Out Burger, Judy introduced him to everyone. He took it upon himself to replace our names with ones he deemed more appropriate. My Bradford Cox name is “Jimmy.” I’m cool with that.

3. Sunday was kinda awesome. For one, when’s the last time you watched the movie “Singles”? I’m just saying.

4. Brunch at Home is always such a good thing. The food is good, and they have a full bar. I'm just saying.

5. Leaving Home, happened upon what appears to be a killer vegan spot called Green Leaves. Ran into Laura and Kyle who were heading in for brunch. They gave it the highest recommendation possible, saying they hit the spot for grub on the regular. I know where I’ll be noshing next weekend.

6. CENSORED FOR CONTENT

7. Interlude (“Like New”)

8. CENSORED FOR CONTENT

9. Finally was able to pry myself away in time to hit the Echoplex moments before Deerhunter took the stage as part of the Fuck Yeah Fest. Ran into Judy and Mark. Mark tells me that Bradford was up all night burning music from his vast and amazing collection.

10. Deerhunter plays. They are a zillion times better than they were when I saw them open for the Ponys at the Echo a few months ago. They meander through tunes like “Octet” and “Wash Away” in a controlled but still semi-chaotic manner. Bradford does not wear a wig or a dress, but a cool t-shirt with graphics from the 1981 ska documentary “Dance Craze.”

11. I bought a Deerhunter shirt. Yes, I am a music nerd.

12. Can someone please help me secure a copy of the Deerhunter/Hubcap City 7-inch on Rob’s Records? I know there are only 300 in existence, but I need Deerhunter’s “Greyscale” on vinyl.

13. Thanks, and take care of each other out there.

On my way out of last night's awesome Yeah Yeah Yeahs show, I saw Vincent Gallo kicking it with Eric, the super-tall guitar player that you might remember from his days in Hole. These two drunk girls were hanging all over Gallo, who was nice but didn't seem interested. He happily agreed to pose for a photo, and then struck this casual pose which made me laugh. Chill dude, and chicks dig him. Nice work, if you can get it.

 

Karen O and I go way back. No, not like that, Mr. Dirty Mind. I've just been a big fan from the moment I first got my hands on their debut full-length, "Fever To Tell." At some points, you could've called it fanatical. Which is why I was kind of discombobulated around the solidly sold out Yeah Yeah Yeahs show at the Mayan last night. Enough that it took me awhile to actually make my way down there (I kind of committed the cardinal sin of concert-going: leaving the house without my ticket. Doh!). By the time I got there, the place was a giant sardine can of humanity, forming an impenetrable wall between me and anywhere even close to the stage. Not good. Hmmm, time to get crafty.

That’s when I spied the doorway leading out to the smoking patio. Going outside, I see that there’s another door leading back into the theater, only this door opens up onto the main floor area. Score!

I wormed my way into the crowd and got my face rocked off by Karen and the boys. She’s definitely calmed down some since the last time I saw them play at the Fonda a couple of years ago (Karen wore a folding chair that night. You try pulling that look off). But she’s no less intense. Of course, she still broke out her signature moves, like deep-throating the microphone and spitting a geyser of beer into the air. An acoustic version of "Maps" was appropriately weepy. She donned and cast off a variety of killer accessories, like the bowler hat with a veil made of long, glittery ribbon and a giant cape with a detatchable hood. 

So yeah, they were awesome. I’m still stuck on the immediate gratification of songs from “Fever to Tell,” but “Cheated Hearts” and especially “Phenomena” from "Show Your Bones" were epic. Yeah Yeah Yeahs still got it, no doubt.

PS: Will someone over at Interscope PLEASE holla at a player? Seriously.  

 

Um, yeah. What can you really ever say about the Sunset Junction the Monday morning after? You're usually doing well if you can say anything at all.

While my mouth is slowly learning how to function properly again, I do remember a few things. Like seeing freak-folkster Devandra Barnhart kicking it on Sunset with a cute girl. I saw two people completely incapacitated on booze (or whatever) passed out on the ground. One was a girl on the side of the street during the Buzzcocks set on Sunday. She had a sweet haircut. Too bad it was plastered with her puke. Not a good look. The other was this dude propped up against a car drooling while his friend pointlessly held his hand. We think getting him somewhere safe and an IV drip of water would’ve made more sense. Yes, it was yet another Sunset Junction.

Lots of good things happened, too. I saw my old friend Joe Donnelly. I made some new friends (wink!). I ate really good food and quaffed really good beer at MMX LA's fearless leader Deb's spot, which was conveniently Junction adjacent.

But you don’t want to hear my silly stories. You want to look at pictures of the cool bands that played. So I’ll shut up for now.

I'm so excited and I just can't hide it. Tomorrow, er, later on today, I interview Daryl Hall on the telephone. That's pretty much all I need to say, really. Daryl Hall. Seriously.

Oh, one more thing: if you don't have tickets to one of their shows at the Hollywood Bowl next month—what are you waiting for?

Once upon a time, Van Halen was the most dangerous band in America. Long before "Jump" and the birth of "Van Hagar," David Lee Roth, Michael Anthony and the Van Halen brothers Eddie and Alex ruled the world of heavy metal boogie rock. Hard as eff, menacing and super sexy, their initial album run—from the instant classic debut through the underrated psycho-sexual opus "Fair Warning" and the blockbuster "1984," no one could even touch them in terms of sheer power, style and in-your-face attitude.

Yeah, a lot has gone down over the years. And where the VH reunion was supposed to be the mega-event of the year, Eddie's stint in rehab and more internal riffing has the whole thing stumbling out of the gate with more of a whimper than a bang. I'm still not sure what to make of Eddie's son Wolfgang (with Valerie Bertinellli!) on bass instead of Mike Anthony. The kid's what, 16? Not exactly who I imagine singing background vocals on "Ain't Talkin' ’Bout Love."

I'll find out what the deal is first hand on Monday morning when I nervously attend the press conference where the reunited VH will officially announce the details of their impending tour. WIll Eddie be sober? Will David Lee Roth be coherent? Will Valerie be there watching over Wolfgang? It's going to be one manic Monday. Details at 11…

I was still in a haze from meeting Martin Gore at Amoeba. Driving eastbound on Sunset, I was stuck at a red light on the Gower intersection when an SUV full of dudes came careening around the corner, screaming “FLAVOR FLAV!” and honking the horn. I look over and standing on the corner in a Chad Pennington NY Jets jersey next to a very swanky convertible was indeed Public Enemy sidekick/VH-1 reality star Flavor Flav.

Being situated across the street from soul food institution Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles, there was a large crowd of people all snapping pictures and calling out Flav’s name. A circle of kids rushed up to get autographs and touch his omnipresent clock. I pulled over and joined the fray myself. I mean, this slight little man with the money bandana and gold teeth has actually made out with the super-fine “Hoops,” the winner of “Flavor of Love.” Not to mention rapped on such hip-hop classics as “Don’t Believe The Hype” and “Fight The Power.” You can’t front on that. Mad respect to you, Mr. Drayton.

Sunday afternoon, I found myself at Amoeba—again. I’ve been haunting their aisles even more than usual lately, thanks to a couple of upcoming DJ gigs. I’d done some major damage the day before unearthing all sorts of sweet vinyl sides. Yeah, I said it: vinyl. I know, I know. I just love it. Is that so wrong? But as it happens at Amoeba all too often, there were a couple of things that I forgot. Which is why I ran in again on Sunday to pick up a particular piece that they happily had in stock.

So I’d procured my treasure, and was heading through the R&B section for one quick pass when I noticed someone that looked extremely familiar. It only took a moment to realize that the slight blonde guy with the basket full of tunes was none less than Martin Gore of Depeche Mode.

OK, I could go on forever about how huge a part Depeche Mode has played in my life. From my first real girlfriend through all sorts of trials, tribulations, parties, concerts, feature films, a certain Detroit after-show where DM came to check out DJ Derrick May—their albums are like bookmarks in my life, the soundtrack to more memories than I can even remember (ha). Which is why I looked like a deer in the headlights when I was finally able to muster the courage to say hi. He was very gracious and shook my hand. I managed to say something about being a big fan and thanks. It was all kind of a blur.

It didn’t fully hit me until I’d made my purchase and stumbled back to my car in a daze that I’d just run into MARTIN GORE. The man that wrote songs like “Stripped,” “Black Celebration,” “Lie to Me”—songs that invoke vivid images and emotions every time I hear them. I just sat there for a moment, quietly freaking out. Martin Gore. Damn, that's just crazy...

It was strictly business at Blipster HQ today. We set a goal for the team: if we got enough work done, the treat at the end of the day would be attending the L.A. premiere party for TLC’s new show “L.A. Ink” starring the ridiculously hot inkstress Kat Von D. We’ve been in love with Kat ever since spying her on the cover of a local tattoo magazine at the newsstand on the corner of Cahuenga and Hollywood. Seeing her grace giant billboards and the sides of buses promoting her new series has been glorious in ways I can’t even describe. Needless to say, we handled our business in record time and high-tailed it to the Sofitel hotel on Beverly to get up close and personal with our current fantasy girl #1.

Hitting the spot, I run into MMX team members Randi and Victor representing on the red carpet. Victor was shooting pics of the always-saucy Shauna Moakler, looking fine as hell just kicking it with one of her girls as Randi and I made our way inside to get busy at the open bar courtesy of Skyy Vodka. God, I love this town.

We start to get our drink on when I spy Dave Navarro lurking around the fire pit. He’s a total diva to Victor, so no pictures are secured. Let’s just say that we saw him eating solid food. Really. It's probably why he was so bitchy.

A few rounds of Crab Rangoon later, and the lady of the hour hits the spot. Kat Von D is just as hot as I’d hoped in real time, and a true party girl. I watch her posing for pics hoisting a bottle of Patron like a real rock star. There are all kinds of gorgeous women in the house, but Ms. Von D shines brightest tonight. Although her girl Pixie came pretty damn close!

You’d do well to check in on “L.A. Ink” when it premieres on TLC tonight at 10PM. I know I’ll be there. A whole hour a week of our lady of ink kicking it with her peoples and tattooing rock stars sounds like a party to me. Keep it coming, TLC. This is exactly what we’re talking about.

OK, there's some sort of crazy karmic warfare going on in my world right now that I can’t explain. For every cool thing that happens, something totally heinous is right around the corner. Case in point: I woke up early on Saturday morning to hit Amoeba as they opened the doors to indulge in a full-on vinyl orgy that was long overdue. But when I went out to my car, well, it wasn’t there. The city of Los Angeles thought my time would be better spent recovering my ride from some ghetto towing joint on a completely erroneous charge. Let’s just say the next time I run into Mayor Villaraigosa down at the club, he’s getting an earful and then some.

You want another? How about catching the amazing St. Vincent put on an incredible show at the Echo on Saturday night followed by a pretty sweet house party around the corner (Hi Becca). That’s where I took the above picture of one particularly rocking party person. All good, right? Sure, until I discovered that I’d left my credit card and ID back at the club when I opened a tab (I never claimed to be all that smart). Good times! Did I mention that the Echo was all out of Wyder’s Pear Cider, which is one of my favorite reasons for going there? Yes, both sides of the Force are duking it out big-time over here, and I’m caught in the crossfire. Wish me luck, and I'll let you know how things shake out. See you on the other side.

Sometimes, you just gotta wait it out. Sure, there are shortcuts you could probably take. But trust me. In the long run, there’s something to be said for embodying the art of patience.

I could write a thesis on the subject after tonight. Because baby, I waited it out. Hardcore. The draw: a Scion party featuring Busy P, Kavinsky and other assorted Ed Banger DJs spinning at the Viper Room with not-so-secret special guests Justice. Big time, right? Right.

So I parked my behind in a massive line a few minutes after 11PM, when the doors opened. And I waited. I watched a cavalcade of L.A. scene stars bypass the line, bro down with the doorman and cruise in. Whatever, that's cool. We all get our moments. Don't be hatin'. I took pictures of Busy P and the Justice guys when they rolled out of a massive limo and entered the club. I watched Kavinsy (clad in a dope Corvette “Heartbeat of America” jacket) put on a whole song and dance in front of the club with this ridiculously fine blonde. After what seemed like an eternity (according to my cell, over an hour. Oh, the humanity), I was at the front of the line. The doorman looked at my ID and made a joke about me being “the other Scott Sterling.” He was actually really nice. I felt good about waiting it out. It wasn’t so bad, and the insistent thump of bass coming from upstairs sounded promising. Let’s check it out…

What can I say? The Viper Room was packed to the back with party people having it LARGE.  The whole assembled Banger posse—Busy P, Justice, SebastiAn, and yes, the last "A" is supposed to be capitalized like that—were all onstage tag-teaming on a pair of CD players. Then again, who wasn’t on the stage at that point? It was looking like a Girl Talk show up there. There were a battery of photogs (including my man Cobrasnake, natch), local DJs, promoters, random kids, whoever. I was trying to take pictures with my valiant little Casio, the trooper that it is. I’ve pushed this sucker as far as it’s gonna go. Last night might have been the kicker. It was HOT. Crowded. From my vantage point, the stage was the place to be. All in the name of better pictures, of course.

Things weren’t much different up there. It’s a little more fun, sure. Cobrasnake took my picture a few times. It was weird, but I liked it. Ha. Whatever. Now that dude has a nice camera. He seemed to get a kick out of mine. I definitely got some cool pictures out of it. Not to mention oddly compelling video of some random hot L.A. woman casually smoking what appeared to be a hand-rolled cigarette with her friend (we're still onstage, remember) while the assembled mass went bananas to the music all around them.

Busy P was working the crowd big time, flashing one of the new Justice tour shirts for their upcoming American jaunt. Oh look, there’s DJ AM on the other side of the stage. Going OFF. His face looked the way I think mine looked at the Daft Punk show. Homeboy was seriously feeling it. I love that this dude who could totally just stand there and be all cool about it (breath) was rocking out as hard as any fan in the house. Respect is due. That’s a music head right there.

And so it went. They dropped all manner of monstrous tunes, with Justice tracks getting the biggest cheer of them all. Irene Cara’s “What A Feeling” seemed to scare the shit out of everybody. It was hilarious. “Waters of Nazareth”—forget about it. Awesome.

When all was said and done, I hung onstage with the Ed Banger posse and half of the hipsters in L.A. I didn’t have a single drink (unless you this count this can of Tilt, which is like a ghetto version of Sparks. I wouldn’t recommend it…), and feel surprisingly lucid for it being three whatever o’ clock in the morning that it is right now.

That was kind of a lot of words, huh? Well, it was a long night. But a good one. I’m going to say nice things about Scion, the Viper Room, and rock-your-face-off DJs from France all in one sentence. I’m probably going to be really late for work, er, later on today. But damn it, I’m going to sleep well. Thanks, L.A. Sometimes you’re not such a pissy bitch, and it reminds me why I love you all over again. Just keep on dancing, babe.