The story speaks for itself.

"Hey, Karen," I whispered. "I think that's Mink Stole right next to us."
We were at the bar with Carlos and Juan waiting for Kimberly Kim's notoriously potent cocktails when I noticed the pale-blonde (or was it white? Hard to tell in a club.) in a pink silk jacket with the collar standing tall.
Celebrity sightings are a dime a dozen in L.A. You can go virtually anywhere and stand a chance of running into Nicole Ritchie or one of the unfunny clan from That 70s Show. It's not everyday, though, that you find yourself standing right next to someone who has appeared in every John Waters movie as well as such cult classics as But I'm a Cheerleader and such awesome television programming as Married...With Children and Get a Life. (That's not sarcasm, I love those shows.)
Ten minutes later, Ms. Vaginal Davis, dressed as a swami, announced that Mink Stole was ready to perform. She sang what sounded like an Edith Piaf number in a very-Piaf voice.
Not too long after that, amidst the crowd of girls in flapper dresses and boys looking like Charlie Chaplin, we noticed David J., bassist of Bauhaus and Love and Rockets and collaborator on many a hip project. Okay, so David J. has lived in Los Angeles for the past decade (at least) and he goes out a lot, but still, the only thing cooler would be to see him and Peter Hook in the same room with their basses.
This being the Parlour's last stand and all, the hallway was lined with flyers from past events at the club. This included, but was certainly not limited to, our Discourse flyers and many a Transmission flyer.
For two years, Transmission was my baby. I booked the bands, set up record release parties, passed out flyers, et cetera. Every Wednesday night, I would come in and play for four hours straight (well, unless there was a band, in which case I had a half-hour break). Transmission was where I went from playing songs at clubs to really DJing. I spent hours every day learning to mix, which is much more difficult than it appears until you finally learn the skill and it becomes second nature, and used everything I earned there to order the records that no store clerk could find for me. It was probably the first place where a lot of folks heard the Rapture's "House of Jealous Lovers," Scissor Sisters' cover of "Comfortably Numb" and a lot of other now-popular songs. Eventually, the club sort of took it's toll on me and I had to end Transmission. However, the Parlour remained my home away from home. Aside from the fact that we threw our Discourse parties there, I went a lot just to chill. I'm going to miss this place.

No ranting today. Too much work to do. Here are some thing to keep you wasting time.

• Our friend Shok is looking for folks to remix his Zeitmahl project. All the necessary components are available through his My Space page.
• Speaking of Shok, Estelle and I will be guests on his Irregular Show broadcasting Tuesday night from 8-11 p.m. PST on Contagious Radio. It's a music talk show, so we will bring CDs and gossip, even if we have to make up the gossip.
• Tonight is the Parlour's last hoorah. We the people are pretty upset that our favorite bar was sold, but that's life in the big city. Maybe someday we'll find bartenders as awesome as Ms. Kim and the gang.
• My buddy Erika in San Diego turned me on to Devin Smith,
  a Miami-based college radio DJ who makes some of the noisiest electronic music around. (What are the kids calling it these days? Breakcore? I really hate thinking about subgenres.) He also plays bass for punk rock combo Dead Hooker's Bridge Club and fronts the kitschy indie pop group Hot Lesbian Kissing Contest (Erika likes "No. 1 Delivery Boy" but I think I'm partial to "Piano Teacher," so go ahead and download both).
  
  

I normally dig festival shows, but this year I'm just not feeling it. I didn't go to Coachella or Street Scene and I don't plan to go anywhere else. Oh, it's not the heat and the subpar restrooms. It's line-ups that look like a County Fair for aging indie rockers that keep me at bay.
"Hey, honey, grab the kids from the spin art tent and let's get a funnel cake. Gang of Four goes on in ten."
I love Gang of Four, but I would rather listen to my albums than catch a reunion show. Try as everyone might, we can't relive eras we barely remember and the onslaught of bands inspired by post-punkers is not enough to spark my interest. It is sort of like going to see a bill of mid-1960s British rockers reforming in 1985 simply because the Smiths, the Jam and a host more harked back to that era.
If bands must insist upon shattering any sort of mystique surrounding their dives into obscurity and the subsequent rescue of their now-hip catalogues, can't they at least release new material first? I don't mean re-recording the hits either. My first post-college job involved writing ad copy for re-recorded "Best Of..." style records for washed up Sunset Strip bands and listening to those discs caused the sort of horrendous pain that made me wish I was deaf. I mean brand new songs and brand new sounds, something that reflects where the band was and where it intends to go. Soft Cell did it and, as a diehard fan of the band, I really appreciated hearing new tracks like "Monoculture" at the show.
At this point, I have grown adamantly opposed to the reunion show. However, given the fact that there is a bit of a hypocrite inside each of us, I must admit that if the Smiths reform just in time for Coachella 2006, I will be there, if for no other reason than to keep myself warm while hell freezes over.

Normally, I like to keep this page strictly about music, but this article in the Times got me worked up into a tizzy this morning. Maybe it kind of fits with the theme too, since we often write about music in the context of teen angst.
In a nutshell, a boy who seemed to be the neighborhood bully taunted and threw water balloons at a girl. The girl picked up a rock and threw it, not expecting to hit him. The boy was hit in the face, where he was left with a cut around the eye. The girl ran back to his place to apologize, but no one was there. When she returned home, the cops were waiting for her. She was later charged with a felony.
I guess this is supposed to teach kids that if you are bullied, you should just turn the other cheek because no one ever should try to teach an asshole a lesson. Next thing you know, a troop of 12-year-old Girl Scouts will be charged with felony vandalism for T.P.ing the houses of boys who try to look up skirts.

I've always had a love-hate relationship with festivals. I love being able to see a ton of bands for a single-ticket price but I've also hated being subjected to sun, heat and the general stupidity that comes along with serving alcohol to testosterone-fueled frat boys. However, when I saw the line up for this year's San Diego Street Scene I knew that there was no way I could possibly miss it and I rounded up a couple friends that were dying to see various acts on the bill. Oh boy was I in for one wild ride.

Day one:

Normally San Diego is a pretty pleasant drive down the 5 and one that I've driven several times in rush hour traffic just to see a favorite band at yet another venue other than my usual ones in L.A. Why it took us five hours to get there is beyond me. Traffic was backed up on each new freeway connection we made hoping to outsmart the other drivers and get ahead of the game. I actually think my friend Lisa invented some new curse words (shocking since I was just as vocal and angry in the backseat) and more power to her for doing so! After arriving in SD around 4:30 PM we headed over to the gargantuan Qualcomm Stadium to park, grab a $6 hot dog and soda and gear up for a tiring night of rushing from point A to point Z.

Friday's line-up was definitely the stronger of the two nights though the set-up for all the stages couldn't have been more badly executed. The Best Buy stage was pretty much at the front of the venue (and mind you there was no "street" since the entire festival was held in the parking lot) and the Captain Morgan stage was alllllllll the way around to the near back and enough of a hike that I honestly thought about bribing one of the staff members driving a motorized cart $50 to personally shuttle me back and forth since the biggest bands were headlining on these two stages. Several other horrid mistakes of Street Scene are as follows:

1. The only seating available in the entire concrete jungle were these funky hippy crash pads underneath a tarp next to the first aid tent.

2. For those of you who have hung out with me in person you know I don't have a J-Lo booty. In fact there is NO junk in my trunk which made sitting on asphalt a pain in the, well, ASS!!! Standing around for six hours straight was NOT an option for my battered knee and ankle and I felt so sorry for the select few on crutches that I saw painfully hobbling around. I didn't feel bad for the ridiculous Paris Hilton wannabes who wore stripper stilettos. Honestly, you're going to an outdoor festival and you deserve every blister on your feet for that one!

3. A pint of water was $4.

4. Portapotties with long lines and no TP.
4a. Ugly drunken men requesting sexual favors in portapotties with long lines and no TP (see Day 2 further down).

5. Since I laid off the alchy I didn't know this for a fact but supposedly getting a 21 and over wristband was a complete waste of time (and yet another long line to stand in) since they double-checked your legality to purchase booze anyway.

6. It was a musical Sophie's Choice since the bands were playing against each other. I had to cut out the Black Eyed Peas since they cut into my Garbage time and ixnayed the Killers since The White Stripes were not to be missed as the final act of the night.

7. You had to fight your way through the sea of fans enjoying the current musical act to get to the stage of your choosing. Mind you this is no small feat when everyone is standing shoulder to shoulder and unwilling to let you through. If the band was extremely popular the crowd stretched clear back to the chain link fence and made it really difficult to power through everyone. As my friends Sofi, Lisa and I leaned against the condiment counter to chow down our over-priced grub, I did get to check out The International Noise Conspiracy which I'd heard about but never had the chance to experience. They're Swedish, have an impressive sound and know how to rock! I'll be purchasing some of their stuff very soon.

Next it was on to catch Hot Hot Heat and Liz you'll be happy to know that they did in fact rock live and sound very similar to their recorded tracks which is always a good sign. Steve's curly mop was a shakin' as he belted out "Middle Of Nowhere" and other HHH favorites and they're definitely a crowd pleaser. I saw them at Inland Invasion when they played and liked them during that set as well.

Louis XIV were next on the bill and I really dug them! A sexy, flirty sound that translates well live and an extra bass boost to make sure everyone isn't just standing around bored. Their CD has become a permanent fixture in my car due to their tongue in cheek lyrics but I had reservations that I'd actually like them in person. The crowd was fun except for this crazy hippy looking chick that was trying to dance with elongated arm movements in too close of a confined space and insisted on showering us all with her skanky bottled water. They're from San Diego so they were paying extra homage to that as well.

And next, yes I'm going to be biased but I don't care. I've loved them since I heard the first scratchy intro of "Vow" on KROQ ten years ago and rushed over to the Wherehouse in Hollyweird where I was living at the time to find an overflowing box of cassette singles and promptly made that song my own. The clerk raised his eyebrows and said, "OMG I can't believe you know who they are!" I knew they'd be big, they HAD to be! I saw them in concert back in '98 even though it was standing room only and I was battling painful tendonitis, I've flown cross-country to see them, spent hundreds of dollars on import singles and bootlegs and it's always been well worth it. Once again, Shirley and the rest of the boys graced the stage--of course I'm talking about GARBAGE!!!! She strutted, stalked and brought the house down in a way that only she can and wore her fiery red hair in pigtails (she looked like a tarted up version of Dave Thomas's Wendy and made me want a junior bacon cheeseburger and a Frosty!) beneath a black cap and a barely-there ensemble. The crowd was packed together like sardines and one of the guys behind me exclaimed "Oh God, I think I just had sex!!!" They played a pretty good mix of old and new material as Shirley took breaks to laugh and receive a homemade poster from a fan that read "FOR THE LOVE OF GARBAGE" and had denoted the fan's journey by plane on this leg of the tour to see them. "You mean you did all this for us? For me and my boys?" Shirley asked in obvious appreciation. Another night, another notch on my Garbage belt. And well worth it! Shirley had cooed about Jack White several times which made me smile 'cause the Stripes were next on our hit list and once Garbage bid a fond adieu we were off and running again!

Sofi and I were on a tight schedule to race from the Captain Morgan stage back to the Best Buy location to see The White Stripes. I'm so glad Sofi's got "mosh pit mentality" and doesn't let anyone stand in her way. She basically grabbed me by the hand and went crashing through the entire length of Social Distortion fans who were screaming and jumping in time with Mike Ness and the rest of the boys. It was like a tattooed, sweaty, snarling version of the Red sea and Moses couldn't have parted it more successfully than she did! The White Stripes rocked even though I could've done without Jack's vintage cowboy getup but he redeemed himself as he wailed on the guitar while Meg sent her primal pounding through the very being of her peppermint drum kit. Some of the song selections were a little slow for a festival, in my opinion, but I love the Stripes and was happy to hear "Black Math" and "Hotel Yorba" echo through the stadium. Jack had us all cracking up as he took time out for this little verbal gem: "I'd just like to thank the California transit authority for making it so easy for us to get here today." *Laughs from the crowd* "Seriously, couldn't they put a couple-a more lanes there? Ain't no buildings to compete with, it's all desert!!!" Blue orchids don't thrive in the desert but that night the White Stripes did.

After standing for six hours straight and battling an hour long wait to get out of the parking lot, we headed back to our hotel to slather off our grime and get some sleep. After all, we had another full day ahead of us on Saturday.

Day two:

Upon arriving, I was handed Dredg's 3 song sampler (I actually watched the video for "Bug Eyes" once I got home from SS) and can't wait to buy their latest full-length CD "Catch Without Arms." Check them out on MySpace! www.myspace.com/dredg 'cause Gavin's got such great range and a certain "old world" style of singing. I have a feeling this band would blow me away during a live performance.

I was far more familiar with the bootcamp-like layout of SS the second day and stocked up on free t-shirts from the local radio stations to use as makeshift pillows so that I was able to sit for awhile and hydrated myself with gigantic $4 tankers of iced tea that were promised to be refilled for $1 if you saved your cup for the next round. The cheapskate in line next to me mused, "Why not just find a cup in the trash and then you'll just have to pay $1?" Hilarious but ewwwwwww...

Our sound selections began with Death Cab For Cutie who I missed at Inland Invasion and was excited to finally see live at SS. Yet another band on my beloved Sub Pop label that had somehow managed to slip through the cracks of my CD collection, I was introduced to The Postal Service a few years back and fell in love with the CD upon first listen. Discovering that the PS was a side project for DCFC, I was curious to hear possible similarities as well as differences. Ben's voice can alternate between sweet and delicate to forceful and intense and I definitely heard the PS's "less is more" musical style come into play as DCFC. I thought it was almost criminal that they were forced to perform in the heinous heat of a parking lot since a seated outdoor arena such as the Greek would have been a much more complimentary setting. At any rate, I'm planning on seeing them again when they tour in the fall and I'm really excited that their new CD will be released at the end of this month.

After a quick trip to the bathroom and turning down a drunken version of Matt Pinfield who wanted me to "join him in the portapotty," I said goodbye to Lisa for a few hours as she needed to part ways with us to secure a good spot to catch Method Man and later Snoop Dogg. Sofi and I decided to wander back to the Captain Morgan stage to catch Unwritten Law. I was pretty unfamiliar with them except for their two songs "Seein' Red" and "Save Me" which I really liked since I heard them on KROQ. As a whole I thought they put on a fun show and the highlight was definitely seeing the Captain Morgan spokesperson decked out in a velvet hat and coat rockin' out in the pit when the cameras panned the audience! You could literally see him screaming, "YEAHHHHH!!" UL are definitely energetic and seemed to be having a great time on stage, what more could you ask for from a band?

Sofi and I caught a few songs by The Flaming Lips (one of which was a Melissa-approved cover of "Bohemian Rhapsody" and Queen is one band I hold sacred. I actually liked My Chemical Romance until they butchered "Under Pressure.") and their stage show was like a giant rave with people dressed up in plushy animal outfits dancing crazy and video montages containing everything and nothing. They seem to be really into their fans and I overhead a girl next to me gushing about how she was from Oklahoma too and remembered a time before they were on any festival circuit.

Sofi split soon after to go catch Snoop as I decided to see if I'd finally agree with Liz about the Pixies being "over and done with" (to quote a Proclaimers song). I must admit that Frank was sweating like a stuck pig several songs into their set and Kim was once again wearing her famous blouse/sweater combo. I called a friend during "Monkey's Gone To Heaven" to dedicate it to her and as we reminisced about high school and striped tights and Docs and when Lollapalooza was the "can't miss" festival of our entire high school career I realized that Liz was in fact right: the Pixies sound the best when they're blasting from my stereo speakers, just as they did during that magical time in the late 80s/early 90s when the word "alternative" actually held meaning. The Pixies are a wonderful band but I think my days for getting really excited about seeing them live are over.

Will I attempt SS next year? Sure, if there are enough bands on the bill to make it worth it. If I can offer any other helpful advice it's to say this: wait awhile to purchase tickets until you can see the full line up for each day on the official website and be prepared to have to decide between two bands that you really love because Murphy's Law will undoubtedly have them playing at the same time. Of all the vendors hocking various crap, there was a Southwest Airlines booth with free inflatable planes. I brought one back for my co-worker who excitedly chirped, "OMG that's the coolest souvenir that ANYONE has ever brought me!!!" That totally made my day :o)

If any of you worldly and knowledgeable Dance Party People have other commentary or fun stories to share regarding SS please post it!

My sister and I are less than two years apart and shared a room until we the end of high school. Needless to say, we cannot go five minutes without arguing. The arguments started early in our life, perhaps in 1984, when I was eight and she was six.
I remember these arguments vividly. They revolved around our shared ghetto blaster and whether we were going to listen to Duran Duran or Wham! I contended that Duran Duran was way hotter than Wham!, but my sister would have none of that because Duran Duran wore make up and Wham!, well, they wore short-shorts. Oh, and I guess we argued about the music too.
Years later, I had to confess to my sister that, although she was not completely correct in her assessment of Wham!'s superiority to Duran Duran, I secretly liked them too. George Michael is a gifted singer and if "Last Christmas" isn't the best holiday song ever, then I don't know what is.
I read up on George Michael's (mis)adventures over the years and thought I knew it all until I went to see Wham! The Story Behind the Shorts tonight at the Cavern Club Celebrity Theater in Silverlake. For example, there was the time when...and then there was...
I really hate those assholes who spoil a good story. Just know that this is an incredibly witty look at 1980s pop superstardom with lines that feel as if they were written by French & Saunders and filled with clever renditions of Wham! classics.
I don't know if there are plans to perform this again, but, if so, you must see it. In the meantime, Martin Zungo, who portrayed George Michael in the play (I think he wrote it as well, but don't quote me on it), is playing with his band Sounds of Asteroth on Thursday at the Parlour.

I love a good warehouse party, and a good warehouse party is what Droid Behavior threw last night.
We were simultaneously in the middle of nowhere and everywhere, a desolate street somewhere between USC and Staples Center, identifiable only by the bass that vibrated through our feet as we crossed the street. It was an Acid House party and there were enough 303 sounds to induce Go Ask Alice-style flashbacks.
Okay, so maybe I didn't imagine myself slowly devoured by bugs, but I did claw at myself while dancing. These things just happen in cramped quarters on summer nights that really aren't much cooler than our 105 degree days. My knee socks were stuck to pasty calves and the back of my neck started to look like Victoria Falls. It was bad, but unavoidable throughout the hypnotic series of thumps provide by Acid Circus and others. It was impossible not to dance. One DJ, whose name I can't recall, played for a half-hour or so before working in "Blue Monday." It's the track we will never escape, the one track that sounds perfect in any set of any genre of music. This DJ mixed it with a number that sounded like bubbles blowing in a tub all sped up like the jet stream was on the verge of crashing. It was a nice touch.
Two or three hours after that, we were still on the floor, having moved from the outskirts towards the center dancing like we wanted to lose ourselves but could not on account that it would probably involve yours truly accidentally slugging one of the fifty people crammed around me. (As it was, I managed to spill half a bottle of water on Carlos.) Did I mention that this party was packed? I felt sweat fly into my face from every direction and inadvertent freaking sessions anytime someone tried to move from one side of the dancefloor to the other. In situations like these, I feel so fortunate to live in a country where people are obsessive about things like showers and deodorant. Damn, I proud to be an overly-hygienic American.