SAVE THE DATE FOR MY FIRST CURATION: ALEX BLEEKER & JULIAN LYNCH AT ORIGAMI VINYL!

24 05 2010

Once upon a time,
a couple weeks ago,
I was drunk at Origami Vinyl‘s Record Club when I remembered that when I was drunk with the Underwater Peoples‘, er, people they were encouraging me to curate some shit and at the time I was like LOL but then, in the low light of El Prado, shootin’ the shit with my homies Neil & Sean, I decided that yes, with the great musicians I love and have been fortunate enough to befriend, I should curate some shows & Origami should help me out.

Luckily, they actually took me seriously & now I very excitedly give you this:

This show will be a mega pre-party for
Real Estate & Kurt Vile at the Echoplex!
I’m planning on making some party punch & having a very lovely late afternoon with some of my favorite musicians, their incredible fan base & hopefully some of my favorite friends & readers alike.

So, PLEASE COME!
Tuesday, June 15th at 5pm
at Origami Vinyl in Echo Park!

If you are unfamiliar with
Alex Bleeker (leader of The Freaks, bassist for Real Estate)
or Julian Lynch (ethnomusicology prodigy),
I suggest you GET REAL, first off,
& secondly, check them out!
You can find many of their tracks available for download on the myriad of music blogs, many of which you can find links to right here on this here website!
Just right there, to the right! Yeah!
But you can also check out their MySpaces
(cause bands are still the only ones who are allowed to respectfully use them):

Alex Bleeker & The Freaks
Julian Lynch

Both have albums currently out & I suggest you get them (at my show).
That’s what smart/cool people would do, I’m pretty sure.

I will also be giving out FREE AUTOGRAPHS THIS ONE TIME,
so don’t fuck it up.

LOL I’m jkjkjk!
But seriously.

I am very honored to have these two incredibly talented gents, who I personally have admired for sometime now, as my first guests and I hope that you can come out and support their tour of the West Coast.

I’m sure for the next two weeks I will be endlessly thanking Alex, Julian, Sean & Neil and Underwater Peoples but just to start it off, mad thanks to Alex, Julian, Sean & Neil and Underwater Peoples for giving me the chance to showcase some of my favorite music at one of my favorite spots & thank you in advance to the masses of people who are going to come.
Means a lot to me + my future empire.

RSVP now!


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Categories : Music, Tangents & The Times

A Tangent About People With Signs On The Street.

12 03 2010

OH HAY GUYZ.
IF YOU THINK
I’VE HAD FOUR FAT TIRES &
AM LISTENING TO LADY GAGA & BEYONCÉ
THEN YOU WIN SELF-ESTEEM.

If not, it’s cool cause like six months ago
I wouldn’t have guessed that either
but, you know, people like grow up & evolve & shit.

ANYYYWAYYY,
this post is not about beer or pop music (unfortunately right?!).
This post is about the protesters (okay, I don’t know if they are “protesters” but they have signs & there are like five of them) that are on the corner of Echo Park & Sunset every Friday. They have been there every Friday since like FOREVER & I mean, it’s way cool.
Yeah, we want money for schools instead of bombs
& we totally want jobs instead of wars
& like wellfare…
wait, I mean health care
instead of…
Okay, sorry, I don’t remember what the last sign said.

BUT THE POINT IS
DUDE, WE KNOW.
We know shit sucks. You realize you’re talking to Echo Park, right? You realize that 80% of the people that live here are living off corn & pork rinds sold on street corners, yeah? You are preaching to the choir!!! I’m not trying to downplay how great it is you’re standing on a street corner standing up for shit you believe in, hell, I sure as hell don’t do that much for politics but what are you accomplishing in Echo Park? Yeah, you get like 50 honks from Mexicans. Are you surprised? We’re all musicians or construction workers, no shit we want universal health care.

I just feel like, why not go to West Hollywood where maybe someone will come by & not like just honk but throw a suitcase full of a million dollars out of their window since apparently people in LA live like people in Entourage.

I’ve never seen Entourage
but I feel like if I had an entourage,
I’d be wayyy more likely to throw a million dollars out my window.
Which seems wayyy more productive
than honks from immigrants & hipsters, ya know?

I dunno, maybe I just am on the beer train.
LOL IT’S SEVEN.
DAMN, I AM MORALLY BANKRUPT
yet so spiritually rich all at once.
PARADOXES YA’ALL.
MEANING OF LIFE RIGHT THUR!!!

PS. You’re welcome! <3


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Opinion: What Vinyl Is Going To Make Me Look The Coolest Tonight At Record Club?

9 02 2010

This is my first week not just attending but also contributing
to Origami Vinyl’s Record Club at El Prado!
Not gonna lie, I’m a little nervous.
I mean, you know how Echo Park is.
According to Ke$ha, there’s “pretension everywhere”
so I mean, I gotta come packing some heat.

I only had a record player from the ages of eighteen to eighteen and my record collection consisted solely of my grandma’s Rat Pack albums, a good portion of the Beatles’ discography and the entire Saddle Creek label from the early ’00s.

Since Christmas, I’ve been working on building up my vinyl collection to a presentable state, which I feel has been going pretty well but at the same time, I’m not sure a lot of these albums I’ve been procuring would be necessarily good for an evening at the local speciality beer spot with the who’s-who of the hood.

Gotta keep a sweet rep’, ‘nah what I’m sayin’?

So, I’ve narrowed it down to three choices from my collection that are not slow as shit, not anything like Fifty Guitars In Hawaii and not embarrassing:

Okay, guys!
HALP ME!
FIRST IMPRESSIONS ARE FUCKING IMPORTANT!


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ANGELES ATROCITIES !!! Luffzedyuh Taco Zone <3

6 06 2009

I am confused.
I am scared.
I am so WTF’d out.

WHO WOULD SET THE TACO ZONE ON FIRE ?!
WHAT KIND OF SOULLESS SELFISH JUVENILE JUGGERNAUT PRICK WOULD DO SUCH A THING ?!

JOY TO YOUR MOUTH

Someone who obviously has NO appreciation for delicious Mexican fourth meals.

There’s been rumors as to who may be to attribute these atrocities to.

Joshua says the Mexican Mafia.
I don’t think this makes sense. Why would they want to burn down the best taco truck in all of Los Angeles? Wouldn’t they want to keep eating delicious food of their native lands? That’s preposterous. Taco Zone’s delectable edibles taste almost as good as the real thing- Mexican babies.

Richie Panic says it was Ned Hepburn.
This is also just silly. If you follow Ned on Twitter then you will see an @reply to me (turn that fail into a WIN) and in it he explicitly states he wants tacos. Why would he burn down Taco Zone? Unless it’s all a part of some elaborate and evil plot to make me think we’re going to get tacos when really he’s a fucking taco hater.
Who hates tacos?
Obviously Richie is just being silly because he doesn’t like other men taking up my blog spaces although few men can occupy my heart spaces like a good Richie Panic.

Shawn says right-wing fundamentalist Christian terrorists.
This is the only one that seems likely thus far. My reasoning is because fundamentalist Christians hate everyone. They hate Mexicans. They hate gays. They hate me (ie: Myspace default pic). So, this is the only logical answer.

Fuck the police.
You’ve got Marissa A. Ross (& Shawn) on the case and after evaluating all options, it is offical.
I’ve found the dudes.

Christian H8RZ !

Alright, so, now that I’ve supplied you with the culprits,
it’s YOUR CIVIL DUTY TO LOS ANGELES TO TRACK THESE CATS DOWN !
I’m thinking, we should refried bean and cheese them then let rabid badgers eat them alive in the town square (intersection at Alvarado & Sunset) .
My civil duty was to blog about it.
I’m also going to over extend myself and also blog about the bean/cheese/lynching/munching of the offenders of all things sterling and scrumptious.

You’re welcome.

At any rate, I’m not too worried about Taco Zone. I think it will return full force in no time.
Feeding the poor pretentious “artisans” roaming the late night streets of Echo Park is far too lucrative of a gig for those cats to go back to picking strawberries.

In their memorandum, I dedicate this song to the dutiful craftspeople of the outstanding, the legendary, the irreplaceable, the unforgettable, the FUCKING BEST TACO TRUCK EVER…
YEAH, THIS ONE…
THIS ONE GOES OUT TO
TACO ZONE !!!

TACO ZONE WILL RISE FROM THE ASHES
& WIN AT TACOS AGAIN !!!

What’s really sad… is I didn’t just find this song.
I actually know it.
I owned this cd.

We’re bonding right now, dude.
I hope your loins are tingling.
Cauuuuuuse mine totally are. <3


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West Hollywood Is An Anxiety Attack.

25 04 2009

When people get disgusted when I say I live in LA,
I’m always surprised.
I love LA !
And it baffles me.

Well, now, I get it.
Because last night I spent an evening in West Hollywood.
I usually spend time in my neighborhood.
Very different experiences, from the preparation to the execution, the entire evening’s attitude is based upon the night’s location.

Echo Park:
Get off work and cruise to Sabah’s to grab Zissou. Have a glass or smoke a bowl, whatever’s clever. Go home and eat a corn dog. Try on three pairs of jeans but always end up in the ones that have been loved so much they have stretch curdles on the backs of the knees. Try on a couple tops, go with the one that fits best with flats. Touch up my mascara, maybe fluff some powder on my nose. I’m probably either stoned or still drinking wine and my attitude is very much, “I just got off work. I don’t need to fucking impress you, this is who I am after working forty eight hours this week. Take it or leave it. I have a sparkling personality.” And I go to where ever we’re going, usually by foot with my pals. I have a couple five dollar whiskey-&-somethings, see a couple people I know, spot at least three guys I could see myself potentially making out with if they are at least kinda funny / smart. Maybe one of those three talks to me. I’m stoked. We talk about music or movies or some art or whatever and it’s probably kind of interesting. Then go home to eat another corn dog. Wash my face, turn on Seinfeld and go to sleep.

West Hollywood:
I am locked up and in my car as the second turns to closing. I rush home, leaving Zissou with Sabah. I take a sumptuous shower, spending an extra minute on shaving each of my legs and baste myself in lotion upon drying off. I then blow dry my hair and try on six dresses all with three shoe combinations to find which best accentuate the lift of my new-found ass. I search for my eyeliner because I never know where it is because I never use it. I take the time to apply it. I have a vodka Redbull at my vanity with me and we are listening to T.I. Hop over the freeway to the Sunset strip. Getting seated at dinner is a parade. We order $12 fruity cocktails and every appetizer on the menu. Dagger eyes everywhere. Finish dinner, feeling like a a sausage in its casing because I wore the tightest dress I own. Go to a trendy bar. Pay too much for parking. Get asked if I like horses by a bald man with a five inch Rapist goatee who I give the chance to be remotely funny and instead he tells me I am the weird horse girl who grew up on his cul-de-sac. Walk away. Every dude is gay or Armenian. Eventually my friends are requisitioned by a group of grabby “real estate investors” who visit Brazil regularly. Try to get me wasted but I’m the DD (I know, I even surprised myself with that one!) and go find refuge in the bathroom with the fat girl in the black coochie cutter sequined jumpsuit throwing up and the blond aspiring “actress/singer… but i kinda write and would loooove to produce”s posted at the mirror for ten minutes bitching about their twenty five inch waists. Tell my friends we’ve got to skedaddle, get home and fall asleep in the fetal position, shaking from the conglomerates of ego and insecurity- that even surpassed my own- exploding everywhere I went, wondering if I need to bitch about my waist too…

KSDFKJDSHFJKSKDFNSDFUSFSJ !!!
IT’S TOO MUCH !!!
HOW DO THESE PEOPLE NOT GO INSANE ?!
Seriously, just now, just recalling the insanity of the vibes is giving me heart palpitations (it might be the Diet Coke followed by the coffee but who knows).
I think that’s why I only get out there every six months; long enough to forget what a debacle it is and to get optimistic enough to think somehow, this time, it will be different.
But it’s always the same.
I always come home thinking I need a prescription of Paxil.


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TITTY PINK ?!!?!

2 03 2009

Last night I went to the open mic at Little Joy. Little Joy is undergoing some strange transformation from being the most loved dive bar on the East Side to the most frowned upon billiard hall painted “titty pink”. Yeah, TITTY PINK (commonly recognized as some sort of lighter mauve) WALLS. The allure of Little Joy was its lustrously loved (graffitied) motif and it’s super sketchy vibes. I got taken there on a date once. There were hipster pirates crowding the place, one of which kept hocking loogies and spitting them on the bench seat near the bathroom only to push random drunk girls into the globs of mucus. It was disgusting and I was intrigued and the guy who took me there said, “Well, it can only go up from here.”

That was a lie though because after that night he stopped returning my calls and it turned out he had a girlfriend in Washington which was totally fine by me because I’m not really into blondes anyway.

Ahem.

The point is, Little Joy has lost all its debaucherous draw and now looks like a day care facility and sounds like one too (sup new DJ playing Green Day’s “Boulevard of Broken Dreams”, hey I’ve got some requests for next week… maybe some Panic at the Disco or the new Jo-Bros stuff ? Kthnx). Granted, there are still delicious drinks for decent prices (how can anyone expect me to say no to three dollar well drinks?!) but honestly, I much preferred the seediness. I mean, where am I supposed to take visitors for an outstandingly, unwholesome evening in Echo Park now? The Short Stop and The Gold Room are great but they don’t have the coke-being-dealt-around-every-corner ambiance. They aren’t impressively squalid like Little Joy WAS.

& apparently, word on the street is the new owners have bought enough of the foul paint to make it through any whirlwind of sharpies that come through.
BUMMER.

BUT in the midst of those disgustingly pastel-esque walls, last night there was still hope: in the form of Buffy Visick and her Mormon Organ.
She sang a cute little diddy which went a little something like this:

You can trip but don’t fall.
You can fall but don’t hurt yourself.
You can hurt yourself just don’t hurt someone else.
You can hurt someone else just say you’re sorry.

Okay that wasn’t verbatim but pretty damn close and you get the drift.
Isn’t that just swell though ? I loved it ! And her little electronic keyboard, which normally I’d be like, “Dude, get real” made me gush even more. It just worked.

In all actuality, in comparison to the many open mic nights I have been talked into attending over the years, Sunday nights at Little Joy are pretty enjoyable. Lots of pretty words spoken- an especially talented young lass by the name of Esme Wright performs every week and I am lucky enough to have her appearing in my Apocalyptic Love promo vid- and boys with geeeetars who aren’t half bad if you’re into acoustic sets. The man who runs it, Keith, shared some interesting stories as well as tried to coerce me to take the stage (floor) but I didn’t really think my material would fit. I mean, I go on a lot of tangents about silly things but I would have followed a dude who smashed his cell phone on the ground. I’m not poetic enough nor am I into wrecking the few material possessions I still have and hold dear to compete with an act like that. But maybe one day, if I have nine dollars to spend on a Sunday I might get really pissed and break shit at Little Joy.

So, let’s recap.
1. Little Joy = Nursery.
2. Open Mic = Saving grace.
3. Marissa = Not serious enough / not anti-materialism enough / can’t play indie music enough for open mic.


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Gizmo & Zissou: BFFL.

2 10 2008

So, this one time, I moved to Echo Park. I was supposed to move into this killer house in Silverlake, in the hills, but then there was a freak accident where the fridge broke and flooded the place. Long story short, I ended up where I am now. The first night I bring Zissou home, one of my neighbors was coming out of her apartment with her dog, also a black Pomeranian named Gizmo. It was love at first sight and the two have been inseparable ever since. So, moving to Echo Park turned out to be a blessing in disguise: Zissou and I got best friends.


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Talk and Action.

26 08 2008

Even if there was another shooting, I doubt I would be able to hear it over the crinkling sound my ac makes next to my bed layered on top of my Itunes on shuffle. I suppose somewhere in my subconscious I fancifully toyed with the idea of experiencing Los Angeles in a mild yet realistically dangerous manner. There are things I put myself through for the sake of knowing how it feels – living four blocks away from the worst gang area in all of LA (and subsequently, probably in the US) with two random kids I met on Craig’s List is all a part of creating outlandish occurrences to inspire me… I’m a masochist.

I’ve never been afraid. In fact, I raved about how safe I felt here. My neighborhood is being gentrified. It’s artisans, the ironic and gang affiliates. The indigenous sit on their porches and party in yards covered with tarps starting on Thursday. Hipsters fly down the street on fixed gears, Cheap Mondays scrunched up around their knees. Neighbors paint and make pots and cover their windows with mosaics. We all smile, we all wave. I love it here.

But now the police fill the street on a regular basis. The quiet war is waging all around us; Krylon warnings and death wishes sprawled on street corners and pedestrian crossing signs. You can see when it’s coming. There is no face for it, just colors and letters. There is no one to blame and nothing to do except get down on the floor and crawl into the bedroom.

Last night was the first time I heard the shots- an entire round outside one of my best friend’s windows. There was no screeching from a car speeding away, no sounds of feet hitting the pavement. My conclusion was it was a peeved hipster on a fixie, taking out some poor sonuvabitch who took PBR from the wrong Warpaint fan. My theory was laughed at and dismissed by my neighbor who for some reason was inclined to run to her window when the shots were still being fired. There was no car, let alone a bike, and the men outside the house across the street didn’t move a muscle. The most accepted theory was a round was shot off in honor of a man who died this past week from a drive-by on my street. Last night was his wake.

*Added August Twenty-Seventh: No, it was some dude on the corner in front of my house shooting at them. SWEET.

This will be the third time in less than two weeks gunshots have ringed out through my neighborhood. I’m still not scared in a sense because no one has anything to gain from popping a cap in the whitest girl on the block’s ass. But at the same time I can’t risk getting caught in crossfire while letting my dog out for a piss at 3 am. I think this rational of me.

The irrational part is that it also excites me on some level. Things are happening all the time. People are pushing for change everywhere. I don’t necessarily like what they’re trying to change or how they’re going about it but at least they’re doing something about what they believe in. They pick up guns and they go off into the night knowing they may never come back; all on a whim, on a belief.

And what if we all acted with such conviction? Without fear of failure we all acted upon our values? What if we went out into the world and stopped talking about all the things we wanted and just made it happen?


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Gang or Guild?

20 08 2008

There have been two drive-by shootings on my street in the past week. First was last Thursday, only across the street and a couple houses up. My neighbor’s car got a bullet which was right in front of one of my best friends’ homes- she was inside with our dogs. I then found out last night there was another Monday evening, just a couple blocks down the street in which a man was killed and although the police say they are looking for a 16 to 18 year old, word on the street it may be someone as young as 12.

Upon trying to find out more information about the possible gang-related issues in my area, I went on Google and found that it may not in fact be gang related, but possibly guild related.

This guild has an average of 130.3 kills per member.

Although their Guild status is 35, I believe this guild is planning on taking over the entirety of Coronado Street. With five assassins, four wizards and four warlocks as well as a variety of other sketchy characters, I think we need to keep our wits about us. This could be a preemptive measure for the winter 2009 release of Everquest III: The Streets.


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