Punky Reggae
You may recall that a few weeks ago I went to The Echo to catch Part Time Punks, a weekly club event I'd been wanting to attend for some time. That night was Smiths' Night, and I had a great time. Part Time Punks takes it name from the Television Personalities song of the same name and is a weekly club/set devoted to post-punk and its influences/followers including punk, dub, new wave, etc. The DJs that host the event have a weekly show on KXLU, the Loyola-Marymount college radio station that I like to listen to. If you want to check out the Part Time Punks radio show, I'm pretty sure you can listen online at www.kxlu.com. The show is every Thursday from 4-6PM Pacific. They also have a myspace page here.
Anyway, a few weekends ago, Claudia and I went downtown for another weekly club/event thrown by some of the same DJs. This time it was Punky Reggae Party, a night of dub, reggae, and post-punk influences at La Cita. The event takes its name from the Bob Marley song of the same name.
In college, my favorite part about having a show on WNUR was learning about music and how different genres influenced and gave birth to others. Regarding reggae, dub, and ska, there is still a lot I'd like to learn about its influences in post-punk. I think a lot of my awareness of the music was raised by the skinhead guys at the station (I mean the original, true, non-racist skinheads). I was excited to check out the scene at La Cita since the music was sure to be great, and I heard there was dancing. It's so hard to find bars/clubs that play more obscure music AND have dancing. Some kids are too cool to dance, and some places just play Top 40. I like to dance to Top 40 sometimes, but it's a beautiful feeling to be in a public place with music that makes your heart sing, and a crowd that feels the same way.
As I mentioned La Cita is downtown, and I hadn't been downtown for a few months. I like downtown; it's gritty and gross, but it's got character and it's up and coming. There are quite a few good dive bars, but it is still kind of scary and dead at night. We ended up running from the car to the bar after a few giant rats scurried across our path. We walked around people sleeping in the streets, and wondered if the shit on the sidewalk was human or animal. Whenever you're downtown you are strongly reminded of L.A.'s homeless, and the stark contrast between the haves and the have-nots. (Steve Lopez of the LA Times did an amazing series of articles on this issue)
Once we were outside the bar, Claudia stopped for a cigarette and I waited with her, slightly scared that another rat would accost us while we waited. Instead, a cute boy came outside and asked Claudia for a light. I recognized him as Michael, one of the Part Time Punks DJs. I asked him if he was one of the DJs, and he introduced himself. I gushed that I loved his radio show, and that we'd gone to Smiths' Night a few weeks prior. I said it was my first time at Punky Reggae, but I was really looking forward to it. I felt like such a stalker/fan, but it was the truth. Maybe I creeped the man out, it's quite possible. I remembered from listening to the radio show that he taught at Loyola Marymount--I asked what subject. He said creative writing, and asked us if we were students. We replied no, that we worked. Maybe he was wondering how I knew, who knows. I thought the conversation was a little awkward, but that might have been because I was a little tipsy, and because I felt so self conscious: he was attractive, had fabulous taste in music, and taught creative writing, for fucks sake. After what seemed like an eternity of small talk, Claudia finished her cigarette, but before we went in, Michael gave us free drink tickets and got us into the club without having to pay cover. I was thrilled, and we happily made our way to the bar for gin and tonics.
Inside, there was indeed dancing, and the music was great. You had some punk, some dub, some dancehall, some post-punk. The only thing was, as we soon learned, that it was a huge college scene. Mainly kids from USC, it seemed. The crowd was friendly, but you could sense the college cliques and drama. I felt a little old, and I quickly realized that we probably wouldn't be coming back again. I mean, the music was fabulous, but it wasn't our scene. The one great thing about college crowds (and in retrospect this was true of my college experience) is that you get a mixture of kids: there are preps, and druggies, and hipsters--all kinds brought together because they go to the same school and this was the semi-local place to get fucked up. After college these kids would dig into their individual niches and go to bars that better reflected their image of themselves; a bar for 'bros and a bar for douchebags--but for now they could all break bread together while they found themselves. It reminded me of going to bars in downtown Chicago while I was still at Northwestern: we'd go downtown to clubs that post-college Eileen would grow out of/avoid.
After a little while, Claudia and I were approached by two short, confident men who wouldn't seem to take "no" for an answer. They seemed to be a little older than us--you know the type--the older guys that hung out at your college bar, watching from a corner. They started talking to us and wouldn't stop. After a few minutes Claudia pulled the old "I have to go the bathroom" trick. I prepared to go with her, but the man talking to me reached in for a handshake and wouldn't let go until I agreed to take his business card. That's harassment isn't it? And why would you want to force your card on a woman that didn't want it willingly, isn't that just more depressing? After we lost the boys, we had another drink and danced for the rest of the night.
Anyway, a few weekends ago, Claudia and I went downtown for another weekly club/event thrown by some of the same DJs. This time it was Punky Reggae Party, a night of dub, reggae, and post-punk influences at La Cita. The event takes its name from the Bob Marley song of the same name.
In college, my favorite part about having a show on WNUR was learning about music and how different genres influenced and gave birth to others. Regarding reggae, dub, and ska, there is still a lot I'd like to learn about its influences in post-punk. I think a lot of my awareness of the music was raised by the skinhead guys at the station (I mean the original, true, non-racist skinheads). I was excited to check out the scene at La Cita since the music was sure to be great, and I heard there was dancing. It's so hard to find bars/clubs that play more obscure music AND have dancing. Some kids are too cool to dance, and some places just play Top 40. I like to dance to Top 40 sometimes, but it's a beautiful feeling to be in a public place with music that makes your heart sing, and a crowd that feels the same way.
As I mentioned La Cita is downtown, and I hadn't been downtown for a few months. I like downtown; it's gritty and gross, but it's got character and it's up and coming. There are quite a few good dive bars, but it is still kind of scary and dead at night. We ended up running from the car to the bar after a few giant rats scurried across our path. We walked around people sleeping in the streets, and wondered if the shit on the sidewalk was human or animal. Whenever you're downtown you are strongly reminded of L.A.'s homeless, and the stark contrast between the haves and the have-nots. (Steve Lopez of the LA Times did an amazing series of articles on this issue)
Once we were outside the bar, Claudia stopped for a cigarette and I waited with her, slightly scared that another rat would accost us while we waited. Instead, a cute boy came outside and asked Claudia for a light. I recognized him as Michael, one of the Part Time Punks DJs. I asked him if he was one of the DJs, and he introduced himself. I gushed that I loved his radio show, and that we'd gone to Smiths' Night a few weeks prior. I said it was my first time at Punky Reggae, but I was really looking forward to it. I felt like such a stalker/fan, but it was the truth. Maybe I creeped the man out, it's quite possible. I remembered from listening to the radio show that he taught at Loyola Marymount--I asked what subject. He said creative writing, and asked us if we were students. We replied no, that we worked. Maybe he was wondering how I knew, who knows. I thought the conversation was a little awkward, but that might have been because I was a little tipsy, and because I felt so self conscious: he was attractive, had fabulous taste in music, and taught creative writing, for fucks sake. After what seemed like an eternity of small talk, Claudia finished her cigarette, but before we went in, Michael gave us free drink tickets and got us into the club without having to pay cover. I was thrilled, and we happily made our way to the bar for gin and tonics.
Inside, there was indeed dancing, and the music was great. You had some punk, some dub, some dancehall, some post-punk. The only thing was, as we soon learned, that it was a huge college scene. Mainly kids from USC, it seemed. The crowd was friendly, but you could sense the college cliques and drama. I felt a little old, and I quickly realized that we probably wouldn't be coming back again. I mean, the music was fabulous, but it wasn't our scene. The one great thing about college crowds (and in retrospect this was true of my college experience) is that you get a mixture of kids: there are preps, and druggies, and hipsters--all kinds brought together because they go to the same school and this was the semi-local place to get fucked up. After college these kids would dig into their individual niches and go to bars that better reflected their image of themselves; a bar for 'bros and a bar for douchebags--but for now they could all break bread together while they found themselves. It reminded me of going to bars in downtown Chicago while I was still at Northwestern: we'd go downtown to clubs that post-college Eileen would grow out of/avoid.
After a little while, Claudia and I were approached by two short, confident men who wouldn't seem to take "no" for an answer. They seemed to be a little older than us--you know the type--the older guys that hung out at your college bar, watching from a corner. They started talking to us and wouldn't stop. After a few minutes Claudia pulled the old "I have to go the bathroom" trick. I prepared to go with her, but the man talking to me reached in for a handshake and wouldn't let go until I agreed to take his business card. That's harassment isn't it? And why would you want to force your card on a woman that didn't want it willingly, isn't that just more depressing? After we lost the boys, we had another drink and danced for the rest of the night.
posted by Eileen at 8:44 PM
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