Classics 101/Holy Maus

So I read Euripides way back when and don't remember much other than how much i liked him compared to the other major Greek playwrights, but I do remember The Bacchae a bit and the wild swooning feasts and festivals that the Bacchites (an all gal sect) were known for. Anyway, who would've known that Los Feliz would host a little late night dance orgy (no sex! just a comparison!) in the middle (and perimeter) of the little Derby's skimply little dance floor. Not possible? Possible.

Yes, yes. Those of you lovely wimpies who went home early on the pretext that you had to work the next day missed what those intent on marathoning it to LA's 2 am nightlife threshhold didn't: namely, the night John Maus brought religion to the vaulted ceilings of the Derby. Goes like this: things were winding down when John Maus (pronounced "mouse" as in "church mouse") hit the stage. One song. Two songs. A smattering of dancers. Nothing out of the ordinary. And then BAM! it was like somebody tripped the frenzy switch -- all of a sudden the smattering was joined by bodies along the perimeter and the dance floor was suddenly full of butt wigglin, pogojumpin, limb twirlers maniacs all riding Maus's groaning baritone and errratic synth interpretations toward what appeared to be the more primordial parts of man.

Definitely something in the air/in the drinks/in our systems because it's really difficult to explain how the group began The Dance and how it continued for some time before escalating to the point where John Maus was crouched on the tight Derby stage like some Silverlake prophet singing his last "tune" and everyone just started crawling toward the stage, draping over the monitors and each other, arms out, palms open, fingers splayed and wriggling jazz-amoeba hands fashion, collectively undulating while Maus hovered over his mike behind a shield of dirty blond hair trying to keep it together while wondering to himself how the hell is this really happening is this for real? and really, the song could have ended right there everybody up there by the stage like that, but instead the crowded waited for Maus to let out a final wail, then fell back from the stage scattering into their individual drunken moves before the music officially ended and what could be said except "!"

Anyway, a night I don't think I could forget even if I wanted to. (I don't want to.) Oh, yes and Fascinoma had an amazing time playing to so many shining faces and with our lovely new bass player Mr. Mike. Wow. Low end. What a difference. And I also have to say this: Crowded elevators/subways: no. Evangenital and Hidden sandwiches: yes please. Not that it matters so much to anybody else, but I had so much fun last night I'm still riding high on endorphins from the music and the human interface. Mental note: being in good company is a luxury not to be taken lightly. Everyone, please luxuriate whenever possible.

hoho,
alice

The Evangenitals

They take it slow and even. And when your head's cocked to one side and your breathing's a little deeper then usual and you're standing with all the other entranced people in the crowd, you know their little nylon army and jeff jones on bass! have gotten you real good. I think we (Fascinoma) may be playing with these little lovers on the 29th, at the Derby. We'll confirm in next coupla days.


See Evangenitals footage from the 9/5 Kerry benefit HERE (11.9 MB Quicktime file)

NYC City. Rio Grande River

So we (Eagle and Talon) are back from the mighty nation of NYC. Friends inevitably ask whether it was awesome did we have an amazing time and when I’m feeling lethargic I answer affirmative. When on an honest streak I explain it had its peaks and valleys and I’m glad to be home. Truth is, it’s like a lot of things that occur in my life or (everyone's) life where any main experience (such as a trip to nyc) is made up of a whole bunch of (hard to cleanly delineate) baby experiences. Some babies are wonderful, some mediocre, some not so good...

We got the worst over with two days into the trip with the worst gig of our lives at a club called Siberia. Walked in, apart from the charming door guy who looked like a doughboy in the wrong clothes (all black), the swirl of beer, smoke, aging vomit and non-descript punk music raging from the basement did not bode well for the evening. Only the most loyal of friends managed to stick it out to the 2:00 am start time (an hour late) where the curly-haired bartender/soundman opted voice his indifference by staying behind the bar while those little girls of Eagle and Talon played through tornadoes of feedback and bewilderment at how the world (the soundman!) could be so cruel. We ended our set early and spent the next few days believing that the gig had gone so completely badly that we didn’t even feel traumatized. Only Kim stopped feeling excited about music.

That was Gig No. One. Thankfully things picked up after that. I will write more on those (to balance the complaining anecdote above) when I’m not just procrastinating.

-alice

The Flusher

Yah, it's true. The circular atrium of the sunlit guggenheim was 3/4 covered in water.
I know cause i was there. I know cause i was THERE there.

A little backstory: a few years ago when i was fielding a little obsession with ethics and moral behavior i decided to target public bathrooms as my cause du jour and it just became this thing where now i can't really leave a public restroom without picking up the loose bits of paper towel or strewn toilet paper that accumulate. So, my friends think it's weird (and dirty) but I figure why should every person who comes in after me have to see the same mess that i see, plus disarray breeds greater disarray/disrespect -- people see a place gone to shit and even the good kind ones miss the wastebasket and say "eh" or leave the sprinkle on the toilet seat or don't flush all products down.

Anyway, it's this issue that i tried to address this past monday after kim and i made it to the guggenheim an hour before closing and decided not to see the artwork and instead to go jack ourselves with caffeine in the museum cafe --"oh but lemme just run in here a second..."

So kim waited outside. Inside the empty corridor connecting the atrium and the cafe, a small line formed.

Inside: I had done my (lite) business, deligently wiped the seat till it was gleaming, activated the auto flush, and saw to her chagrin that the toilet bowl was now filled high with shredded toilet paper. not to standard. But the water looked high and i thought about waiting till it went down a bit. naw. life is about the little risks, no?

I bypassed the autoflush pressed the button above the sensor and watched as water ripped out (normal) and raged (no, no, not normal) upward toward the lip and out, spilling over the seat and onto the floor first forming a puddle around the base of the bowl then into the area beneath the sink then towards me and the door then right past my semi-submerged sandals into the hallway past one security guard then two security guards and kim and everybody are watching in disbelief and mild horror at what is going on (i don't know guys!!) i rush back into the burning fire, no fountaining waters and look for some sort of tap to close but the toilet is roaring white water still and there are no signs of letting up. back into the hallway where walkie-talkies are dispatching help. I look at the whole wet mess one last time.

We slip out the side door, walk past feather earring vendor and hang around the scene of the crime while I grapple with guilt and mild shame. when we go back to check the (once glorious) circular atrium is pretty much covered with a slick 1/2 inch of toilet water except for a small crescent of dry marble near the entrance.

Very pretty.

So yah. I flooded the guggenheim. All i can say is with indigestion, things could've been worse.

Oh Eagle and talon.

(we'll be back from nyc on saturday. see y'all then.)

love,
alice