San Francisco, California

The Hollywood experience; guests onstage and backstage; Take it easy, Tigers

Home is in sight

 

The Peas killing time at OutsideLands while having their studios redecorated.

I was glancing through the L.A. Times before our show in Hollywood a few days ago. The cover of the “Home” section featured will.i.am posing with the expensive interior decorator he’d hired to make his multi-million dollar house look ‘elegantly pimped out’. Will.I.am, the Black Eyed Peas and their subsidiary interests get more love from the mainstream American media in one day than Groundation has had in the ten years of its existence, and this was no exception: there was a second article in the business section about how the Peas are now doing exclusive concerts on airplane flights.

L.A. Is the hometown of the Peas, which is appropriate, because they’re a Hollywood entity through and through: Non-confrontational, mild, and mainstream as they come. Plato would have loved them, because he believed all music should serve the needs of the state. In his day, he advocated banning everything but military marches so the common people would have war constantly on their minds and be ready to strap on their shields when the king told them to. He couldn’t have foreseen the rise of the American capitalist consumer state (some would call it a kleptocracy, but who’s counting?), but he would have praised the way the Peas’ music vaunts the careless, narcissistic, acquisitive values that our corporate masters want us to adopt these days.

Trying to make it in L.A., the hard way.

Despite the mind-boggling success of corporate-backed enterprises like the Peas, LA is home to more struggling bands than any city in the world, I’ll bet, specializing in rock, heavy metal, punk and rap. Many of the bands are really good, and they work their asses off to get signed by big record labels. Meanwhile, they play shows for free (preferably for crowds consisting of benevolent entertainment lawyers and A&R reps) and camp out in front of office buildings with their demos. The ones that work their way up through the clubs (like Ozomatli or the Red Hot Chili Peppers) are the lucky exceptions. Beautiful, hungry people are thick on the streets here, hustling their looks and talent, looking to break in, trade up, sell out. I saw a famous actor followed by his fawning assistant in Book Soup, the nationally famous bookstore on Sunset Boulevard. “This is the real American heartland,” said Kelsey as we were walking* back up the Strip. On our left was the Viper Room and to our right was the Whiskey a Go Go. “Welcome to the American dream,” he said, and I had to agree.

Ryan and Marcus, making music the (relatively) old fashioned way.

Northern Californians like myself are indoctrinated from a young age to poop on our southern neighbors, but I’m happy to give credit where it’s due. The fact is, Los Angeles a great city, an indivisible facet of contemporary America. The drama of its troubles, its people, and its extraordinary creative powers are equal to those of any city you care to mention. Still, the lifestyle of the people who coined the term ‘lifestyle’ deserves a certain amount of criticism. I don’t think that Hollywood is the heart and soul of the Babylon system, but it’s a part of it.

At the risk of sounding like Mickey Spillane, LA feels like an old love affair these days, a rocky one, an amour fou. Now when I’m in town I try to keep our relationship on a formal footing; a light business brunch conducted by phone from a sunny table at a Melrose cafe (one with good sightlines, please, waiter). There’s always a bigger fish than you out here (if not, one will be along in under five minutes, I promise), and they’re not gonna let you forget it, so just enjoy the sunshine, have your picture taken next to Paula Abdul’s star on the Walk of Fame, and get out of town before rush hour**.

Ironically, Groundation got the star treatment at our show in Hollywood. A series of coincidences resulted in our taking a stretch limousine to the show. Rich, our uberroadie, worked out an under-the-table deal with the driver, who hadn’t cleaned up the champagne glasses and ashtrays from his previous clients. I wonder what our fans waiting behind the velvet rope in front of the Key Club must have thought when Harrison and the rest of us stepped out of a stretch limousine packed with empty champagne bottles . I really hope no one got the wrong idea. The tabloids probably could care less, but just in case, let me set the record straight: Groundation and Hollywood? We’re just friends.

Are you kidding? Purple goes with anything!

Back on our home turf, Groundation had lots of friends backstage. Some folks from Spearhead were at the Hollywood show, they’re a NorCal band like us. Rufus’ friend Keli Ross Ma’u contributed mesmerizing music on the steel drums during our set at The Belly Up in Solano Beach. Though steel drums are a Caribbean instrument, you don’t often hear them in reggae. Superfan Frank brought some pro athlete friends to that show as well, who immediately started talking to me excitedly about the prospects of fourth-ranked Louisiana State University’s contest with number one Florida the coming Saturday. I asked for it, I was wearing an LSU baseball cap. I considered my possible responses:

“Well, if they’re gonna win it, they’ll have to focus on putting points on the board…” This is what I always say when I find myself in a conversation about sports. ___ gave me a squinty look, so I tried a different track.

“Ok, Ok. I admit it. I’m not a real LSU fan. I just happen to have this hat,” I said.

There's only one color on game day in Athens, Georgia.

He nodded his head, but that squint never went completely away. The fact is, it was hot as hell in Lafeyette, Louisiana where I bought this thing, and I needed a hat, and since I’m a fan of Louisiana in general (my dad’s from there), I bought it as a souvenir, and it was only $5.99 and it was the only kind of hat they sold at that gas station. Little did I know it would cause people to wish me dead in places like Athens, Georgia and Orlando, Florida where football is a way of life. I think if our band had sucked, I would have been lynched wearing this hat. Come to think of it, the people down in Tiger country were just as unimpressed. Years ago I played in a Santa Rosa sports bar where the band never knew if people were clapping for our impassioned improvisations or a touchdown by the 49ers. I guess music and football don’t mix that well. Maybe that’s why they still haven’t called us back about playing this year’s Super Bowl halftime.

Palm trees and my beautiful wife, two sure signs I'm home.

The tour finally wound its way back up to Northern California. The last night of the tour was on the campus of Sonoma State University, which was appropriate, because that’s where half the band received their musical education. I had the honor of lighting an indeterminate number of candles on the birthday cake of Mr. Nick Harris, who’s been our tour manager this last six weeks. He looked a bit tired, a bit of the cynic coiled discreetly in his warm smile. Another wild ride, and the journey’s just beginning, but it sure is good to be home.

 

“Diesel” Dave Chachere

Groundation

 *Just a bit of anthropological trivia for those of you who live in LA. Walking is the principal mode of locomotion for primitive bipedal hominids that don’t have cars. I once asked the clerk in a West Hollywood gas station if there was a public telephone within walking distance. She said, “What’s walking distance?” That story’s getting old, I realize. If it happened today she would have asked, “What’s a public telephone?” ; )

**If you’re inclined, you can also find Bob Marley’s star in front of #7080 Hollywood Boulevard. It’s just that Paula would probably be flattered, and Bob would probably think you were wasting your time. He’s the only reggae artist I could find among nearly 2,400 on the Walk of Fame.

Even my wife's grandma has a star. Sorry, Jimmy Cliff.