Orange Sunshine - LA Record

Orange Sunshine - book review & interview for LA Record

Orange Sunshine
By Nick Schou

When people see a book about acid they feel compelled to share their personal stories – often too personal. But few question how that little tab traveled from some Bay Area chemistry lab to the center of their innermost fears. Nick Schou’s new Orange Sunshine charts the rise and fall of the Brotherhood of Eternal Love – an organization that reached from the resin-coated hookahs of Afghanistan to the hem of Tim Leary’s tunic. During the mid 1960s, psychedelic swami John Griggs helped create what would become one of the largest smuggling organizations in the United States – distributing extravagantly obtained bricks of hash and LSD out of a small storefront on Pacific Coast Highway in Laguna Beach. (The group supplied Hendrix with the titular tabs in Hawaii during his Rainbow Bridge concert.) Eventually cocaine blew the whole organization to pieces, leading to homelessness, arrests and a few fatal overdoses. Through extensive interviews and painstaking research, Schou, a staff writer for OC Weekly, presents a precise and unbiased view of one of the most radical organizations to come out of Orange County.

Does anyone appear to have held on to the money they made?

With few exceptions, nobody in the Brotherhood got rich. A couple of guys managed to get out of the business and reinvest their money in real estate, so they are now retired and playing golf and meditating at nice resort-style ashrams. A lot of them spent years in jail and others became addicted to cocaine in the 70s and endured harrowing experiences behind bars in third world prisons, so you really have the whole range of outcomes – some redemptive, others tragic.

How many times did you have to watch Rainbow Bridge? Are you concerned about what that may have done to your psyche?

I actually discovered Rainbow Bridge in college, when I was listening to a lot of Hendrix. I thought the film was a joke. After I realized how it fit into the story, I watched it again and still had no idea what the hell was going on. The scene with the hash inside the surfboard used to be on YouTube, so I was able to transcribe the dialogue from there. There are other clips on YouTube, but the only part of the film I enjoy is when Jimi plays ‘Hey Baby, Land of the New Rising Sun’ to the Brothers and their friends at the end of the film. The movie is mostly painful. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s been used to torture detainees at Guantanamo Bay.

Do you think getting Jimi Hendrix to perform on the edge of a volcano in Hawaii was the greatest stoned epiphany ever actualized?

Despite the really poor sound quality and drugged-out vibe, the performance on the slope of Haleakala includes some of Jimi’s best playing, and it captures him right before his untimely death. Supposedly he shared Chuck Wein’s belief in extraterrestrials. Brotherhood guys who surfed in the movie insist that a ‘Mothership’ full of ‘Space Brothers’ did flyovers during filming – but the reels came out blank.

Orange Sunshine
By Nick Schou

When people see a book about acid they feel compelled to share their personal stories – often too personal. But few question how that little tab traveled from some Bay Area chemistry lab to the center of their innermost fears. Nick Schou’s new Orange Sunshine charts the rise and fall of the Brotherhood of Eternal Love – an organization that reached from the resin-coated hookahs of Afghanistan to the hem of Tim Leary’s tunic. During the mid 1960s, psychedelic swami John Griggs helped create what would become one of the largest smuggling organizations in the United States – distributing extravagantly obtained bricks of hash and LSD out of a small storefront on Pacific Coast Highway in Laguna Beach. (The group supplied Hendrix with the titular tabs in Hawaii during his Rainbow Bridge concert.) Eventually cocaine blew the whole organization to pieces, leading to homelessness, arrests and a few fatal overdoses. Through extensive interviews and painstaking research, Schou, a staff writer for OC Weekly, presents a precise and unbiased view of one of the most radical organizations to come out of Orange County.

Does anyone appear to have held on to the money they made?

With few exceptions, nobody in the Brotherhood got rich. A couple of guys managed to get out of the business and reinvest their money in real estate, so they are now retired and playing golf and meditating at nice resort-style ashrams. A lot of them spent years in jail and others became addicted to cocaine in the 70s and endured harrowing experiences behind bars in third world prisons, so you really have the whole range of outcomes – some redemptive, others tragic.

How many times did you have to watch Rainbow Bridge? Are you concerned about what that may have done to your psyche?

I actually discovered Rainbow Bridge in college, when I was listening to a lot of Hendrix. I thought the film was a joke. After I realized how it fit into the story, I watched it again and still had no idea what the hell was going on. The scene with the hash inside the surfboard used to be on YouTube, so I was able to transcribe the dialogue from there. There are other clips on YouTube, but the only part of the film I enjoy is when Jimi plays ‘Hey Baby, Land of the New Rising Sun’ to the Brothers and their friends at the end of the film. The movie is mostly painful. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s been used to torture detainees at Guantanamo Bay.

Do you think getting JImi Hendrix to perform on the edge of a volcano in Hawaii was the greatest stoned epiphany ever actualized?

Despite the really poor sound quality and drugged-out vibe, the performance on the slope of Haleakala includes some of Jimi’s best playing, and it captures him right before his untimely death. Supposedly he shared Chuck Wein’s belief in extraterrestrials. Brotherhood guys who surfed in the movie insist that a ‘Mothership’ full of ‘Space Brothers’ did flyovers during filming – but the reels came out blank.

Orange Sunshine @ LA Record

Hesitation Blues #1 - LA Record

Hesitation Blues - LA Record

It's that time of year when old jazzbos are trotted off to European festivals to breathe some fresh air and teach high school kids how to play a blues scale on their days off. While they are out spending their increasingly valueless Euros, the rest of us are left with the weakest season of the jazz calendar. Unless you dig those breezy, barefoot, strolling-on-the-beach, saxophone-and-wind -chime sounds, you've got some slim pickings this summer.

While the Jazz Bakery continues to jump from one melting iceberg to another in search of a permanent home, they will stop August 1 at the Silent Movie Theatre for the LA premiere of The Anatomy of Vince Guaraldi, the pianist everyone of a certain age knows for the dance scene in A Charlie Brown Christmas. But Guaraldi was already well-known by the time he met Charles Schulz and co., coming off early work with Cal Tjader and Mongo Santamaria and a surprise B-side hit called "Cast Your Fate to the Wind." Anatomy presents pretty-much-thought-lost period footage of prime Guaraldi with unreleased recordings and commentary from everyone from Dave Brubeck to Paul "The Realist" Krassner.

Kenny Burrell - guitarist, educator, Ellington's #1 fan - is one of our most treasured local (by way of Detroit) elder statesmen. His status in the jazz community looms large thanks to his performances with Jimmy Smith, John Coltrane and Bill Evans. Burrell's effortless authority over his guitar and his sidemen is compelling not only to listen to but also to watch. Never a drop of sweat on that guy. Burrell will return to Hollywood's Catalina Bar and Grill for his annual engagement August 5-7. As long as the synth strings stay home, there should be some great meaty guitar lines provided by a nattily dressed professional.

Herbie Hancock is one of those guys that you think is older than he really is. He may have played with Miles in the early 60s, but he was still in his early thirties when he released Head Hunters. It's safe to say he probably has the largest keytar collection of any 70-year-old man. This is part of the problem of encountering Herbie Hancock in the 21st century. Sometimes he acts like an old jazz cat and sometimes he acts like a middle-aged pop star. Unfortunately, the old jazz cat doesn't seem to have had much input in Hancock's curated jazz series at the Hollywood Bowl this season. This is my problem more than his. Nevertheless, I wouldn't miss a night with blues guitar greats Buddy Guy and BB King on August 11. Guy, who reached sweat-drenched heights alongside Junior Wells in the late 60s while everybody else ripped his style and fizzled out, still rocks the polka-dot guitar like no one else. King has outlasted even more - playing nearly as many shows as there are seats at the Bowl.

LA Record Issue 100

Antonio Sanchez - All About Jazz

Live in New York at Jazz Standard
Antonio Sanchez (CAMJazz)

When seated behind the drums Antonio Sanchez
takes on an intense command of every sixteenth note
that swings through his wrists, navigating an
unwavering groove through myriad twists and turns.
In just under two hours, Live in New York at Jazz
Standard thunders across two discs and eight tunes
with pinpoint precision and a white-knuckle pace.
Aided by bassist Scott Colley and saxophonists David
Sanchez (tenor) and Miguel Zenon (alto), the album
was recorded at the end of a tour nearly two years ago.

The quartet, free of the chordal restrictions of
piano or guitar, is an extremely tight ensemble, like a
flock of birds jutting out in one direction before
instinctively turning into a driving pulse, seemingly
unannounced but without any member missing a cue.
The album opens with the saxophonists locked in tight
harmony, jumping around the spastic intervals of
Sanchez’ “Greedy Silence”. After a simultaneous horn
duel each launches into the stratosphere. Sanchez’
“Ballade” plays the horns off of each other in gentle
swoops while brushes spaciously crash across the
drumkit. The second disc, equally lithe and
propulsive, highlights more of Sanchez’ compositional
talents, opening with the heavy funk of “It Will Be
Better” and closing with “Challenge Within”, a
cowbell-driven smattering of polyrhythms that is
feverishly complex yet melodic.

Throughout the record Sanchez is masterfully
supportive, drifting into avant garde realms without
losing sight of the pulse. What space is left by the hardhitting
saxophonists and Colley’s hyper-kinetic
walking, if not running, is filled by Sanchez’ busy
hands and feet, sounding at times like two or three
drummers. Sanchez’ exuberance can be a little
exhausting at times but the record provides enough
room for the listener to breath before ripping into
another fast-paced exploration. This is music that
demands attention and rewards the listener with
astounding moments of interaction and trust.


Antonio Sanchez @ All About Jazz - New York

James Moody - All About Jazz

4B
James Moody (IPO)

Unlike tennis players or eggs, musicians can get
better with age. Taste overrides technique, comfort
supplants competition. James Moody, now in his
eighth decade as a professional musician, does not
have to prove anything to anyone. 4B, the sequel to last
year’s 4A, is an equally eloquent stroll through the
American songbook, aided by relative young-blood
Kenny Barron on piano, appropriately named bassist
Todd Coolman and ever-present drummer Lewis
Nash. Six out of the nine songs on this album could
have been recorded at Moody’s first recording session
in 1948. The other three are provided by Barron,
Coolman and fellow tenor giant Benny Golson.

The album opens with Barron’s solo stride
through “Take the A Train” before the rest of the band
jumps in at the bridge with a brisker pace and Moody
takes the first solo with economic twists and turns. For
the ordinarily upbeat “Hot House” Moody slows the
tempo and takes an extended solo before giving way to
Barron’s nimble fingers and Coolman’s honey-toned
exploration. Tadd Dameron’s altered progressions,
alongside “Polka Dots & Moonbeams”, make up a
third of the album’s running time. “Speak Low” is
given a jaunty bossa beat while Cole Porter’s “I Love
You” gets a more romantic but similarly South
American-influenced interpretation with Barron
soloing distinctly through double-timed riffs on both
tracks. Coolman’s Pettiford tribute “O.P. Update”,
with its harmonized lines between the bass and
saxophone, fits in amidst the mid-century feel of the
repertoire. The composer’s solo states its case before
Moody jumps in with his funkiest lead on the album.
The pianist’s subdued “Nikara’s Song” and Golson’s
“Along Came Betty” serve two sides of the same coin;
the former highlighting Moody’s sensitive side while
the latter brings out his more meaty tones. A delicate,
brush-driven, start-stop take on “But Not for Me”
closes out the record with Moody tacking on a fluent
and boastful coda.

4B is a worthy companion to its predecessor with
Moody taking on songs that he could probably play in
his sleep, alongside consummate professionals who
have no trouble supporting the master with an hour of
unwavering swing and tasteful solos.


James Moody @ All About Jazz - New York

Charlie Hunter - All About Jazz

Gentlemen I Neglected To Inform You
You Will Not Be Getting Paid
Charlie Hunter (Spire Artist Media)

Gentlemen I Neglected To Inform You You Will Not Be
Getting Paid, recorded in Brooklyn last summer, is
seven-string guitarist Charlie Hunter’s 17th record as a
leader. For this outing Hunter plucks and strums his
way across nine radio-friendly tracks (only one is more
than five minutes long) with solid drumming from Eric
Kalb and the unobtrusive assistance of two trombones
(Alan Ferber, Curtis Fowlkes) and a trumpet (Eric
Biondo). The tunes, all written by Hunter, never stray
too far from a laidback groove that rarely enlivens the
pulse but still provides enough soulful riffage.
The seven-stringed guitar is divided into three
bass strings and four guitar strings, allowing Hunter to
occupy both roles simultaneously. His level of selfreliance
exists on a plane usually reserved for pianists
and organists. Hunter has made this technique a
permanent part of his sound, which, even in its
quietest moments, requires the utmost attention to
balance and originality.

The record opens with Hunter’s inimitable
interplay leisurely chopping out chords while his
thumb strolls below before the horns jump in with
brassy puffs of sound to fill out the tune. Throughout
the record the horn section mostly serves to backup
Hunter’s solos. Occasionally he lets them reach beyond
the charts and use a little soloing muscle but often
reins them in before they can go too far out. The record
serves mostly as a vehicle for Hunter’s likable blend of
R&B and jazz, supporting spacious guitar lines with
rock-solid bass. “High and Dry” shows off Hunter’s
ability to play brisk and drowsy simultaneously while
“Ode to My Honda Odyssey”, a tribute to his touring
chariot, allows Hunter to dig deep into a vibrato-laden
solo while the horns hover in the background, egging
him on.

The independent voices emanating from Hunter’s
amplifier sound more and more distinct with each
passing release. This record, with its vintage
instrumentation and production (“In glorious mono”
boasts the cover!) emphasizes grooves over flash,
proving that Hunter has yet to run out of challenges
for his over-worked fingers.

Charlie Hunter @ All About Jazz - New York

Phil Woods - All About Jazz

Phil Woods review - All About Jazz - New York

Solitude (with DePaul
Univ. Jazz Ensemble)
Phil Woods
(Jazzed Media)

Come Right In
(with Phil Woods)
N. Glenn Davis Quintet
(Jazzed Media)

Bop master Phil Woods has still got all the gusto he
had when he blew into the Prestige studios over 55
years ago. At a weeklong appearance at Dizzy’s Club
last month the alto saxist showed off his effortless
versatility alongside his longtime, similarly grayhaired
rhythm section, swinging to a full house every
set. So it’s no surprise to hear him sounding equally
youthful on this pair of recent releases.

Solitude features a spry Woods fronting Chicago’s
massive DePaul University Jazz Ensemble playing ten
of the saxist’s tunes, recorded over three sessions
during the 2008-2009 school year. From the opening
sand-strewn pulse of “Brazilian Affair” to the
syncopated shout of “Ol’ Dude”, Woods keeps a strong
presence amidst the vibraphones, countless
woodwinds and bass trombones. The students, who
not only mastered the arrangements but also wrote
some of them, provide all the necessary support for
Woods’ bop-based flights while also contributing a
few solid solos of their own. “Song for Sass”, Woods’
tribute to Sarah Vaughan, features a great fluttering
solo from trumpeter Scott Dickinson while bombastic
closer “Mother Time” is highlighted by a confident
solo by vibraphonist Justin Thomas. Woods is
excellent throughout, playing breakneck wails and
great bop lines over the well-groomed collegiate
band’s swing.

Come Right In finds Woods transforming drummer
N. Glenn Davis’ Quintet into a sextet for only three
tunes on his newest release. In between the tight
ensemble works its way through a couple of standards
including a simmering “If You Could See Me Now”
and a collection of hard-swinging originals. The album
opens with “A Different Day”, a Blue Note-indebted
tune of breaks and riffs before eminence grisé Woods
gets first crack at a solo, wailing a way at a spiraling
jaunt through the burning changes. Barreling close
behind him is trumpeter Jack Schantz whose twisting
phrases drive the band even harder, popping up
throughout the record with succinct blasts from his
horn. From those opening three minutes the band
continues to drive for nearly an hour. “Just a Tadd”,
Davis’ tribute to fellow Clevelander Tadd Dameron,
features more alto expertise from Woods while the
bossa “Warm Smile”, with its literal nods to Jobim,
starts off slow before ending in a swinging cacophony
of dueling solos. Overall the album is a confident,
swinging disc. Davis has written some interesting
compositions, which benefit from the intensity of his
bandmates and boosted by the presence of Woods, but
are in no way lost without them.

Phil Woods @ All About Jazz - New York

Alan Rich - LA Record

Alan Rich: 1924 - 2010

Alan was a great mentor to me. He read a few of my silly little articles when I was just starting and he didn't immediately rip them up and throw them in my face. I thought that was a good sign. I had dinner with him a few times and attended a few shows with him - great seats! He also introduced me to Raymond Richards who recorded and released the last two Leviathan Brothers records. Alan helped me tremendously and I will always remember that. Here is the rememberance I wrote about him for the LA Record - unshakable publishers of a new generation of smart-assed writers and the first place to encourage the Cult of SOC.

From the LA Record - (2/29/10)

“I am a member of an endangered species. Encountering dangerous members of the species makes me frightened or sick, especially at 82. I happen to think that I am better than a lot of them, on the strength of having studied with superior teachers and stayed awake in their classrooms.”
—Alan Rich

I first met Alan while working for the box office of Walt Disney Concert Hall. We got along well because I was the only lackey that didn’t ask to see his photo ID every week when he picked up his tickets. Being a regular reader of his weekly column didn’t hurt either. There isn’t a writer out there who can resist the satisfaction of knowing that someone is actually reading the words they hammered out in passionate solitude. Alan was no exception. When he was unceremoniously canned in 2008 by LA Weekly’s “Phoenix-based bean-counters who evaluate every word in their chain of papers against the income they produce,” he was understandably devastated, having had his internationally recognized voice silenced after 50 years of unrivaled observations and cantankerous wit. As any unemployed 80-something-year-old would do, he started a blog and, more importantly to him, began remodeling his kitchen—a project he referred to as his true gift to the world.

Alan Rich and George Bush Sr. were born five days apart in 1924, in Milton, Massachusetts, where stone-walled property lines date back to the days of John Quincy Adams and every house has as many chimneys as bathrooms. Although he attended Harvard in pursuit of a medical degree, Alan veered off the path—much to his parents’ dismay—toward a career in music journalism. He often said that it wasn’t until he had introduced his parents to his friend Leonard Bernstein that they accepted his career choice. After college he bounced around the world, helping to start KPFA and studying the finer points of Viennese musicology before returning to New York to document the ground-breaking work of artists like Philip Glass and Steve Reich. In the 1980s he made a permanent move to Los Angeles where he became an early proponent of Esa-Pekka Salonen and current keeper of the Philharmonic baton, Gustavo Dudamel.

Although he made his living primarily as a commentator on the classical music world, writing for such publications as the New York Times, Newsweek, Variety, New York magazine, and LA Weekly, and closed it with particularly astute observations on the vital work being done in Los Angeles, Rich’s career would make any music writer—or reader—green with envy. His stories of being flown to meet up-and-comer David Bowie in London, or having a dinner of metaphorical entrees and unbaked bread with John Cage, or attending the “Howl” obscenity trials, or having lunch with a young Harry Nilsson in New York, or having a roommate who smoked banana peels at the advice of Donovan, or being put in a headlock by Placido Domingo for less than flattering comments about his personal life, or counseling sophomore-slumped neighbor Rivers Cuomo on the finer points of Debussy were fascinating and, most importantly, true.

Alan was unafraid to voice his opinion or take others to task for having ineloquently voiced their own. Alan made a living typing out his diatribes on increasingly complex machinery to an increasingly complex readership without ever sacrificing his intelligence or honest opinion. He was the last of a breed who, in the “good old days,” ran back to the office at intermission to submit a review only to return to the venue for the second half to make sure he wasn’t completely off target. His advice and encouragement will live on in a handful of us, and his beliefs will live on for even more. Rest in peace, Alan—I hope the acoustics are good in the afterlife.

—S.O.C.

Remembering Alan Rich @ LA Record

Zungguzungguguzungguzeng - the District

From the District - (2/17/10)

It’s that time of year when yellow, red and green overtake the streets of downtown and the smell of jazz cigarettes defiantly wafts above helpless ushers in the Long Beach Arena. This weekend, the two-day Ragga Muffins festival, formerly known as the Bob Marley Day festival, celebrates its 29th year of everything irie. Equally full of legends and newcomers, the festival is bound to provide enough dub, jah and riddim to keep most everyone happy until next February. Here’s who to look for:

GREGORY ISAACS Jamaican-born crooner Gregory Isaacs is the king of lovers rock. His pleading voice is as steeped in Philly soul as it is in the Kingston beat. Although his recordings have appeared on over 500 albums, Isaacs’ biggest success came when he cooed over a loping beat and synthesizer on his 1982 Island record Night Nurse, pining for a little love and medical assistance. After a debilitating addiction to cocaine—wherein he lost most of his teeth and hardened his vocal pipes—Isaacs returned to the concert stage and recording studio in the ’00s.

YELLOWMAN “Zungguzungguguzungguzeng” has to be one of the greatest song titles ever written. Cocky showstopper Yellowman barked his 1983 hit to widespread recognition, introducing his rapid-fire vocal style to a world of budding hip-hoppers who would later sample the hell out of it (e.g., Tupac, Biggie, Mos Def). In recent years, he has dedicated himself to singing about more spiritual concerns. Raised in a Jamaican orphanage, Yellowman is definitely reggae’s most successful albino/cancer survivor/sex symbol.

BARRINGTON LEVY Barrington Levy released his album debut at the age of 14. By that point, he was already a dancehall mainstay. By the mid ’80s, still only in his 20s, Levy had had a string of hits in Jamaica and the UK, including “Mary Long Tongue,” “Love of Jah” and “Robberman.” His swaggering vocals appeared on hundreds of singles before earning his Long Beach stripes by collaborating with both Snoop Dogg and the Long Beach Dub All-Stars in the late ’90s.

KEN BOOTHE Mr. Rock Steady is the elder statesman of this party. A veteran of the Trojan Records scene, Boothe began his recording career in the late ’50s. He found success several years later with a few laid-back covers of songs by Jackie Wilson and Wilson Pickett before striking it big with a reworking of Bread’s “Everything I Own,” which became a surprise #1 hit in the UK in 1974. His quavering, unmatched tenor and personal style should have made him a far bigger star than he was. Bonus points for being mentioned in the Clash’s “White Man in Hammersmith Palais.”

BIG YOUTH Jamaican DJ Manley Buchanan’s unmistakable squeal was first heard on 1972’s “The Killer.” From there he and his dreads toasted their way across Jamaica, eventually amassing seven singles on the charts at one time. Big Youth’s style of punchy riffing over producers’ tracks was a decade-early influence on the hip-hop movement. His grill, however, was an even bigger influence, with his teeth capped in the colors of the Rasta flag.

SHAGGY Gulf War veteran Shaggy was the most successful major-label bid at reggae marketing. “Mr. Boombastic,” his 1995 single, sold over one million copies in the US, leading to more than a fair share of vocalists imitating his Jamaica-by-way-of-Brooklyn baritone to considerably less acclaim. The 2000 radio mainstay “It Wasn’t Me” was an even bigger hit, juxtaposing Shaggy’s low-end with a straight-ahead R&B chorus. Not quite a one-hit wonder, Shaggy has made more money and sold more albums than the rest of the festival’s artists combined. Does this mean he’s a better artist? No, but he might be the only artist this weekend that your mom can sing along with.

THE 29TH ANNUAL RAGGA MUFFINS FESTIVAL LONG BEACH ARENA • 300 E OCEAN BLVD • LONG BEACH 90802 • 562.436.3636 • SAT-SUN 1PM • $38-55 •

Zungguzungguguzungguzeng @ the District

Spoke 'N' Words - The District

From the District - (02/10/10)

Last month David Byrne presented a trial run of this week’s TED lecture, “Creativity in Reverse,” for a full house of cross-legged beardos on a desolate strip in Brooklyn. Fittingly, after opening the microphone to a lengthy question-and-answer, it seemed more than half the questions were about bicycles. As hipster spokesperson for the pedaling masses, Byrne is known first as the lead singer of the Talking Heads, and second as a guy who likes to ride bikes (Academy Award-winning composer, conceptual artist and funky dancer round out the top five). Since the early 1980s he has been a fixture of New York streets, dodging potholes between art galleries and concert stages. Eventually he took to bringing a bike on tour with him as a way of seeing whatever paved location he found himself in that day. His newest book, Bicycle Diaries, is a scattershot tour of such far-flung regions as Buenos Aries, London and San Francisco as seen from a banana seat. Much like his blog of disjointed observations, Byrne takes on everything from the loneliness of Nazi war criminals to the history of PowerPoint, stringing them all together with a low-speed travelogue of the world’s unique offerings—Filipino karaoke stalls, Australian seaside cemeteries, Detroit’s industrial ruins, etc. His ruminations are insightful but occasionally a little naïve (or is it optimistic?), with an ample amount of profanity peppered throughout. Although he does not dedicate a chapter to Los Angeles, he makes numerous references to our “residential theme park,” where sidewalks abruptly end and people are imprisoned by their own cars—the seeming antithesis of his idyllic Manhattan lifestyle. Byrne provides a convincing argument for the role of the bicycle—both socially and economically—by addressing what has worked and failed abroad (more roads = more traffic jams!), as well as at home (bike lanes, bike racks). His 30-year perspective gives him credibility, while his eccentricities prevent the text from being overly preachy. Now, if only he could find a helmet that wouldn’t mess up his hair, everything would be perfect.

BICYCLE DIARIES BY DAVID BYRNE • VIKING ADULT • 320 PAGES • $25.95


Bicycle Diaries @ the District

Drink of the Week - The District

From the District Weekly - (01/27/10)

Among Orange County’s little cottonwoods lies a windowless rumpus room known as the Sportsman. From the looks of the clientele, these sports seem to consist mostly of darts and Big Buck Hunter. From the looks of the barmaids, these sports also include a little snowboarding and underwear shopping. Los Alamitos does not do much to promote the fact that it houses a bikini bar, but there they were: pleasant, young women, walking around on designer stilts and wearing less than a napkin’s-worth of fabric. When we arrived at the Sportsman between droplets of rain, the patrons—which included but one woman—were more focused on the Lakers game than on the scantily-clad staff standing between them and the TV set. Although the hard liquor was low-priced and high-quality, the majority of drinks consumed on this night were bottled beers. (It’s not very healthy to be dipping in and out of an ice-lined fridge all day without the assistance of a little goose down, but hey, these women are professionals.) Aside from bending at the waist and cracking open frosty MGDs, the ladies also flexed their skills with a few house specialties—fruity concoctions of indeterminate alcohol content that make everything from the eyes to the toes twitch. Having already surrendered my masculinity by inquiring about the specials in the first place, I settled on the Juicy Pear. Now, pears can make a fine brandy, but in the hands of these nubile mixologists they are downright dangerous. Sugary and sweet, the drink tastes like a can of pears rinsed with vodka and strained with a little ice. Consume three or four of them, and who knows what could happen? As to who exactly orders these cloudy libations, tonight it was just me—and I was there strictly for research. Journalism can be such strenuous work.

THE SPORTSMAN 11133 LOS ALAMITOS BLVD • LOS ALAMITOS 90720 • 562.596.7360

Drink of the Week @ the District