I saw Jupiter Keyes at the bar next to The Smell. He was wearing a tie-dyed shirt made of thin cotton with a low cut collar, which I had seen him wear once before; that's how I spotted him in a room full of anonymous bodies where each face seemed to be blocking the next. Had it been outdoors and not in dimly lit bar, his red hair would have been more noticeable. I don't know why I went up to him, this sort of thing gives me anxiety attacks. I did it anyway and had my anxiety attack on queue.
The girl he was talking to was maybe 5'4", a pixie, long straight brown hair and short bangs, striking green eyes. Beautiful, animated. I more or less stopped their conversation when I said hello; soon after, she left. Jupiter and I talked for the duration of two beers, or about five minutes. We drank fast. Then he left.
Interview complete.
Around me at the bar were middle aged men who were interspersed, but not interacting, with the androgynous spillover from the scene next door; The Smell doesn't serve alcohol, but the Latino gay bar does. I overheard a couple guys in Spanish. They were cab drivers, bitching about cheap tips. I counted two cowboy hats, then three when I put on my glasses. A man with a limp bussed the table behind us, and I noticed the band PRE was sitting there. I tried to keep on with my pithy observations, but my friend was giving me a look.
"Jupiter seemed like he was in a rush."
"He pounded that last beer."
"So did you."
Yes, coup de cute girl, it's the best way to introduce yourself. I tensed up and drank some more. It's a matter of looking outward, letting go of tension: look at the way napkins are stuffed into the drinks coming from the bar, and why? The tables are made of something synthetic and won't stain. Maybe it's a courtesy with no purpose, like saying "bless you" after a sneeze. The bouncer isn't checking many of the people who are entering for weapons, as he did with me and my friend. Based on who is searched, I can make a rough estimate that three out of five, or 60%, of the people are regulars. The other 40% made me anxious. Very anxious. My friend was still staring at me. I don't know what she wanted me to say. Yes, I had just failed to be engaging to someone I respect. Yes, I crossed the line between fan and musician. Yes it should be a one way communications. Yes I spoke out of turn, I just confirmed all that, now let's move on.
"I don't think it was you at all," my friend said, who looked down the beer I was emptying, "you could hear the next band had started through the walls. Like he said, he didn't want to miss the show."
Maybe he said that, I don't remember. The place felt like a high school dance, with trannies, cowboys and hipsters as my chaperones.
The history of the Smell is worth telling. It opened as an all-ages art space to fill the void left by two Los Angeles clubs, The Jabberjaw and the Impala Cafe, that closed in the same week in late 1997. They chose a low rent spot in North Hollywood, a historically depressed area of L.A., with an equally long history of renewal projects: the neighborhood, originally called Lankershim, changed its name to North Hollywood in 1927 to attract the booming movie industry. The effort failed. More recently North Hollywood took the "NoHo" moniker to encourage associations with New York's artsy SoHo district, and through a combination of this rebranding and a government seeded Business Improvement District to revitalize the area, theatres popped up, artist-in-residency programs opened, the "interesting" and "electric" shops moved in, and by the late 90's, the area began to feel far less depressed that it had at the beginning of the decade.
This was also what caused a spike in rent for the Smell, and the founders took to a new space downtown, between 2nd and 3rd on South Main. It reeks of urine now, but on its current path, it won't in five years. Then the Smell will probably have to move again.
It seems idiosyncratic of an experimental music venue to be pushed out of a neighborhood establishing itself as a destination for art voyeurs. Financials are one thing, but spots like the Smell get quick reps as being exclusive, as being cliquey. One glance at the crowd strengthens my attitude. But when has noise rock, the genre that HEALTH might fall into, ever been accessible? It isn't a stable genre. Any group surrounding it, or cliques in general, play a balancing act between being self-supported and self-affirming, and falling into an inwardly referential and closed minded trap, the sort of thing that made high school dances such a miserable place. The word "clique" comes from the French claquer, which used to mean "to make a noise", usually an echoic noise: a good description for HEALTH. Today claquer means "to clap". Even the etymology of the word went from interesting to annoying really quickly.
No Age, BARR, The Mae Shi, Mika Miko, HEALTH: these are solid bands all originating from the Smell. I don't feel comfortable there at all, but I came because I love their music. It's not a place for comfort. That's exactly why it works.
"Yes we are part of a scene. It is a scene. We are scenesters. The scene is alive, the music is meaningful. We have never mimiced anyone's sound in the scene or have tried to 'fit in' sonically, one of the most endearing facts of the LA scene is that the bands sound very different, the scene contains at least 5 subgenres, none of which we fit in, but all the bands play together and are friends. The scene seems exclusive at first (we came in as outsiders, it is very tough to break in/get shows), but once you can get past the initial troubles, the scene is overwhelmingly supportive and inclusive. Everyone is friends. We want you there."
John, who I'm quoting from an email he sent, occasionally humps the amp in the middle of a show. That's an important factoid. I saw him in the audience when I got back to the venue and got pretty excited to hear them play. Jupiter, Jake and B.J. were there too, in separate places in the crowd, listening to the band on stage.