I WAS SO HEAVY, MAN,
I LIVED ON THE STRAND
Lovely Whittier, CA |
Stewart asked…
“I’m going to
Los Angeles this summer to conduct a series of interviews – why don’t
you get yourself a plane ticket and get out here?”.
I did just that and here is what happened...
I left Manchester Airport for a connecting flight at
Heathrow (LONDON) bound for LAX (LOS ANGELES). This was the first time I’ve covered serious
mileage on my own before - I was excited but admittedly, I was pretty fucking
nervous, too. It had been awhile since I saw Stewart, my life was in a state of
dis-harmony and I thought ‘fuck it’ this is going to be a story no matter what
happens or how broke I am...I should do this because it will be the silver
lining on a shitty couple of months… I may never get asked to do something so
cool again…
So I got to Heathrow, I wandered around – and it’s kind of like a scaled down, actually, NO, it is pretty much like a full shopping precinct within an airport. I’ve never witnessed anything like it - it’s so fucking unnecessary. Who would visit an apple shop and buy a macbook or an ipad on a whim before boarding a trans-wherever flight?
I had about two hours to kill before boarding time so I headed
straight for the bar to pound a couple of beers - hoping it would take some
sting out of the waiting around. I watched whoever it was playing that day in
the World Cup propped up against the bar staring at the TV.
Finally my gate opens, I stroll up with my boarding pass and
passport then I’m stumped with the question;
“Where will you be staying for the duration of your trip
Sir?” the gate lady asked.
“Somewhere in the suburbs of Los Angeles, Whittier if my
memory serves me correctly?” I flatly respond.
Basically, due to the tightening of homeland security in the
US since the events of September 11th, you now have to provide the
accommodating airline with the FULL ADDRESS of where you are staying. Something
I didn’t have. As far as I was concerned, I was just going to get picked up at
the other end and taken to wherever I was staying.
I missed the flight as a result and had to wake up numerous people on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean trying to find out this shred of information that I COULD have probably made up – but wasn’t going to risk it just to be received in the US of A and sent right back to the UK, which I have heard had happened to people in the past. Off to a flying start. At this point I’d been in two airports for about 8 hours. Without smoking, and I’d not even left British soil; excellent.
I missed the flight as a result and had to wake up numerous people on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean trying to find out this shred of information that I COULD have probably made up – but wasn’t going to risk it just to be received in the US of A and sent right back to the UK, which I have heard had happened to people in the past. Off to a flying start. At this point I’d been in two airports for about 8 hours. Without smoking, and I’d not even left British soil; excellent.
Stewart |
Adieu, adieu…
We touched down in Los Angeles 16 hours later. At this point
I had been travelling for around 24 hours and I was delirious from air
conditioning, lack of sleep, too much booze and no cigarettes. I said my ‘good
byes’ to the author lady as she sailed through passport control and I stood
with the cattle through immigration, knee deep in sniffer dogs and police
security types.
There’s something about airports in foreign countries that put
me on edge; a feeling like I’m in possession of something I shouldn’t or an unexplained
guilt - I always feel like I’m going to get put back on the plane home any
minute. I went through all the ridiculous questioning and iris scans and headed
for baggage claim. I grabbed my bag, fished out my tobacco and began to roll a
cigarette, just as I was finishing the roll – random John Law pulled me to one
side and asked me what I was doing ‘just then’. Rolling tobacco is somewhat of
a rarity in Los Angeles it seems and a filter tip may as well have come from
Mars. I had to explain it’s purpose about three times and he still disappeared
with my passport and tossed my luggage. He let me go when he was content I was
not a terrorist armed with underwear, a few gift 7 inches and filter tips.
Anyway, Stewart was hanging around to greet me and off we drove into the City
Of Angels.
Robbo and Phil |
Stewart informed me of a rough plan for the week and we took
a detour en route to where we would be staying, as he wanted to show me the Pacific
Ocean - a fine introduction to the start of my trip. We parked up in a sleepy town
of Hermosa Beach. As far as I know, Hermosa Beach is where it all began for
Black Flag, as in where it all started.
We walked a small strip of bars and restaurants, which is known as ‘The
Strand’ as in from the song ‘Wasted’ (“I
was a surfer, I had a skateboard, I was so heavy man, I lived on THE STRAND”). It sounds pathetic,
but this trip was blowing my mind already, I walked out along the pier to the
very end, stared at the murky waters, marvelled at the clear evening sky and it
sunk in… I was actually out here doing this awesome thing.
We drove out to the house we were to stay for the duration
of our trip - Whittier, which is a suburb South East of Los Angeles. Our hosts
Philip and Robbo greeted us as we arrived, we ate, drank and then I crashed
out.
Edward Colver |
Edward saw it all and was cool enough to let us into his home and recount his tales of Black Flag and punk from that time. The things that stick out in my mind from that interview the most was Edward’s eclectic garden with carefully hidden artworks in and around plant and rock formations. We sat on his porch for a while, smoked sweet smelling clove cigarettes and he told us the history of his home. He brought out his book ‘Blight At The End Of The Funnel’ and I browsed his impressive pictures and the varied roster of artists who he has worked with in his career. We were invited in and I was astounded with the various belongings inside. Edward’s other life long interest is in antique furniture and his collection is truly astounding.
We set up our equipment, interviewed and photographed Edward (complete with his talking parrot Zeus) for about an hour, he recounted the process of setting up the ‘Damaged’ cover shoot, memories of the LA punk scene, the ever increasing LAPD presence and more interestingly, what it felt like to be insider – watching how it all manifested into something so different then how it started out and ultimately his exit, his step away, when he realised he no longer wanted to be a part of it. Edward took us through the back of his home to his outhouse where he has what only I could call ‘a museum of all things weird and wonderful'. I was totally awestruck. The icing on the cake was Edward’s business card that he gave me as we left…a ‘deepest sympathy’ card with his phone number on the reverse. This pretty much sums up Edward. A total gentleman with a wry sense of humour.
After we had parted company with Mr. Colver, we headed out
to West Hollywood or ‘Westwood’ to shoot a Mother and Son who had identical
‘Bars’ and also the Minor Threat ‘Sheep’ jumping over said set of ‘Bars’. We
had a little time to kill before the interview so I headed towards the numerous
record shops that Hollywood Boulevard, Melrose and the surrounding area has to
offer. I had a lengthy chat with the quintessential LA punk store - 'Headline
Records’ owner Jean-Luc and hung out at Immaculate Tattoos on Melrose where our
host Philip works. At this point I should probably note that Philip apprenticed
under Rick Spellman (the guy who gave Henry Rollins his ‘Angry Sun Face’ and
‘Search and Destroy’ tattoos) who also is featured in Barred For Life.
Finally we head to the shoot just as the sun is setting, set
up, get the interview underway and chit-chat until it’s time to head back. I
barely remember much of the evening after the excitement of the day and general
jet lag kicking in hard. We pit stopped at what was to be our regular morning
breakfast ritual, an authentic Mexicali burrito joint called ‘Burrito Track’
and bed down for the evening with a full stomach and my head swimming with punk
rock stories. This was only day number two…
...to be continued...