Regan Youth, 13 Scars, Dust Angel, Union 13 and Child Abduction
Los Globos, Los Angeles, CA
November 10, 2013
Time: 7:00 PM
I’d been waiting for this show for a long time. The guys from 13 Scars have been buddies of mine since I saw them back in April of this year. Great punk band, every person is this band pulls their weight, top notch musicians.
As an added bonus I was going to get to meet writer David Gurz in person. We’ve been buddies for about a year, but being he was living in Erie, PA we hadn’t met face to face. Dave was lucky enough to get out and tour with these bands from the very first date. So, he saw all of these bands night after night as well as a night with the Subhumans in Pomona.
Another friend of ours (or Dave’s) writer/blogger Marius Gustaitis was also hanging out. Dave had turned me onto Marius’ blog about six months earlier, good stuff.
So, I guess I should start reviewing the show, huh? Well, this particular Sunday night everything went wrong. I was hoping to meet up with the guys before the show for lunch or something, then some committee or something my wife is a part needed an afternoon meeting. She went, and I’m stuck at home. No lunch. Then she had a class 6:30 to 9:00 so I’m pacing a hole in the floor. I don’t go out much anymore, but when I do I want to see everything. All the bands and all the shit inside and outside.
As it was the wife got home and I sprint to the car with my box of books. The show was billed as a show/signing for the chapbook Dave and I did together. So, he was at the merchandise table with no books to sell until I pulled up.
I finally got there between 9:45 or 10:00, I probably would’ve gotten there quicker, but my GPS kept timing out while searching for a satellite. I’d get around the block from the joint and I’d get “searching” every time I’d try to refresh directions. You know the stress you feel being late and not knowing where the hell you’re going? Well, that coupled with the fact that I’m not the calmest dude in the world anyway.
I pull up in front of the club . . . finally. The line out front is a long line of people that are booted and suited for the next episode of Estudio2. The tightest Lycra and pointiest shoes know to man. I was going to freak out, then I got Dave on the phone, he came and got me. Turns out this club is, like, three stories, one is a bar, another is a Hispanic dance club and one is a punk/music club. Imagine the marketing team behind this. Better yet the Sesame Street song comes to mind, “One of these things is not like the other.”
I walk in and 13 Scars are finishing their last song of the night. Shit.
I lug my box of books to the merchandise table, give Dave 20 or 25 copies of the chapbook, get introduced to Marius Gustaitis, say “Hey” to Shawn Durand of 13 Scars and he’s feeling shitty he’s on tour and his mom had just been admitted to the hospital in Washington, he’s feeling a bit helpless and stuck. Then I say “Hey” to Brad also from 13 Scars.
I find a place to plop down and unwind for a second and then Brian Fritts, guitar player from 13 Scars comes over and buys a copy of Last One To Die, coolness!
Then a band called Child Abduction comes on. Shit, I got nothing here. Some white guy in a pink Speedos and dreadlocks is singing with another singer with a huge Mohawk. I can’t make out what they’re saying or when one song starts and another ends. Sorry, not my thing. I will say this: they had a pretty decent size crowd, once they left the stage they seemed to have taken the crowd with them.
The next band up was a band I never heard of before called Union 13. They had a very familiar sound to them. They’d start a song and you’d swear it was a Circle Jerks track, then it would veer off and be something else. Then the next song would start and I’d swear it was Wasted by Black Flag then it’d turn out to be a totally different song. Midway through the set Dave tried to pry Marius and me off of the couch and into the pit. He gave a convincing argument, but we weren’t moving.
A little side note, the first band of the night, Dust Angel . . . I missed them altogether.
The final band of the night was Reagan Youth. I want to say I was never into them. Not because I thought they were bad, but as an L.A. guy I just never got into the East Coast scene. I have to admit they kicked ass. A really good solid set. The whole band was tight and seemed to be enjoying every second of their stage time.
After their set, I took all of my unsold books back to the car, then came back to say, “Adios” to the bands. Reagan Youth back to New York and 13 Scars back to Washington.
The whole night, once I got there anyway, was fun. I hung out until everybody loaded out and prepared for the trip home. As far as my trip home . . . hit the 101 freeway go a few miles and it’s a dead stop, cars backed up like a parking lot, I do a crazy four-lane lane change and take the streets home. Takes an hour, but it’s not like the wife is concerned when or if I get home (that’s married life folks). Hopefully next time 13 Scars come to town I’ll be able to get there much earlier.
On to the story . . .
I’ve been taking my son to this little barbershop in Van Nuys for about five or six years. When I first started taking him a young woman ran it by herself. She didn’t speak much English, but she adored my son and called him Papi and gave him candy while she cut his hair. He liked going there.
After a year she sold it and two ladies bought it, redid the place and with short skirts and low cut blouses they drew lots of people to the shop. But again, they always remembered my son and little details that he told them, what video games he was into, what grade he was in and most importantly . . . they called him Papi. He liked going, so we went. Eventually, I had them cutting my hair too. Slowly, the shop grew and they added two additional barbers.
They gutted the shop and made it look more high-end. I kind of enjoy the old fashioned dank old barbershops, but that kind of shop is dying out.
Anyway, one day my wife found a new shop, somewhat close in Reseda, on Groupon. Haircut and razor trim for $10.00 or $15.00. She printed out the deal and gave it to me.
So one Saturday morning after we had gone to breakfast and ran our errands I headed towards Reseda. The shop, Blades, is located on Tampa and Vanowen. A few blocks from the West Valley Police Department and a few doors down from Weber’s Place.
My son and I walk into the shop and you know that thing that happens in comedy movies when someone who wasn’t invited to a party walks into the party? The record scratches and then stops? This is exactly what happened. I walk in, everybody is talking, laughing, and several TV’s are on, three or four different sporting events on. I walk in with my son and everyone stops talking, the TV’s are muted and everyone stares. Finally, the “head” barber walks up and says, “What’s up man?” Normally, I would’ve walked out the door, but the haircut was already paid for. So, my answer was, “Um, I’d like a haircut.”
Apparently, Blades is an African-American barbershop and they don’t see many people of my hue.
The head barber calls over this female barber who was a little masculine, tattooed head to toe and seemed very angry at me for being there. She snatched the Groupon printout from me, headed towards the back room (to verify it on the computer I assume).
Came back, pointed to her chair, I sat, she put the drape over me then just stared (again I assume this was my cue to tell her how I wanted my hair cut). From the moment I walked in she was mad-dogging me.
She does most of the haircut, then she stops, then points at my neck (again, no words), and I was getting a little irritated. I said, “Maybe, we could use words.” Instead, she signaled first a straight line, then a “U” shape (I assumed again, it meant do I want a straight line or a rounded line in the back). I said, “Fine, straight line.”
She finished up and got out the straight razor. I put up my hand and said: “No, thank you.” I had visions of her “accidentally” removing one of my ears.
She put the razor back, put the mirror in my hands and did that chin nod (again, I assume, meant “Check out the nice haircut.”)
I looked it over, front and back and honestly, it was a good cut. She didn’t like me, didn’t want me there, but the cut was good.
I gave her back the mirror and said, “Looks good.”
She pulled off the drape and pointed to the door. I went over and got my son off his chair and mumbled: “All righty, then.”
My next haircut was with the women that call me, “Papi.”
Misconceptions of Hell is available now: http://goo.gl/n9ofGb