The last four seats in The Greek were to the far left of the stage, fifty yards up past the pit. After a quick-spot, we climbed the amphitheater stairs, shuffled past a couple dressed in all-black, and staked our claim. Below, a seething crowd suddenly came to life, incensed by the feral, weaving drumbeat of Glass Animals’ opener, Life Itself.
We quickly established good community relations with our neighbors, offering what little supplies we had – a green tea bottle with clear tequila, two limes and a pinch of the devil’s lettuce. In return we received cigarettes and more space, a rare commodity that night.
All of us were eager for a familiar groove that would validate our ticket expense, a reenactment of countless private interactions. But that night the unexpected ruled, most notably, Cane Suga, an outburst of boot-stomping trap that liquefied body parts and set in motion a series of amphitheater antics.
This past weekend I visited the “ghetto by the sea.” Venice, California is both gorgeous and grungy – projecting a bad ass reputation best exemplified by the rowdy Lords of Down Town-like skateparks and basketball courts that line the coast.
Now, I’m back in my cubicle with a wicked sun burn and some heat rash on my neck and all I keep thinking about is taking off for the Mexican border to chase waves, eat burritos and sip on tequila.
For now, thank god for surf videos and the perfect combination that is Nat Young surfing Ocean Beach with Glass Animals’ Black Mambo plucking in the background.
New albums out by Jungle, Caribou, Glass Animals & TOPS. Time to crack into Indian Summer.
How big is hip-hop? I met a girl recently who told me that there’re posters of Kanye West in Paris. The boulevards are adorned with his visage, apparently. The great, complicated, American megalomaniac seems to have justly populated the world with his likeness. Two hundred thirty eight years ago today, we celebrate the nation which birthed Kanye.
Hip-loving troupe Glass Animals, English though they may be, pay homage to Yeezus with this wistful rendition of “Love Lockdown”.
Some, like Ol’ Marilyn, like it hot. Lucky!
When it’s sweltering out and the flat you’ve rented is sans air conditioning, these three tunes are your companions through the dogged summer heat. Here’s to empathy and staying cool. Or, hot…if you like that.