Old Chinatown LA

There’s something very telling about a westernized city when it comes to it’s older, heritage hideaways. Are the pioneers who were among the first to establish multi-culturlism and commerce celebrated for settling in unchartered territory and helping to define a community? Or, are they segregated into one sect of a city’s outskirts or lesser-known avenues? I can’t decide yet which is the case in Los Angeles.

You have Chinatown, Koreatown, Little Tokyo, Little Sri Lanka, Historic Filipinotown, Little Bangladesh, Little Ethiopia…it’s all a little mind-bending. But, one thing I do appreciate about these designated pockets is that people who are looking for something outside of the Hollywood hullabaloo (yes, I just used that word), the beauty of diversity is abound.

With any modern city I visit, I’m always drawn to its Chinatown. San Francisco and Vancouver top my list of North American cities with the most colourful and overtly historical examples of Chinatown done right. So after nearly a year of living in LA, I finally spent an afternoon in our own little Chinatown.

In contrast to the more modern shops and restaurants of “new” Chinatown that line North Broadway beginning at the Twin Dragon Gate, old Chinatown is a tranquil refuge from the industrial feel of this part of town. It’s small, stretching a modest 2-3 city blocks but it’s vibrant and colourful and the perfect place to chill out and people watch over a bubble tea.

I also went there with a purpose, hunting for my favorite Chinese ointments that I’ve come to rely on over the years. Kwan loong oil, tiger balm, etc. There’s a great shop heading south just off the main square. A mix of hipsters and Sunday cyclists dominated the outdoor bistro tables at Blossom, a modern Vietnamese resto smack dab in the centre of this Chinese neighbourhood. And if Kung Fu and cocktails are your jam, snap a selfie with Bruce Lee forever immortalized by a giant statue, nunchucks in hand, followed by a Honeysuckle Sling at General Lee’s Bar.

With Chinese New Year only a week away, red lanterns and celebratory banners were easy to come by, all with different variations of how to spell it. Gung Hay Fat Choy, Kung Hei Fat Choy, or a combo of both.

It’s the year of the Monkey, so here’s what you need to know if you have a child set to arrive in 2016, according to a greeting card I found in one of the shops:

Monkey ranks ninth position in the Chinese Zodiac. They are cheerful and energetic by nature and usually represent flexibility. People under the sign of the Monkey are wise, intelligent, confident, charismatic, loyal, inventive and have leadership. The weaknesses of the Monkeys are being egotistical, arrogant, crafty, restless and snobbish.

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Bowie Tribute on Hollywood Boulevard

I can’t say I’m the biggest Bowie fan who ever lived. I love his music, his lyrics, how he transcended popular culture and made it okay ­– cool, even – to be whoever you want to be. But for me, what made him so special and virtually untouchable, was the level of influence he had on so many prolific pop stars and rock ‘n’ rollers who came after him. Which makes his contribution to music so far reaching he could almost touch Mars.

From Boy George and Madonna to Marilyn Manson and Arcade Fire, the diversity among the artists who cite Bowie as an inspiration speaks volumes for his body of work; a catalogue of timeless music that exists without boundaries or limits.

When Bowie first hit the scene, rock ‘n’ roll was a macho, predominantly male affair. Enter Ziggy Stardust, who dazzled the world while blurring gender lines and leaving a trail of glitter in his wake. He made it acceptable for male artists to explore their art form outside the confines of masculinity. My favorite frontman of all time, the late Scott Weiland, clearly emulated Bowie on stage. From his outlandish costumes and stage antics right down to his smudgy eyeliner.

When news of Bowie’s death hit, I did what just about everyone on the planet did. I binged on his music all day and looked for a way to pay tribute. Which, in Los Angeles, meant heading to Hollywood to light a candle and pour one out for our fallen starman. His star on the Walk of Fame brought mourners in droves, huddled in a circle singing and crying, obstructing the manic foot traffic of Hollywood Boulevard. I was stopped by a KTLA reporter and ended up on the evening news, inarticulately trying to paraphrase some of the sentiment I saw written in poems and letters across the makeshift shrine.

Afterwards, I ventured to Amoeba Music to sign a mural of messages from fans, buy a vintage concert shirt and eavesdrop on all the stories swirling around me. Favorite Bowie moments shared among strangers.

More than a musician, performance artist, otherworldly androgynous alien being or whatever else he may have meant to his fans, he was a symbol of inclusiveness just as much as he represented rebellion. Which, I think, is why we’ll always cherish him.

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Maya Rudolph & Gretchen Lieberum are Princess

I’m not really one for tribute bands. There’s this group Peace Frog who does a pretty solid tribute to The Doors every Sunday here in Venice, which I love because Jim Morrison and that era kind of define Venice and deserve to be honoured as such. But overall, most tribute bands are washed up impersonators, in my humble opinion.

Then one day I heard that Maya Rudolph had a Prince tribute band that was set to play two back-to-back shows at the Troubadour. All former notions aside, there’s no way I could resist this show. I have loved Prince since Purple Rain single-handedly forced me into puberty and Maya Rudolph is a comedic goddess, not to mention the Troub is my favorite LA venue. Worst-case scenario, it would be good for a laugh and a bit of a boogie, right?

Princess is a dynamic duo made up of two devoted Prince fans – Maya Rudolph and her best friend, jazz vocalist Gretchen Lieberum. Throw in a kickass backup band and some pseudo backup dancers who present her majesties with the appropriate stage props and accessories, and you’ve got a tribute show sure the melt any Prince fan into a pool of purple goo. Words eaten. All hail the tribute band!

Sure, the show has a comedic element to it. But it was clear from the second the ladies stepped on stage to open with Let’s Go Crazy – Rudolph donning a lace blindfold, no less – that we were dealing with legit Prince fans.

I’ve only seen his majesty live once. It was a sold-out stadium show in Vancouver, BC in 2013. Prince played for nearly 3 hours…and when the house lights came on, he kept going, despite his stage being torn down around him. The man is unstoppable!

I wasn’t sure how Prince would feel about Princess, but it turns out he’s a fan according to this interview Rudolph gave for LA Weekly upon meeting her idol.

“It was like the gates of heaven opening,” Rudolph says. “Gretchen and I got to meet him the last time he played in town. And he gave us both these big, nice hugs, and he said that he had our performance on Jimmy Fallon recorded on his DVR.” (side note: the backwards bit is kind of epic)

I’ve seen a lot of incredible live shows in LA this year, but I can’t say I had more fun than I did at the Princess show. If you’re in San Francisco in January, they’re playing SF Sketchfest.

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Santa Barbara’s Funk Zone

The beautiful thing about living in LA is the number of cool neighbouring communities reachable by short road trip. The fact that I can bomb up to Big Sur after work in time for last call or be in Palm Springs within one rotation of Exile on Main St. is kind of epic.

While on a flight home a few weeks ago, I struck up a convo with the fellow seated next to me after he looked visibly concerned when our plane hit some bad turbulence. I reassured him it was the just the Santa Ana winds and tried to distract him by mentioning my plans to head to Santa Barbara the next day. As he loosened his sweaty grip from our mutual armrest, he suggested I look into the Urban Wine Trail while I was there.

Santa Barbara always seemed like a place for romantic mini-breaks or an opportunity to meander in a Montecito farmer’s market in hopes of bumping into Oprah. So when we stumbled upon this emerging scene of hipster sommeliers redefining Santa’s Barbara’s downtown core, we knew this must be the wine trail my nervous seat mate was on about.

Aptly named the Funk Zone, about 20 wineries from Santa Barbara County have opened tasting rooms within a 3-block radius, creating a unique way to experience California wines on the cheap. Tastings are about $12 a pop, and can be shared between two people. It’s also a good way to prevent day drunkenness, unless a) that’s your objective or b) you’re one of those people who actually discards their wine into a spittoon.

If you just have an afternoon to get your Funk on, hit up these four spots first:

Area 5.1 – owned by an Aussie who named the place after his ‘alien status’ when first arriving in the US, the blends will seem bizarre at first but also kind of genius.

Riverbench Winery – you’ll be drawn in by the chards by you’ll stay a little longer for the bubbles.

Oreana Winery – cool outdoor space, some well-versed vintners with very creative tasting notes and the only California winery I’ve found (so far) with a good Verdelho.

Santa Barbara Winery – start with an olive oil tasting and follow the patio lights to the back for a glass of pinot in the barrel room.

Be sure to give yourself time for the drive along the PCH between Santa Barbara and Santa Monica. It’s desolate landscapes and pop-up sand dunes make for a dreamy trip.

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Pappy & Harriet’s

Los Angeles is known for attracting, inspiring and launching the careers of rock stars from all over the world, this we know. It’s also known for an unmatched live music scene with more venues than any other city in the US. From massive stadiums all the way down to dark little dive bars, the vibe is legit.

While there’s no shortage of live shows every night of the week in LA county, there’s a place – a strange and kitschy little place – about 2.5 hours east that stands out among the rest. A “palace” perched atop a long and winding desert road to nowhere in the Yucca Valley, where artists like Robert Plant and Vampire Weekend have graced it’s storied stage.

Pappy & Harriet’s, a cabaret style roadhouse situated on the edge of the Mojave Desert in Pioneertown, is almost too good to be true. I had read about bands I love dropping in for surprise appearances, and given the bars remote location, I had to see for myself what was drawing people there.

The road from Yucca is kind of a trip, especially at night. You immediately begin to climb in elevation, in complete darkness, save a few random folks who call the valley home. We did spot a massive pine tree decked out in twinkling Christmas lights on the edge of a cliff with no visible house nearby. How they got there is a mystery.

The moment you pull up, you’re hit with the intoxicating smell of mesquite barbecue smoking out back. The bar is part of a small village founded in 1946 by Hollywood filmmakers who intended to create a living movie set for western pictures. With facades based on an 1870s frontier town, it feels a little like Wyatt Earp will rise from the dead and challenge you to a duel at any moment.

A mix of bikers, old folks, families and cool kids clasping their bourbon-filled mason jars filled the place. While the food is worth the trip alone, we were there for the music. Anthony D’Amato opened with an acoustic set; he and his guitar and harmonica had a big enough sound to match an entire band. Then the headliners, Israel Nash, hit the stage and as D’Amato put it, launched into a set that would melt our faces off. Think Harvest Moon era Neil Young meets The Who meets rockabilly. Fuck, is that even possible? Maybe it was the electro-magnetic air, maybe it was the whiskey but it was the perfect soundtrack for a wild night in the desert.

We couldn’t help but alter our plans to return the next day before heading back to the city. It was worth it. A trip to the California desert isn’t complete without wetting your whistle at Pappy’s alongside the gnarly locals and bright-eyed hipsters. Even for a first-timer, I felt right at home.

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Chasing Comets at Malibu Café

The sun sets before 5pm in SoCal this time of year, so by the time we made our way down the Pacific Coast Highway en route to Malibu, the only light left was a thin stretch of pink lining the horizon. After following the PCH past Paradise Cove, we ventured up a long, winding mountain road with random mega-mansions coming into sight every few minutes, ears popping as we climbed in elevation. Finally, we reached the expansive grounds of the Malibu Café at Calamigos Ranch, white twinkling lights that seemed to be dripping from the trees our only clue we were in the right spot.

Described as a nouveau barbeque experience, the first thing that struck me as we moved past the pool tables and outdoor cocktail bars was the smell of the trees. Nothing makes me miss living in British Columbia like being deprived of an old-growth forest and people in plaid. Here, though, I felt right at home.

The only way to properly describe this place is to call it camp for adults. There are games to play – ping pong, cornhole and giant jenga – and craft cocktails to be had, not to mention a wine list showcasing some of the regions best. It’s basically paradise for a nature loving wino like me. The beach is great, but give me 150-year-old coulter pines and gnarly old oak trees any day.

We were there to meet friends for the first annual harvest dinner, a four course feast with wine pairings from Napa’s Regusci Winery. While enjoying a pre-dinner libation, a massive light in the sky appeared out of the nowhere and began to grow, spraying behind it what looked to be stardust or sparks until it exploded and dissipated, leaving a long blue trail of light in it’s wake. One of our servers suggested it might be a comet smashing into the atmosphere, as celestial events were a lot more visible from where we stood. Our group marvelled at our luck, as most people didn’t seem to notice the magnificent explosion. Of course, as noted by every major media outlet in the country the next day, our magical comet turned out to be the military, you know, testing a missile launch. I’m grateful we didn’t know it at the time.

It’s best to bundle up, despite the grounds being equipped with heaters, fire pits and complimentary blankets. Evenings are finally chilly in LA, especially in the mountains. It’s easy to get there by taxi or Uber, but don’t count on it the other way around. I would recommend driving or carpooling with friends. Either way, the trek is well worth it. Next time we plan to go for brunch to enjoy the grounds by day, or a late lunch to experience the best of both worlds.

Visit themalibucafe.com for more info.

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Live Music in LA

When we decided to set up shop in Los Angeles, we narrowed it down to two of our favorite neighbourhoods: Venice and West Hollywood. Venice for the artsy, hippie, bohemian, and inspired beach bum lifestyle. WeHo for the energy, excitement, grit and garish atmosphere.

When I tell people in Venice that we nearly landed in Hollywood, they cringe and question how we could ever consider living somewhere as loud and busy as WeHo. Truth is, I’ve got it bad for the gigs. Live music is what made me fall in love with LA, and most of our favorite venues happen to sit in the shadows of the Hollywood Hills.

My groupie tendencies and love of music are what inspired the name of this blog, actually. Sure, LA is famous for the film industry and I’m equally as passionate about that art form. But the bands that were formed here and the music that is inspired by this crazy town seduce me to no end.

Los Angeles is a relentless temptress. Being the nine-to-fiver that I am, it’s hard to hit the town on school nights, but I can’t help myself. Once I’m there breathing in the stench of LA’s late night underbelly, it’s hard to get me home. I realize that doesn’t sound too enticing, but I’m telling you, this city has pheromones.

Over the past several months, my husband (fellow groupie) and I started keeping track of our favorite venues and began listing all the places we want to go next. So far, I’d have to say the Troubadour is my favorite and my husband is partial to the Greek but here’s our ever-expanding list and what we’ve scratched off so far:

Hollywood Bowl
Greek Theatre
The Fonda Theater
Hollywood Palladium
El Rey Theatre
The Echo
Teragram Ballroom
Whisky a-Go-Go
Hotel Café
Roxy Theatre
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The Del Monte Speakeasy
The Orpheum
Basement Tavern
Grammy Museum
Masonic Lodge at Hollywood Forever
The Observatory
The Forum
Troubadour
Echoplex
The Getty
The Mint
The Viper Room
The Shrine
House of Blues – Sunset Strip (now closed)
Club Nokia
Santa Monica Pier
The Regent Theater
The Theatre at Ace Hotel
Pappy & Harriet’s
Bootleg Theater
The Wiltern
Belasco Theater

Before catching a show at the Whisky last week, we had dinner at the Rainbow Bar & Grill. Although I’m about 50 years too late to the party, the place still had an eerie vibe to it and apparently hasn’t changed much over the past several decades. While we were there, hiding in a corner table surrounded by gold records and other precious memorabilia, an older gentleman began telling patrons stories about the old days. How Sinatra would sit and chain smoke and drink for hours with his friends and how Zeppelin would receive blowjobs under the tables from forthcoming groupies. He also shared the “true story” of how Marilyn Monroe, another star who frequented the place, was murdered by the US government and how the hit man who carried out the deed was brutally murdered somewhere in Florida to abolish all evidence. Thank god some of these people are still around to tell these torrid tales.

I love this list of the 50 best music venues in LA from LA Weekly, which has become our cultural bible since moving here.

What am I missing? Is there another music venue I need to add to my list?

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Transcending Time in the Desert

There’s something strange and mystical about the desert that can draw you in like a thirsty traveler to an abundant oasis. The climate is almost perfect, at certain points of the year, while the dead of summer could result in just that – death. Natural environments capable of creating extreme danger kind of get my rocks off, even though I wouldn’t dare travel to these places in times where an inherent risk is present. Just being aware of the power of these corners of the world is enough to satiate my adventurous appetite.

While planning a trip to Joshua Tree, I stumbled across a few travel blogs that talked about a big white dome, a short drive from the Yucca Valley. I remembered seeing an episode of Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations where he and Josh Homme visited something like that too. Always one to follow in the footsteps of my favorite journos and rock stars, I couldn’t resist traveling down the rolling road to nowhere, passing ‘Jesus Saves’ signs along the way, in search of this strange structure.

Eventually we reached a little town called Landers and found the Integratron, a striking white dome set amidst a desolate, desert backdrop. I was waiting for tiny, green men to swing open the front door and tell us to join them meanwhile hoping we hadn’t stumbled upon some religious cult clubhouse. Luckily, neither were the case.

Situated on top of a geometric vortex, the Integratron was built in the 1960s by aerospace engineer George Van Tassel who claimed the idea to build it was inspired by communications he had received from extra-terrestrial life. I wasn’t too far off with the little green men.

The only acoustically perfect, all wood structure in the United States, its energy is said to be capable of cell rejuvenation, anti-gravity and time travel. While I didn’t find myself shot back into the early 1970s, a time I fantasize about traveling back to all the time, I did experience an altered state of consciousness that I can only describe as not really being awake, but still being completely aware.

My husband and I signed up for a Sound Bath, conducted by one of the three sisters who own the place. A sonic healing technique, using giant quartz bowls keyed into your body’s energy centres (or chakras), the soothing sound is said to deliver frequencies deep into cellular levels.

Our group of about 20 people were invited into the upstairs sound chamber and asked to lie down on the mats and pillows provided, with our heads facing into the center. At first, the sound is a little jarring but eventually soothing. For me, it felt like a sound bubble was hovering outside of my right ear before traveling inside my head, lingering somewhere in between my eyes, before escaping out from my other ear. At one point it felt like my arms had dropped through the floor and eventually it didn’t feel like there was any floor at all. My husband found the whole experience so soothing he fell asleep.

The Integratron, originally financed in part by Howard Hughes, attracts visitors and musicians from all over the world; there to experience acoustic perfection or to absorb it’s healing powers. I came purely out of curiosity, but I’m eager to make my way back to experience it all over again.

Reservations can be made ahead of time, and I suggest you book well in advance. According to Nancy Karl, one of the co-owners who conducted our sound bath, interest in the Integratron has increased tenfold over the past few years. Visit integtratron.com for more information.

Also published in the Huffington Post.

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A Day in Joshua Tree

There are a lot of books, blogs and spiritual enthusiasts that talk about bucket lists these days. Goal-getters, manifesters and the like. While I certainly subscribe to the practice of gratitude and setting goals I’ve never been one to maintain a “bucket list”. I guess the mantra that’s always meant something to me is to follow your desires, despite how impulsive or careless they might seem. If it feels good do it, I always say. Or was that an overplayed Sloan song?

Despite not having a list of items I feel compelled to check off before I fade to ashes someday, there are certain things that I fixate on. I guess you could interpret that as a bucket list, but I like to think of them as things I’m mysteriously drawn to as a result of some unspoken force. That probably sounds a little crazy. Maybe it is.

I’ve been obsessed with Joshua Tree for as long as I can remember. The diversity of the environment, the jaw dropping landscapes and the gnarly yucca trees made famous by four Irish lads long ago. It’s always felt like a universe away, even though I’ve lived within a 3-hour flight of California’s Mojave Desert most of my life, where a portion of the park is situated. Now that I live in Los Angeles, it was high time I explored this place I’ve fantasized about for decades.

Before committing to a multi-night stay in one of the campgrounds, I decided it was better to tackle the park in a day trip from Palm Springs to get my bearings and better understand the climate. No matter what time of year you plan on venturing into Joshua Tree, always make sure you have the right supplies with you to stay safe and hydrated.

We entered at the East entrance from Highway 10, which is exactly where you want to start if you intend on traveling across to the other side of the park in one day. The road leading up to it was surprisingly desolate with little to no traffic (like, we maybe encountered 3 other cars), despite being a long weekend. Which really appealed to my Joshua Tree fantasy of feeling like you’re the only person on the planet.

We arrived at the Cottonwood Visitor Center right when it opened and the helpful rangers gave us a map and pointed out all the keys points of interest, based on our 12-hour timeframe. If you have time, start the day by hiking the easy 1.5-mile loop to Cottonwood Spring before getting deep into the park. The spring, which was used for centuries by the Cahuilla Indians, is the result of earthquake activity and the trailhead begins next to the Visitor Center.

Our first stop was the Ocotillo Patch, which immediately transported us to what seemed like an underwater garden. The tall, green plants looked like soft coral swaying in an undercurrent amidst the Mojave’s Pinto Mountains. Great photo op for street signs that indicate how crazy and windy the route is.

A few more minutes up the road and you reach the Cholla Cactus Garden, which may have been my favorite part of the park, based on the snap-happy amount of photos I took. This area of Joshua Tree is otherworldly and the colors are so vibrant it feels like you’re looking through an Instagram filter (#nofilterneeded). Walk the 15-minute loop – or longer, depending on how long you marvel at these prickly wonders – and keep your eyes peeled for wildlife. We spotted a rather friendly desert hare that was practically posing for us.

Continuing on, before we knew it, the landscape shifted from sun and sand to moody clouds and mile-high boulders. Each piece gently and strategically placed, as if by some giant being, balancing against the laws of physics. We stopped at Jumbo Rocks to stretch our legs and determined this was the spot to camp next time we make our way to Joshua Tree. The rock formations there create perfect little alcoves, offering a much-needed reprieve from the heat of the day. Slightly beyond the campgrounds you’ll reach Skull Rock, another great photo op if you feel like climbing into the nostril and hamming it up as my husband did. Be on the lookout for lizards here. We spotted a few desert iguanas basking on the warm rocks.

As you continue through Sheep Pass – watch for bighorn sheep, as the name would suggest – Ryan Mountain comes into view. One of the highest points in the park and great for a more challenging hike with steep terrain, once again a photo op was necessary as my husband’s name is Ryan. This definitely tops our list for our next visit.

Finally, we made it to Hidden Valley, perhaps one of the most photographed and familiar places in the park due to the abundance of yucca trees (also known as Joshua trees) and a teeny, tiny little album in the 80s. You know when you dream of what a place might look like or feel like, and when you get there, it’s often slightly different than you imagined? Sometimes better, other times a little lackluster. Hidden Valley was exactly what I had envisioned Joshua Tree to be. Spellbinding, spine-tingling and, if nothing else, a little eerie. Make sure you have some time to spend there just to wander. No maps, phones or distractions. Just be. And if you’re looking for the tree made famous by U2, it’s not actually inside Joshua Tree, but several hours away…if it’s still standing today.

Obviously, after traipsing about all day in the various temps and terrain, dodging rattle snakes and other unfavourable desert characters, you’ll have earned yourself a cold one. Belly up to the bar with the locals at the Joshua Tree Saloon, less than a mile past the western entrance to the park, until it’s time to head back for sunset.

A lot of people recommended that we head to Keys View for sunset, which has a great view of the valley below. But, if you’re looking for that iconic Joshua Tree experience, with yucca trees dotting the horizon as the blazing sun dips below the Bernadino Mountains, head to Quail Springs and stake your claim on one of the many boulders to soak in the last seconds of magic hour. It might just change your life.

Suggested soundtrack: Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers Greatest Hits, Queens of the Stone Age Like Clockwork and The Doors Morrison Hotel.

What to bring: A cooler with a minimum of 2 litres of water per person. We also packed sandwiches, granola bars and fruit. Wear a hat, sunscreen and make sure you have something warm to layer on after the sun goes down. Otherwise, a camera, good tunes and a tank full of gas are all you need to make the trip. Oh, and toilet paper…just in case. But the park has several rest stops with outhouses.

 PARK MAP

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Northeast Party House

The smell as you enter the dark and dingy confines of the Echoplex can only be described as a mix of latex, lager and the blood, sweat and tears that have be shed on its well trodden stage. A venue with a reputation for launching the careers of LA-based bands like Foster the People and The Airborne Toxic Event, the place feels a little haunted by rock star souls of the past. Which is why it’s kind of appropriate that we walked in right as Aussie band Northeast Party House was ripping into a song of the same name, as part of the Culture Collide music festival.

I bought tickets specifically to see Kiwi electro-pop rocker Ladyhawke – who I’ve been following and grooving to for years – but when Northeast Party House hit the stage before her set, I was glad I got there early.

Six handsome lads hailing from Melbourne, on their first tour oversees, it was obvious they were excited to be playing for an international audience. New to the game, however, they were not, blowing up the space with testosterone-driven stage antics, they knew they had earned the right to be there. Their set was tight! And loud. And fucking brilliant.

They reminded me a bit of Blur circa the Blur album, but more up beat. At times you could have sworn Trent Reznor was onstage with them, churning out weird and wonderful sounds as lead singer Zach Hamilton-Reeves went borderline ballistic. Mitch Ansell was insanely good on lead guitar, launching into “Enter Sandman” for a few riffs. I’m pretty certain my husband and I were some of the only spectators to catch on, given the sea of millennial-aged hipsters surrounding us.

Funk rock with pop hooks and a beat you can dance to, but a sound that will blow your hair back. These guys are ones to watch.

Their album Any Given Weekend is available on iTunes. The band plays The Echo in LA this afternoon and then heads to New York for the next leg of their tour. Follow their updates here.

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