beta luvs l.a.

I haven't inhaled smog since I was a 'tween, and I can't recall if I scaled Magic Mountain or Space Mountain, but two recent pieces touch on or emanate from la-la land. (sidenote: I tried to find an online link to the recent New Yorker article by Tad Friend about LA car chases, which is hilarious/disturbing, but to no avail). One is about a recent (and much-needed) spate of post-punk releases, and I talk about This Heat, Delta 5, and Maximum Joy over at the LA Weekly this past week.

The other is about Beverly Hills troubadour Ariel Pink, up now at City Pages. While perhaps not nearly as obsessed as either Simon, Mike, or Woe, it was something else to be immersed back in that scuzzy jacuzzi of Pink's, and the resin stains of House Arrest stayed with me much longer, lingering like stale bong smoke. My line comparing Pink to a screwed and chopped CD got edited into just a line about music as the drug.

Since I made some sort of beat connection between Ariel and Brian, here are two selections to compare:

Brian Wilson "Hey Little Tomboy"
Ariel Pink "West Coast Calamities"