It was a quarter to eight when we pulled into the garage on El Centro Ave.
The man working the gate said it was ten dollars to park but we didn't have any money. He let us in provided that we would withdraw money from a suspicious ATM across the street and swiftly return. We found an open parking spot immediately but became rather alarmed at the sight of two mating cats fleeing under the glare of our high beams.
It was the night of the show and my fiancé and I were unsure of what the evening would bring.
I opened my passenger door and greeted the autumn night with a sudden and deliberate breath.
"Smells like Piss" she belted from the other side of the car, still navigating out of her seat without banging the door on the concrete wall that wedged our small Honda against an SUV.
"Yup"
Hands in pocket and eyes alert we walked towards the gate where our new friend stood waving at us. (He wore a smile on his face in the same manner a solider wears his rifle, but at least there was still a smile) while wearing the faint hint of a smile on his face. We reached the sidewalk without incident but crossing the street proved to be more difficult as we were nearly ran over by a speeding red convertible blasting (blaring) "Tick of the Clock" as he raced away from Sunset Blvd.
There were people everywhere and the line was already around the building. Only the dark outlines of their figures scurrying about alerted us to their presence. Our eyes, constantly blinded by passing cars, absorbed the city's neon glow--casting the world around us in a translucent blue hue.
We hurried over to the ATM that would have been more fitting in a Matrix sequel. I half expected the glowing green letters to say "Fuck Off" as I entered my PIN and awaited authorization. The entire unit was installed into an old housing structure that was composed of concrete and steel. It must have been real convenient for the poor soul who lived on the first floor as his front door was positioned no more
than four feet away from the damn thing. I could only imagine his disappointment--waking up every morning to check his balance, cursing the wind as he saw empty decimals places flickering at 30 Hz.
We crossed the street again with better luck and paid the man for our parking spot. While we waited for him to give us our change a rather large group of teenagers passed behind us. Two thirds of the group's composition consisted of females who were dressed in black leather attire and colorful hair. Their faces were painted in different shades of blue and purple and as they walked their worn heels chipped away at the cracks in the sidewalk. The guys that accompanied them all wore skinny jeans and oversized black boots with denim jackets. Their oily slicked back hair and neatly trimmed eyebrows gave the subtle impression of sophistication as they screamed "Fuckin Alice!" at passing cars.
Yes, Fuckin Alice, what am I doing here? The singer of a supposed two person musical force that has lured us out here into the streets of Hollywood. Crystal Castles, a digital journey through the violent minds of unleashed synthesizers.
We got into the line and rested on our backs against the shuddering building. We were at the very back but more and more people were pouring in from all crevices of the city and soon--the line reached a hundred feet beyond us.
All along the street there were tall muscular men dressed in tight yellow shirts and form fitting khakis. Across their backs was the word "STAFF" printed in large black letters. They had wires in their ears and they stood with their arms folded across their broad chests. They seemed to be muttering constantly to themselves but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Occasionally one would start running in a particular direction while screaming "COPY THAT" with a harshness that could only come from untrained lungs.
I sensed violence brewing all along the street but I became distracted by the passing vendors selling hot dogs wrapped in fatty bacon. The temptation to buy one passed through my mind but there were only a few that were ready. The rest of the wieners were wrapped in shimmering pig flesh that grew more luminous under the crowd's growing blaze of energy. The cooks shouted something at us in Spanish and my look of confusion redirected their attention without any problems. I remembered something I saw on the television about people getting worms in their brains from eating undercooked pork and decided that it wasn't in my best interest to partake in such activities.
There were dark skinned Men and their children stalking the line holding shirts with Alice's face printed on them. They wanted twenty dollars for the damned things and my wallet was feeling a bit light. The shirt was interesting enough as her face was outlined in thin broken white lines against a black fabric. She looked like a corpse that had just been reanimated by a cross dressing embalmer and was ready to party.
"I'm going to need money for a drink" I said-- pulling out neatly formed balls of lint from my pockets and dropping them onto the sidewalk.
I caught a youngin' from behind me watching what I was doing very closely.
"In case I get lost you know, because that would be terrible".
She hooked her arm around the guy she was standing with and clenched him tightly—refusing to make eye contact. The oblivious look on his face told me that he didn't understand but nevertheless remained grateful.
It was now well past 8 o'clock and the doors still remained shut. Our tickets provided no relief:
DOORS 8PM HOLLYWOOD PALLADIUM
And our lack of progress was beginning to become troublesome.
All around us stood the fanatics who appeared much younger than us--some of them even came with their parents who stood clenching their purses and shuffling their tired feet. The tension in their bones was quite obvious and their thoughts were far and away, beyond the city. There were a few others who you could tell have been around the scene for quite some time as they arrived sporting their vintage shirts with spotted leather jackets--dragging their signature aroma of cigarette smoke along with them. Some of them looked quite tough as we occasionally made eye contact but they refused to accept my humanity. They were here for anger sake, and their anger would not betray them.
The line took a few steps forward in hushed unison as cars grumbled at a red light. The sudden change of position silenced the rambling crowd, causing them to focus their attention on their proximity to the front doors. They knew that just on the other side was the key to the chains that bonded them to these dirty streets. Inside is where their hearts were and where their souls would rupture into a vast array of light and sound. Inside is where they would become whole and fully realized. Well, I do believe that was the intention--you can never really be sure about these kinds of things.
Our progress came to a halt and we were now directly on Sunset Blvd, just across the street from a Hollywood Smog Check station that rested next to a AHF Pharmacy. There were kids walking out into the street, taking no regards to the passing traffic, and taking pictures of the venue's neon sign with their mobile devices.
I said a quiet prayer that I wouldn't bear witness to a hit and run because I knew the speeding bastards wouldn't stop. The idea of watching some poor mother weep over their tire streaked child was not what I had hoped to see tonight. Although, watching them put their lives in danger simply to capture this specific moment gave me such bad vibes I wondered if perhaps they had it coming. These kids were so concerned with documenting their night's experience that they would be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. It was a true testament to those truly committed to the digital age that now occupies the natural world. We would rather capture the moment rather than live the moment. Our minds no longer seem capable of retaining the emotional energy of our hearts and instead we rely on reliving the experience at a later time.
My heart sank into my stomach and a sudden yawn brought tears to the corner of my eyes. I was awoken by a rather tall and skinny black skeleton yelling at a midget about how he was going to "beat yo ass like I did yo cuz'n". The midget didn't seem to object and continued to walk down Sunset Blvd., disregarding any and all attempts to rile up some sort of violent response. The skeleton got a few cheers from the apprehensive crowd who was anxious to make light of the situation but still unsure if whether or not they were about witness a true Hollywood beat down. I on the other hand wished not to get shot and as long as they kept their cool everything would be quite alright.
We were now in the venue's main parking lot and I could see the front doors. Our single line was about to spilt off into smaller lines at the frisking point where they made sure that no one was carrying any dangerous objects. It struck me at this point how outnumbered the men were at this event. There was a single solitary security line for the men which ranged from about 5-10 persons whereas the other three lines were composed only of women. These lines were a strong 20 persons at all times and moved incredibly slow as purse after purse had to be sifted through and examined. As we approached
the security station, guards with furrowed brows shined their flashlights at the men, yelling at them to separate from the main line. Some of the men leaped out of the line instantaneously seizing the opportunity to enter the venue quicker whereas others who were with their dates hesitated, unsure whether it was the proper thing to do to leave their lady's side.
I made eye contact with one of the guards by mistake and he yelled at me without hesitation.
"Hey buddy! The men's line is right over here" he said shining the flash light at the group of guys who were about to get frisked. I stared at him blinking for a moment getting caught in the idea that it might be better if I just waited until he started yelling again.
"Hey, I don't care if your lady is with you, she'll meet you on the other side. Get in the men's line"
Meet me on the other side he said. I suppose it was reasonable to assume that I would indeed see her again soon but I was still afraid that I was being tricked. For all I knew, our journey through the streets that evening could have been our final parting moment together. Such a thing could not be left to waste. I left the line after a final embrace and waited to get felt up by some aging Mexican man with trembling hands. I could barely make out what he was saying due to his extraordinarily long nose hairs muffling the sound attempting to form on his wrinkled lips. I didn't have much on me; wallet, keys, phone, my electronic ticket--all the usual suspects were accounted for. I got a few stares as I muscled out these items from my pockets as an explosion of lint and debris mixed with the air around me causing those in the vicinity to suffer from a mild case of dry mouth.
I made it through security and stood by the front doors only to be yelled at once again to enter the building. Apparently the area just outside the front doors was off limits to anyone who wished to stand and wait for their acquaintances to join them. We would truly see them on the other side. I took a look at where my fiancé stood and decided that I had about ten minutes. I walked up to the doors, my ticket was scanned, and I was in.
To my surprise there was a bar right at the entrance of the facility. There was a woman standing off to the side with a fistful of wrist bands and I approached her with great eagerness. The plastic ends met and I thanked her while seamlessly ordering a small cup of whiskey. I took a sip and let the fire stir in my mouth for a moment before downing the rest. I searched desperately for a good vibration to cling to but I was overwhelmed with unfamiliarity. I stood there with my empty plastic container and stared at
the people pouring in through the front doors. I recognized some of them as they stood by us in the line but I couldn’t find my lady.
The sudden consumption of liquor tickled my bladder and decided it was time to discover the whereabouts of the restroom. I walked down the hall where I found the main stage on my left. It looked more like an old roller skating rink complete with sticky wooden floor boards and large speakers blasting 80s music than anything else. The restrooms were directly across from me, surrounded by a slew of temporary bars that were really just tables set up with a few kegs and an assortment of spirits.
The restroom was empty except for a man sleeping on top of the sink holding a roll of paper towels. I walked past him quickly and urinated in the first stall. When I turned he was awake and staring at me with red streaks in his eyes. I ran the tap under my hands and he started unraveling the roll. He carefully tore a piece of the paper towel and handed it to me when the time was right. I headed for the exit, tossing the crumpled damp piece of paper in the trash while he resumed his dreaming against the glass mirror
I walked back over to the bar and bought a couple of drinks for a girl and myself. She smiled at me and said gleefully "Hey Stranger".
"Shut up" I said raising my glass for a toast.
"Here's to synthesizers and screaming women".
We downed our drinks and she hooked her arm around mine. Together we headed to the main floor where the opening act was just starting. The main floor was still pretty empty. Most people were either still at the bar or dicking around in one of the venue's poorly carpeted hallways. There were people sitting on the 2nd level which I presumed to be the V.I.P area as the stairway that gave access were guarded by those hulking "STAFF" members. I turned to the girl still attached to my side.
"What took you so long?"
"They wanted to see everything in my purse"
"Oh sweet Jesus, I'm surprised they didn't just turn you away".
What developed on stage wasn't so much a display of musical prowess as it was a strobe light furiously blinding a tall white guy sporting a poorly combed moustache. He was accompanied by a synthesizer and he danced his heart away to the machine that spewed his pre-recorded songs. His performance had Buffalo Bill stamped all over it and his leather gloves didn't help. Nevertheless the music was quite compelling and even enjoyable at some points. The kids standing around me acknowledged his efforts with a gentle head bang while slowly rocking back and forth on their heels. His vocal performance left a bad after taste but I was still quite happy to have witnessed this vision of music.
The set was over and the small crowd had dispersed. Silent men in dark shirts came from behind the curtains and cleared the man's equipment off the stage. With various cables and instruments in hand they prepped for the next act. I too prepared myself with another whiskey.
Our first encounter with the evening's music left me feeling quite restless--and the alcohol wasn't helping. It seemed for a moment that our journey would be tamed after all. I tossed my fuming cup in the trash and headed back to the main floor where the kids were pouring in from all directions to see the next act. There was no sign of Alice yet and not a hint of the Hatter that would usher in the madness. I longed for his presence; even though I no longer had any money for a tip should he present himself.
The lights dimmed and a long haired male with a rather lean physique strolled out from the darkness to the center of the stage. His black hair fell past his shoulders and accented his tanned arms that protruded through the openings in his tank top. I thought for a moment that there was going to be a virgin sacrifice. He stood before us, soaking in cheers from hormonal adolescences, tuning his bass guitar while the rest of his band mates found their positions on stage. He adjusted himself in his skinny jeans and looked up at the ravenous crowd that was now drowning in its own drunken stupor. The clear centers of his eyes shone through stray strands of hair as a wave of synth and bass poured out from the speakers.
I didn't quite know what to make of what I was witnessing. It was a fusion between hard hitting garage rock and ambient digital rhythms. The man in the skinny jeans hardly played his instrument and served
primarily as a human windmill--spinning his head around nonstop in one continuous motion causing his hair to flare out in perfectly straight lines. His bass grumbled and moaned while the rest of his band mates bounced around like injured kangaroos trying to keep up with the quickening beats.
The kids around me began their sudden transformation without giving me fair warning. There were green puffs of smoke all around me and I saw a little girl light up a cigarette while creating a text message on her phone. The air became thick with the aroma of rotting fruit but I found the smell of baby powder most disconcerting. I searched for its source but all around us were people freeing themselves from their clothes. I saw a girl with spikes attached to her bra. She had her arms wrapped around the neck of some guy who wore fake plastic fangs and pretended to gorge himself on the flesh of her jugular. Those people working at the security line surely fucked up--and it was now obvious that their lack of thoroughness would bring forth numerous unwanted casualties at this unsuspecting venue.
The audience erupted in cheers and whistles in the moments they weren't tearing at each other's flesh. A man wearing a pink bandana doused himself in beer and climbed onto the shoulders of the woman in front of him--nearly knocking her over and drowning her in the foaming puddles forming along the floor's uneven surface. He managed to scream a few inaudible words before being carried away by a barrage of wandering hands and fingers, eager to offer him up to the stage as a form of retribution for their sins.
We were pushed towards the source of violence by the force of the crowd behind us. It struck like a breaking wave and there was no fighting it. I became lost in the oscillation of light and sound while my heart struggled to find space to breath against the vibrating columns of air before us. I saw a young girl being dragged out from the darkness and I was pretty sure she was out cold. Her face dissolved from the sweat and alcohol as a flash of metal from her belly blinded my eyes. It was destruction in its final form, and the two gentlemen who now carried her corpse by its extremities would be the unsuspecting Paul bearers.
For the first time in a long time I was afraid for my life. The horror stories of old came to mind and I certainly did not want my lungs to be ripped apart by any sort of bony shrapnel. This could not be the way it ends. I would not be trampled by some pointy heeled battalion death march. No greasy haired junky would be making a jacket out of my aged skin tonight. In a feat of unmatched masculinity I wrapped my numb arms around my helpless woman and attempted to shield her from the swarming crazies around us. Being somewhat successful in my attempts to ward off any threats I began my descent from this location in a slow but deliberate backwards shuffle. The stage slowly started to fade
into the distance and before I knew it I was being dragged by a gentle hand, unable to control anything except keeping myself upright.
By the time we made it to safety the music was over and the lights were coming back on. I found myself dripping in sweat even though I wasn't particularly having a good time.
The room was now packed from wall to wall and there was no movement anywhere. People stood and stared in a listless daze at the nothing before them. My feet seemed glued to the floor and I could feel its surface still vibrating from the violence it just endured. More men with cables and microphones flooded the stage and in a moment it would all start again. I could have certainly used another drink but there was no beating the crowd to the bar. I thought about starting a fire to engage the sprinkler system so that I may quench my thirst but I figured that there was a whole slew of people around me waiting for such an act to break so that they too could start fires with their newly purchased lighters.
The lights dimmed for the final time and darkness filled the empty spaces in my head. I was deaf before the music started. I was disarmed and in a state of panic before the raging queen walked out from the behind the curtain to greet her royal subjects. I couldn't tell you exactly what happened because I'm not sure what--exactly happened. I was attacked. I was beaten down and spat on. My eyes were cut from their sockets and replaced with radiant prisms. I saw her grasp the microphone as if were the controls to Earth's final reach into the universe for salvation. She tore at her vocal chords with a metal tongue and spewed the bloody mixture to those right in front of her just before leaping out onto the crowd and stomping on their slippery faces. The night was hers and there would be no compromises. A bomb had gone off that night in Hollywood, and there were no survivors. A fuming plague walked out of that building and greeted the starry night with blood on their lips and busted fists--an infectious swarm ready to repopulate the city.
I drove straight home and hopped in the shower where I lapped water from the spout. I put on my finest pajamas, accompanied by some fuzzy wool socks, and brushed my teeth with baking soda. I jumped into my cool bed and hid under the covers. I closed my eyes and dreamt of wonderland and its screaming queen.