Every now and then, I get a bug to catch some band that I didn’t get to see back in the day.  That’s what we did last night. I went with my husband, Carlos, and my buddy, Roo, to go see The Ocean Blue. It was the final engagement of the band’s two-night stint at Satellite, a Silver Lake club that we used to know as Spaceland.

The Ocean Blue were pretty well-known amongst alternative radio listeners around the cusp of the 1980s and 1990s, before grunge was a thing. They had some hits on KROQ out here in Los Angeles, songs like “Drifting Falling” and “Between Something and Nothing.”  Back when those tunes were all the rage, I was a few years away from a driver’s license, so there were no Ocean Blue concerts on my calendar back then.

My reasons for going to see The Ocean Blue now weren’t completely nostalgic. This wasn’t a reunion tour. This isn’t a band with a big breakup and hyped return. They just released music far less frequently. Ultramarine, the current album, is The Ocean Blue’s first full-length since 2000. From what I heard of it, the album was good, very good. When I mentioned the show, Roo immediately said he wanted to go. He was quite The Ocean Blue fan too. Carlos wasn’t really familiar with the band, but was willing to check them out. Turns out he enjoyed the show a lot.

Hey, Roo, let’s make zines while we’re watching Reality Bites. (Roo took this photo.)

Despite the non-nostalgic reasons for going to the show, I was so excited  that I tried to pull together my best ’90s outfit: a red and black striped, long sleeve t-shirt (I think we can call it vintage Old Navy), a denim miniskirt (that would be vintage CK) and my 20-eye Docs, which are only a few years old. I should have carried a lunch box, but those are packed away at my mom’s house.

Don’t know why I bother trying to get a photo. They always look awful.

We weren’t the only people excited about the show. The Ocean Blue’s Saturday night gig at Satellite sold out in advance of the show. I’m not sure if Sunday sold out or not, but it was pretty packed inside the venue. I also wasn’t the only person wearing totally ’90s horizontal stripes. More people were wearing flannel shirts though. I really can’t get behind the flannel resurgence, but, then, I refused to wear those shirts back in the 1990s. There were a few band t-shirts spotted inside the venue, Jesus & Mary Chain and BMX Bandits caught my eye.

“Hey, that guy is here,” Roo said to me over the music.

“Which guy?”

“The guy who wears the t-shirt of the band he’s going to see to the show.”

And there he was, a guy wearing a t-shirt dated for a long-gone Ocean Blue tour. Points to Roo for both his keen eye and his ability to reference the greatest college movie ever. (That’s PCU, the movie that prompted me to go home and tell my parents, “Fine, I’ll go to college.”)

We headed over to the merch booth. I bought a CD copy of the “Sad Night, Where Is Morning?” single from the band’s bassist, but I was too much of a dork to say, “Hey, could you sign this?” We grabbed some drinks. We found spots way in the back of the room. The club is small enough where we could still see the stage well, much better than the iPhone photos would indicate.

Props to Satellite for it’s awesome air conditioner. It was actually cold in the back of the venue, despite the crowd. Also, the sound was great. There was none of that muddiness that we’ve come to expect from small club shows. The Ocean Blue was loud and clear. Never once were the vocals buried under the guitars.

He didn’t scream “Freebird!” but Roo brought his lighter.

I didn’t keep track of the set list, mostly on account of my need to actually dance to the songs. They played new music. They played old music. The Ocean Blue hits– “Drifting Falling,” “Sublime,” “Vanity Fair,” “Ballerina Out of Control” and “Between Something and Nothing”– were all represented. Roo screamed pretty loudly for “Ballerina” and, at some point, raised his virtual lighter in the air. I tried to capture a couple seconds of “Between Something and Nothing” on Vine, but I still haven’t figured out how to use that app well. I tried to keep up my toe-tapping with the ever-increasing BPM at the end of “Vanity Fair.” I think I lost the beat.

You can listen to Ultramarine and other albums from The Ocean Blue on Spotify. Check out the band’s webstore for CDs and other merch.

Secret Society of the Sonic Six

Inside the club, the bands– Secret Society of the Sonic Six and Deathstrip– are sound checking. It’s loud enough where we can hear the music clearly on the patio. We’re also near a glass door, so it doesn’t take much of a stretch to peer inside. It looks and sounds like this is going to be a special night. It is. 

Sometime after 10:30, Deathstrip heads towards the stage for the actual performance. This is the band’s first live gig, but you wouldn’t notice that. The singer is Fate Fatal from The Deep Eynde. That’s a band that has been ruminating in the L.A. goth scene for well over a decade. Fate was actually amongst the first group of musicians that I interviewed, way back when I was a college kid hosting a radio show on KXLU. I got to talk to him a bit before the gig, which was great. We hadn’t seen each other in years. 

Deathstrip

Deathstrip was fantastic. Fate has always been a great performer, but he’s even more captivating now. Back in the days when I used to see Deep Eynde play a lot, he wore outrageous, elaborate costumes that became part of the show. On Saturday night, with Deathstrip, he was on stage in a simple shirt-vest-pants combo. I think that let his between-song banter become a focal point for the performance. Fate told a tale about happening upon a sordid scene on the Metro before dedicating one song to the MTA. He spoke often with humor and passion and everything you want to hear from the frontperson, if you you’re never quite able to hear the whole thing. During the songs, his voice was deep and powerful and he jumped on and off the stage as though he knew that’s the moment that the smoke from the fog machine would hit him and it would look totally dramatic.

Earlier in the evening, while I was playing my first DJ set of the night, someone came up to the booth. I can’t remember who the person was. It happened so fast and my eyes are always darting towards the records or CDs that are playing or will be played. The person handed me a Deathstrip CD. I’m listening to it right now. There are only four songs on it. The sound is raw, but strong, a really good indication of what the band sounds like in a live setting.

The Secret Society of the Sonic Six headlined. Recently, the band experienced some line-up changes and went through a sonic metamorphosis of sorts. Older songs were reworked to fit what they’re doing now. The set was quite compelling. The band has a cool film noir sensibility. Astara Ivanka looks so natural as she pulls off ’40s film star poses while she’s singing. Chadwick W.D. occasionally jumps in with incredibly sinister-sounding vocals. I don’t know how they did it, but the band manages to sound both synthier and heavier on the horns now. It’s a really unusual sound, but it’s also a more accessible sound. I’m really excited to hear what they do next.

On the DJ side, I played the opening set and then again in between Deathstrip and (((6))). Andy Smith, from the band Peeling Grey, played after (((6))). His set was great. I loved hearing Nina Hagen’s cut “New York/N.Y.” on the dance floor.

My set list is below. For those of you who were there, thanks so much for coming.

Set One:
Jessie Evans– Is It Fire?
Austra & Gina X– Mayan Drums
Medio Mutante– Inestable
Chris & Cosey– Stolen Kisses
Visage– Shameless Fashion
ADULT. — Blank Eyed Nosebleed
Fad Gadget– Love Parasite
Xeno & Oaklander– Sentinelle
Automelodi– Buanderie Jazz
Blacklist– Flight of the Demoiselles
Legendary Pink Dots– Blacklist
Crossover– Wraith in the Woodz
Gatekeeper– Chains
Coil– The Anal Staircase

Set Two:
Glass Candy– Beatific
Cold Cave– Confetti
Virgin Prunes– Pagan Lovesong
Einsturzende Neubauten– Yu-Gung
Bauhaus– In the Flat Fields

Previously, I mentioned that I have two DJ gigs this week. That’s changed. Thursday night’s Zerox party has been postponed. The new date is June 13. The venue, Le Cuevita, has not changed and I will still be the guest DJ that night. RSVP on Facebook to keep tabs on what will certainly be a fun party.

I am, however, still playing at Deadcadence on Saturday and am incredibly excited about this gig. I’ve been attending Deadcadence parties for a long time now and have a great admiration for the promoters. They are dedicated to booking interesting, underground talent. It’s an honor to be playing with them.

Moreover, Saturday night marks the L.A. debut of Death Strip. I don’t know much about this group, but it features members of The Deep Eynde and Scarlet’s Remains, so it will be worth showing up early. I saw The Deep Eynde so many times during the late 1990s and early 2000s and really dug the band, so I’m quite curious about this project.

The Secret Society of the Sonic Six is a personal favorite of mine. They’ve been around the L.A. scene for years. In fact, I used to play one of their earlier tracks (totally spaced on the name of it) back when I was throwing a party called Transmission at the now-defunct club The Parlour. I’ve caught some of (((6)))’s earliest gigs and have seen them grow a lot over the years. They recently had a line-up change, so it will be interesting to see what they’re doing right now.

Last year, I was at Blipsy’s Barcade to celebrate the release of the band’s EP, Pick Up. The kindly passed a copy my way and it is such an impressive effort. It’s dark and electronic and maybe a little weird. If you have a chance to score yourself a copy, do it. You might become addicted to “Blame and Blood.” I did. If you’re a fan of artists like Cold Cave, ADULT. or the Wierd Records family, I suggest checking out the Secret Society of the Sonic Six. They have releases available through Bandcamp.

Saturday night’s show is $5 before 10:30 p.m. and $7 thereafter. Death Strip is set to play at 10:45 and (((6))) is scheduled for a midnight performance. I’m not sure when I’ll be spinning, so just show up early. I will be playing a vinyl set, most likely with an emphasis on goth, coldwave and minimal synth tracks.

RSVP for Deadcadence on Facebook.

Back in high school, I would listen to “I Am a Poseur,” the X-Ray Spex song, with absolute fascination. Here was the frontwoman of one of the crucial bands of the punk era saying that this is all a facade. The irony is that it wasn’t. Poly Styrene was the real deal, someone who started a band just because she thought she could.  She was a feminist icon for the weird teenagers of my generation, kids who came up in the age of Riot Grrrl.

This song was running through my head when I looked through the photos from the Met Ball that’s celebrating punk or something like that. Those images from last night championed the facade. That’s it.

I don’t make any claims of being punk rock. In fact, I once wrote an essay for Razorcake explaining why I’m not a punk. Essentially, I have a lot of connections to that world, but was never an active participant in it. Despite that, punk has been a huge personal influence. It’s influenced the feminist ideologies that I still hold dear. It had a huge impact on my career choices. My first clips came from the pages of zines like Flipside, Razorcake and Punk Planet and that comic I write now is an absolute DIY effort. Punk is so much more than Sarah Jessica Parker’s mohawk hat. It is Vivienne Westwood’s Bradley Manning badge, but maybe some people didn’t get that.

But, here’s the weird thing about the photos from last night’s Met Ball. It’s not about punk. Everyone with a grasp of that movement will tell you this. It is, however, more relevant to 2013 than actual punk is. That’s what is really pathetic about this whole thing.

We live in an age of reblogged Tumblr photos stripped of any context, of Instagrammed selfies that garner no comments other than “Oh, you’re so cute,” because they tell no story. You can call yourself goth because you wear all black. No one cares if you own a Bauhaus record or not. You can poise yourself as Mr./Ms. Rave even if you have no idea where the next underground party is.  And you can apply a few safety pins to your dress and be punk even if you can’t identify a single political event referenced in a Clash song. Scenes don’t exist just as fashion. Youth culture doesn’t exist just as fashion. Every major movement– punk included– has been part music, part fashion, part art, part literature, part politics. Take away one aspect and you have nothing. That doesn’t matter anymore, though, because every smart-ass retort that peppered songs by X-Ray Spex, The Sex Pistols, et. al. has apparently been taken literally. Poseurs and pretty vacants, that’s about all the Met Ball got right.

If you haven’t read Fours on the Floor, you should do that too.

In other news, I have two DJ gigs coming up this week. On Thursday, I’ll be playing at Zerox. This is a monthly club at La Cuevita (aka Little Cave) in Highland Park hosted by my pal Eric Dead. We’ll be playing a mix of underground ’80s tunes ranging from punk to new wave to ska to psychobilly. I’ll be digging up some of my favorites and hope to play at least a few jams that you haven’t heard in a while. This party is free. It’s also 21+. Check out the Facebook invite for more information.

On Saturday, I will be playing at DEadCADENCE, a monthly party at Roberto’s in Chinatown that focuses on death rock, minimal synth, post-punk, etc. I’ll be joining DJs Tony-X, Andy Smith and Juann Alternativah. There will also be live performances from Death Strip and Secret Society of the Sonic Six. This will be a very exciting show and I hope you can make it. This is a 21+ party and the cover is $5 before 10:30 p.m., $7 thereafter. More info on Facebook.

Felt– Primitive Painters

Purity Ring– Fineshrine

House of Love– Don’t Know Why I Love You

The Horrors– Who Can Say

White Lies– Farewell to the Fairground

School of Seven Bells– The Night

Automelodi– Buanderie Jazz

Gary Numan– Airlane

Soft Cell– Memorabilia

Depeche Mode– New Life

Human League– Empire State Human

Pulp– Countdown

Visage– In the Year 2525

Fad Gadget– Collapsing New People

The Glove– Orgy

Arcade Fire– Sprawl II

Martin Gore– Compulsion

Marc and the Mambas– Torment

New Order– Everything’s Gone Green

Siouxsie and the Banshees– Slowdive

Xmal Deutschland– Mondlicht

Joy Division– Transmission

Tones on Tail– Christian Says

The Faint– Glass Danse

Duran Duran– Planet Earth (Night Version)

Marc Almond– Tears Run Rings

The Cure– Lovesong

Adam and the Ants– Antmusic

The Smiths– What She Said

Set Two:

M83– Midnight City

Gorillaz– DARE

Depeche Mode– But Not Tonight

Boys Don’t Cry– I Wanna Be a Cowboy

Soft Cell– Sex Dwarf

Blur– Girls and Boys

Modern English– I’ll Stop the World and Melt with You

Peter Murphy– Cuts You Up

Best moment of the night was when I played “I Wanna Be a Cowboy” by Boys Don’t Cry. I only brought it because “Boys Don’t Cry,” as I’m sure you know, is also a Cure song. Wasn’t expecting it to do well, but people were all packed on the dance floor dancing with imaginary lassos.

Set One: 

Siouxsie and the Banshees– Dazzle

M83– Midnight City

Grimes– Oblivion

The Cure– Lovesong (extended mix)

Duran Duran- Planet Earth (Night Version)

Boy’s Don’t Cry– I Wanna Be a Cowboy

Sisters of Mercy– Alice

Soft Cell– Sex Dwarf

Nina Hagen– Born in Xixax

Gary Numan– Cars

The Cure– Why Can’t I Be You? (12″ mix) (request)

Peter Murphy– Cuts You Up

David Bowie– Let’s Dance

Amy Winehouse– You Know I’m No Good

Set 2: 

Blur– Girls and Boys

Depeche Mode– Policy of Truth

This Mortal Coil– 16 Days/Gathering Dust

Siouxsie and the Banshees– Dear Prudence

The Cure– Charlotte Sometimes (request)

When people talk about the “Comic-Con Effect,” usually, they mean it terms of movies getting a big boost from their high-profile appearance at the San Diego convention. In fact, here’s an article from Deadline asking whether or not the movies that get all the buzz at the convention actually benefit from it in the theaters. That’s not how I see the Comic-Con Effect.

Comic-Con’s influence on pop culture goes far beyond the convention itself, far beyond comic books, television or film. That said, the actual Comic-Con Effect is when the sort of big-budget marketing techniques that overrun the convention seep into other industries, other events.

That happened last night at Coachella. I wasn’t there. Ultimately, I’m glad I wasn’t there because I detest the desert. For a moment, though, I felt a pang of remorse when a friend shared a video of the video that played on one of the big screens in the middle of a polo field. A trailer for the new Daft Punk album had been unveiled. Even back in L.A., watching a video of a video on YouTube, I couldn’t help but totally nerd out.

I go to San Diego Comic-Con every year. Although I no longer go to Coachella, I’ve been to the event so many times that I can’t remember who I saw which year. They are very different events. At Comic-Con, you wait for hours to get a chair in a room so that you and a couple thousand other people can start screaming over a new trailer or other teaser footage. At Coachella, you wait in line for hours so that your skin can fry while you’re running to catch favorite bands who will always be playing up against each other on opposite sides of the field.

But then Daft Punk– arguably the nerdiest duo to ever make dance music– changed that. They captured the crowd in Indio and online with a trailer. A freakin’ trailer.

That’s the Comic-Con Effect in action.

I’m a pretty big Daft Punk fan. If you read my webcomic, Los Animales, you probably know that. Every time Daft Punk pulls a new stunt, I love them more. After seeing the video of last night’s trailer, I’m more excited for Random Access Memories than I thought I could be and it’s not solely because of the music. The only way the music industry can thrive in this era is if they borrow the marketing techniques of the fan convention world. Daft Punk obviously knows that and, for that reason, Radom Access Memories deserves to be a blockbuster. Daft Punk knows the future of music marketing and it’s up to them to show others the way.

We had a full dance floor before 11 p.m. I remember seeing my friend Tony walk into the club and I wanted to play this Creatures song, “Right Now,” for him because we used to always dance to it together back in the days of Helter Skelter and Coven 13. Then I looked at my phone and realized it was way too early for “Right Now.” I waited.

I got my start as a Coven 13 DJ. I’m incredibly grateful for that gig because that’s where I learned to work a dance floor. The gig also put me in touch with the bands who I would bring up to my radio show for interviews. That led to writing. So, Coven 13 played a pretty important role in my career.

After I graduated from college, I left Coven 13 and left the goth scene behind. I started playing at other clubs, playing different styles of music. Sure, I still went to the clubs here and there to see my friends play, but I was preoccupied with other stuff. Last night was probably the closest I’ve gotten to playing a goth dance party in over a decade. It was a lot of fun. I think my favorite moment was when I played “She Sells Sanctuary” and the whole room just went crazy on the dance floor.

I had too much music for last night. I cut my picks in half. Then I cut them in half again. Filled a crate as tightly as I could. I still played less than half of what I brought. We really need to do this again.

Set One:

Dead Can Dance– The Fatal Impact

Dali’s Car– The Judgement Is the Mirror

Martin L. Gore– Compulsion

Echo and the Bunnymen– Bedbugs and Ballyhoo

Red Lorry Yellow Lorry– Talk About the Weather

Sisters of Mercy– Gimme Shelter

New Order– Everything’s Gone Green

Spandau Ballet– To Cut a Long Story Short

Human League– Empire State Human

Marc and the Mambas– Untitled

Bel Canto– Shoulder to the Wheel

Visage– In the Year 2525

Depeche Mode– Fools

Nitzer Ebb– Join in the Chant

ADULT. — Hand to Phone

Golden Boy w/Miss Kittin– Rippin Kittin

Clan of Xymox– Muscoviet Musquito

The Cult– She Sells Sanctuary

Specimen– Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

Nina Hagen– Born in Xixax

Lene Lovich– Lucky Number

Sex Gang Children– Sebastian

Virgin Prunes– Pagan Lovesong

Set Two:

This Mortal Coil– 16 Days/Gathering Dust

Marc Almond– Tears Run Rings

Gene Loves Jezebel– Desire

Skinny Puppy– Assimilate

Einsturzende Neubauten– Yu-Gung

Fad Gadget– Lady Shave

Sisters of Mercy– Temple of Love (request)

Danielle Dax– Big Hollow Man

The Creatures– Right Now

Psychic TV– Just Like Arcadia (request)

Kate Bush– Running Up That Hill

Set 3:

Tones on Tail– Christian Says

Legendary Pink Dots– Curious Guy

Strawberry Switchblade– Since Yesterday

Fun Boy Three– Our Lips Are Sealed

Siouxsie and the Banshees– Dear Prudence

This Mortal Coil– Alone

Anthony sings like Elvis Costello. I’ve known him for about 13 years, but I didn’t know this until my old friend jumped on the stage of the New Wave Restaurant & Bar (yes, that’s the name) for New Wave Karaoke (yes, that’s what it’s called) and bust into “Radio Radio.” When he’s done, I tell him that I never knew his secret talent. He’s perplexed. Certainly, I should have seen him do this before tonight. It’s one of his karaoke jams. What he doesn’t realize is that, for the past how many years, I have been using any and all excuses to get out of karaoke nights.

I have two problems with karaoke. One is that my voice is terrible. I’ve alternately described it as Claudine Longet with a cold and a waif slowly succumbing to consumption. The second issue is that I am not tone deaf, not in the slightest. I am completely aware of the fact that I can’t hit those notes.

Self-awareness is a horrible thing, like being trapped in a lucid nightmare. I used to pray that I could be a little delusional, just enough to get rid of the anxiety. That never happened. And now I’m in a bar somewhere off the 91 where a When in Rome set list and signed drumsticks beam from the wall, where the ladies room is lined with Duran Duran posters. I’m eating a Wham Burger and drinking a Depeche Mode. I can’t remember what’s in the drink aside from vodka and whatever it is that turns cocktails blue. My boyfriend, Carlos, remarks that the drink tastes like a “blue Icee.” He’s right. I don’t remember what flavor the blue Icee is. I’m not sure any of us do, but it tastes like that cocktail.

We drove down here with my good friend Flora and met up with two of the Defective Geeks, my dear Comic-Con roommates Giselle and Dianne, as well as Anthony. None of us particularly wanted to do karaoke. We’re all shaking nervously. But now that Anthony has braved the stage, it’s hard for us to shy away from it.

I go out for a cigarette and think about every karaoke fail I’ve had. The time my friend and I sang “True” in his backyard and– I swear to God– a freak rainstorm started. That had to have been our fault. Then there was the time I tried “Christmas Wrapping,” forgot the words, couldn’t read the screen, realized my glasses were in my handbag at the table and ran off the stage. But, then there was that one time at Ground Control when I did “I Eat Cannibals,” the Toto Coelo song, and it wasn’t so bad. I could do that.

The guy who runs the karaoke party walks outside. He asks me if I’m going to do something. I mention “I Eat Cannibals.” I also tell him that I suck at karaoke. He’s nice and encouraging.

After he leaves, I remind myself of my age and that I have failed more times than someone could ever think possible for a person who still isn’t totally old. I have failed in ways so profound that the memories haunt me whenever rooms fall silent. If I were to go up on that stage and make a complete ass out of myself in front of a small room full of people, it would mean nothing. I have done far worse.

I walk inside the bar, pass the Pac-Man and Ms. Pac-Man signs on the bathroom doors, pass the poster advertising a forthcoming Missing Persons concert. I sign up for karaoke. I tell the crew that they have permission to mock me as they see fit, so long as no footage ends up on YouTube.

The drum thumps. I hop to the beat of a new wave jam that, despite its relative obscurity in the U.S., always turns up on karaoke lists.

“I Eat Cannibals.”

I try to camp this up as much as I can. I make my voice sound more little girly than normal. People are cheering. I think that people who aren’t my friends are cheering. It’s weird. I mess up on the bridge, mostly because I’m trying to spit out lines meant for more than one singer. It’s okay. I finish on a high. There’s applause.

I want to do it again. I pick another song. I wait my turn. I take the stage for the second time. The song starts. I’m maybe a verse into it.

I’ve learned a lot about myself here at the karaoke bar. The most important lesson, though, is that I’ve been singing the wrong lyrics to “A Town Called Malice” for decades. At this point, I’m not even sure that I’ve even been singing words. Maybe I’ve spent the bulk of my life doing the “ba ba ba ba ba ba ba” part during the whole song.

I’m a mess. The room is silent and I all I want to do is jump off the stage and run down Lakewood Blvd. until I land somewhere far from here. Somewhere where no one has heard of The Jam, where I could make up lyrics to their entire catalog and not be judged.

I could stop, but I don’t. I’m not even sure what I’m singing. I’m forgetting even the parts of the song that I do know by heart. They lyrics are in front of me, but those are just a nervous blur of letters. What the fuck was I thinking?

I want to collapse when I finish, but I can’t because Anthony is doing “Loveshack” and talked Flora and I into singing backup. Is it really back up when the girls are singing most of the song? Somehow, we got through this. We nailed that whole “Tin roof! Rusted!” part.

And then we went back for more. There are four of us girls here, we can totally do a Bangles song! Hey, let’s do “Hazy Shade of Winter!”

That was rough. Maybe we should have figured out who was singing which part first.

Singing is a brutal art. You can know exactly where the note is and you can try to stretch your voice to reach it and still completely miss the mark. You can hit the note and still convey nothing to the crowd. It is something that I will never be able to do with any sort of real competency, but, maybe somewhere down the line, I’ll be able to get through karaoke without panicking. I think I’ll stick with Toto Coelo for the time being.