Tag Archives: Hollywood

Love You Madly, Holly Woodlawn Is a Touching Memoir Set in Early ’90s Hollywood

Photo of Love You Madly, Holly Woodlawn by Jeff Copeland
Reading Love You Madly, Holly Woodlawn on the L.A. Metro (Pic: Liz O.)

In 1991, Holly Woodlawn released her autobiography, A Low Life in High Heels, written with Jeff Copeland. I haven’t read the book, but it’s high at the top of my list now that I have read Copeland’s recently-released Love You Madly, Holly Woodlawn.  The writer’s own memoir is a funny, sweet and engaging story about an unexpected, and sometimes tumultuous, L.A. friendship at the turn of the 1990s. What I loved about this memoir is how Copeland deftly intertwines a story about HOLLYWOOD, as in the movie world, with Hollywood, as in the place. 

Woodlawn, who died a decade ago, was best known as the Holly in Lou Reed’s hit, “Walk on the Wild Side.” She was an Andy Warhol superstar who appeared in films like Trash and Women in Revolt. By the late ‘80s, she was living on the West Coast and not exactly in the best place in her life. Copeland was a young writer from Missouri who had moved to L.A. with hopes of breaking into the film industry. Their friendship resulted in A Low Life in High Heels and would be strained, in part, as a result of attempts to turn Woodlawn’s autobiography into a film, which never happened. That’s the HOLLYWOOD part of the story. 

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Strangeways at The Smiths/Morrissey Convention

Strangeways at The Smiths Morrissey Convention at Avalon in Hollywood August 25, 2024 (photo: Liz Ohanesian)
View from the balcony while Strangeways played at The Smiths/Morrissey Convention on Sunday, August 25, 2024. (Pic: Liz O.)

It was still early in the evening when Strangeways dropped us back into 1992 with a little “Glamorous Glue.” Up on the balcony at Avalon, the crowd sang along, “everyone lies/nobody minds/everyone lies” and the energy grew more dynamic as the song progressed. If you knew the song— and, certainly, everyone in this room did— you could anticipate what would happen once The Smiths/Morrissey tribute band reached the final verse. 

“We look to Los Angeles—“

The crowd roared, nearly overpowering the second half of the sentence. 

“— for the language we use.” 

Down on the floor, right in front of the stage, people jump up and down, their arms waving in the air as they chant, “London is dead! London is dead!”

In this brief moment where L.A. pride and Morrissey-mania converge, I realize why I’ve always had a good time at The Smiths/Morrissey Convention. It’s a legit, local gathering made by and for fans that still happens in spite of all the forces that make it more difficult for subcultures to exist. 

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