L'Artistic Milieux

One perennial beef against La La has always been its lack of cultural imagination. But honestly, the place where fake tits = aspiration, bad Nielsens = minimal requirement, and reading is discouraged in cars and in public areas (attention = safety, apparently), that place doesn't so much lack acumen as simply chooses which flourescent lights it wants to trip out to and be convinced by. Take two...events this weekend, proving that when it comes to turning Hollywoodies into cultural bohos, La La's marketers can nail the best Madison Avenue asses with the hammers of obvious. But they can also let shit be, not paying attention to natural growth (breasts, audience or verbal comprehension).

Thursday (17th) night, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art hosted a free, all-night (7p-7a) Tiki party with singles (neither the 12" or 45rpm kind), (nameless) DJs, and a friggin' Sheppard Fairey decorated scooter for a raffle-prize. No, not the art-rave of my nightmares. Just a chance to score an art-hottie before mom asks if you're gay -- at least that's what attendees told me they were doing there (instantly making me wonder where Katie was). Tiki theme + bad records on a worse soundsystem + pick-up scene + museum = a perfect example of organized La La stylee high culture. But only for the young people, of course -- "hide those 35 and overs pronto," you could hear LACMA's promotions head yelling in the background. At 1am: there was still hundreds of people lined up and down Wilshire, trying to get in. Prooving that in La La, like in the backstage pen of Radiohead concerts, meeting people you like is not easy...and I hope she's still there. Final tally was over 9000 art-lovers, with nary a mention of art in either the invite or by the survivors. Apparently LACMA subscriptions were up tho. Can't wait for that Playboy anniversary exhibit now. Read the LA Times "review", and be thankful for the PS1 summer program.

Though, you don't have Dublab, so fuck you. The art-music collective threw a party called Up Our Sleeve on Saturday (19th) in some dilapidated downtown space - but conveniently next to a parking lot - decorated with nothing but 450 custom-made record sleeves made by the likes of Mr. Scruff, DNTeL, and Carly Eisenman. Packed to the gills, after a $10 donation and a last-minute change of venue, it was LA east-side "hip" personified -- tho, thankfully, no trying. Its only aspirations seemed to be a night with booze and girls who like boys who dig girls who like '80s style, and DJs who play "Rapture" and that great Miss Kittin track that endorses "bitch"-beating. Excepting the free Red Stripe (which can only mean one thing), it was the sort of DIY art-hang that would get a ton of play back home as a scene or a movement. But here, only those who care paid attention (which means: no media coverage), and the turn-out implied the care's there. Imagine the idea of actual adult group-art endeavors with eyes (seemingly) not on the bottom line. Plus, a grasp of community. There was also a lot more picking up going on at the Dublab event -- hopefully, the eventual sex was better too. All they lacked was a proper dance-party.

Somewhere between: Ed Ruscha's kid is DJ'ing an opening night at the Pacific Design Center. Don't know what to think about that. But I'm going to Hollertronix instead.