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Retrospective: In Awe of Its Beauty |
I went to high school with Belinda Carlisle out in Ventura County, as suburban as suburban gets. The Newbury Black and Gold. Belinda was a 10th grade cheerleader. By the time she was 19, she wouldn't talk to me anymore; I represented something to her. I was new wave and younger, and she was punk, yet we'd run into each other at the Aardvark or Flip (vintage clothing stores on Melrose), and when no one was looking she'd say, "Remember when..." I had a real respect for her.

I couldn't be a punk. It took a rugged spunk I didn't possess. Indeed, my claustrophobia started at the Masque, just going down those steps - a dank stairwell that led down to a graffitied concrete basement with no way out. It smelled like sweat and piss. I don't know how she did it; she was this sweet thing. Twenty minutes on I got socked in the face when some nasty-ass skinhead started messing with Kenya. She turned around, looked at me and said, "You gonna let him talk to me like that?" Well, frankly, I was, but I can't now. can I? Ended up a war wound; I milked it; got lots of sympathy from the little new wave girls at the Seven Seas.
Entryway on Cherokee |
Unlike bands like the Pistols, The Ramones, Siouxsie and The Clash, L.A. punk never had the same notoriety as those iterations in London or New York, but it was no less influential. There are few photos of The L.A. punk scene at the Masque, yet unlike The Mudd Club or CBGBs, what was the Masque remains pretty much intact. I remember the rank odor, the sticky floors and the punch in the eye, but I look at these photos, and there is a beauty there, a beauty that eluded me in '79; it's too bad. Sometimes you just have to wake up and smell the vomit.
A documentary film on the Masque is available here. For their video "Perfect," Smashing Pumpkins revisited the Masque, bringing it alive one last time. (Click the image below to see the vid.)
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The Only Way Out is Through |