By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
Every person in the club was friendly and talkative-men and women-and the drinks were cheap. Some girl peed in the trash can in the women's room while I was in there because she didn't want to wait. That is so punk rock. (Ask me sometime about my evil nanny, who over the course of a month filled the trash can in my guest house with her own urine; I guess she didn't feel like walking the 11 feet to the main house to use the bathroom at night. She left it there for me like a great big present after I fired her for being a drug addict. She was very, very bad.) But aside from her, everyone was great, and I kept returning to my homegirl Arrissia to tell her about another new friend I'd just made. "What are you drinking?" Arrissia wanted to know. "Love Juice?"
My little brother Cake was the one drinking Love Juice when I took him to the Troubador in Hollywood for The Skeletones' record-release party last Wednesday. Every year for his birthday (he's 16 now!), I take him to see his favorite band, Fishbone. A couple of days before the Skeletones' show, I found out from the president of their label, Transmission Records, that they'd be playing with Trulio Disgracias (God, that's such a good name!), which is a Fishbone side project. And the Troubador is all-ages! So I piled Cake and his two cute little friends (life would be so much easier if I were into high school boys) into my Geo Metro. We got there in time for Drain Bramaged, who were quite loud and do a rollicking version of The Charlie Daniels Band's "Devil Went Down to Georgia," so I like them. Their singer was late ("I couldn't find fuckin' parking, man!"), so they played some covers and people from the audience jumped onstage to sing. Cake was the first one up there, and for a second, I thought he'd just jumped onstage like a big dumbass to dance around, but then I realized he was helping out with vocals and actually knew the words, so I wasn't embarrassed anymore. A number of the guys from Drain Bramaged were at the Dickies show, too, and they were all very nice.
The Skeletones were awesome, and lead singer Jonas was prancing around in a kilt, kicking his legs up and down to showcase his lack of undies. Now, despite what some people would have you believe, there's nothing wrong with ska, except for Save Ferris. (Every time their loungey torch song that starts with "Hey, cool cats" comes on the radio, I mistake it for a "Play Cool Cash" lottery jingle.) Ska is fun! The crowd was very happy, skanking around and having a jolly good time. I must say, though, that people who are skanking look very stupid, dragging their knuckles like that. Not that there's anythingwrong with looking stupid-in fact, I approve of looking stupid. It's just an observation.
During Trulio's set, which was a jam session with anyone who wanted to play, the Skeletones' guitarist let loose with soaring, real-purty playing. The entire jam was the ultimate in fat funkiness, grooving happily along. But, whoops again! It seemed like the guitarist was soloing for too long, like a star basketball player who never passes the ball to his teammates. In fact, when Fishbone's Angelo said, "Let's break it down for the keyboards," he kept right on soloing! Maybe he didn't hear him. Even so, his guitaring was awful nice. He is welcome to be my friend. And so, my dears, are you.