By LP Hastings
By Michael Goldstein
By R. Scott Moxley
By Gustavo Arellano
By Gustavo Arellano
By Matt Coker
By Nick Schou
By Bethania Palma Markus
Photo by Jack GouldYou know, a lot of you have been asking, "Commie Girl, how do you manage to stay soooo sweet and down-to-earth when you are in fact soooo talented and smart, not to mention a hotty, and we even heard you have a terrific singing voice as well?" Well, friends, it's not easy! Here, for instance, is a Commie Girl fan letter from Miss Joanie Palazzolo, regarding our recent extraordinarily witty column on the Long Beach Dub All Starsvideo shoot:
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:
I READ THIS ARTICLE AND I WAS REALLY DISTURBED. IM NOT GOING TO MAKE THIS SOME BIG DRAWN OUT LETTER BUT I WOULD REALLY LIKE YOU TO KNOW THAT I BASICALLY THINK THAT YOU NEED TO RECRUIT SOME NEW WRITERS BECAUSE THIS REBECCA (WHOEVER) OBVIOUSLY DOSE NOT KNOW THE REAL STORY ABOUT THE LBDA. FIRST OF ALL RAS IS NOT THE LEAD SINGER. AND YES BRAD NOWELLIS DEAD, BUT I THINK THERE ARE MORE TASTEFULL WAYS TO SAY IT. NEXT TIME MS. SHOENKOPF WRITES AN ARTICLE I SUGGEST THAT SHE ACTUALLY GETS THE FACTS ABOUT THE STORY. YOU KNOW IT WAS JUST A VIDEO SHOOT I MEAN WHAT DID YOU EXPECT BALLET DANCERS. ITS NOT LIKE THIS IS THERE LIFE ITS A VIDEO. MABEY NEXT TIME IF YOU ACTUALLY TALK TO THEM, INSTEAD OF STARING FROM A DISTANCE YOU MIGHT GET THE REAL STORY.
Thanks, Joanie! Without you, our loyal public, this would be just another fabulously well-paying gig with only DJs, Greens and club promoters to fawn over us and buy us free drinks! And did we mention the bribes? It's for you—you!—that we go to fun shindigs like last weekend's Doheny Daysin Dana Point, even though we're only getting paid by the OC Weekly instead of also reaping a paycheck from the promoters, like we did at the Dub All Stars shoot as some kind of vague "consultant"! (Now that was a frenzy of filthy lucre!) In fact, it was at Doheny Days that we chatted with several cigarette girls who are also friends of Ras, the lead singer for the Long Beach Dub All Stars! And they told us several amusing stories about how, like, one of them was on a date, and Ras yelled after her car (with her date right there!), "Hey, come back here so I can fuck you in the ass!"
Like you, we like Ras! We find him charming and refreshing in his commitment to total honesty at all times! And you know, we think your idea about featuring ballet dancers in a music video is a fabulous one! Joanie, you should be directing videos yourself! So have a great day, and keep that love coming!
Now, for those of you who weren't backstage at Doheny Days, you missed the super-duper VIP Andy Gumps, which had sinks and mirrors. They were the bomb! (Did we mention that we once got a fan letter that concluded, "You're the bomb, Com!"?) Also, there was free beer and the only juicy turkey burgers we've ever eaten. Thanks, Omega Events!
Doheny Days was enjoyable on so many levels, even aside from hanging out with all our fave rock stars (our boy now says, when playing air guitar, "You know Mike from [Warner Bros. recording artists] Dial 7? With the yellow hair? I'm him!" We're not sure Mike even plays guitar, but it really doesn't matter). First, every woman there had glorious straight, thick long hair. And second, there was a really cute fireman backstage via a wrist band he bought for $20 in the parking lot and then taped on. Unfortunately, he got really hammered and much less attractive. Funny how that works!
Under drizzling skies, oceanside, we shook our collective booty to 5 Foot Tuesday, a superdorky pop cabal that played rad, Michael Penn-like songs about spacemen. They kicked ass. Unwritten Law was also tops, one of the few punk bands whose lyrics you can understand. The new-and-improved Dial 7 now has DJ Danielin the house. Mirainga, as reported by Adolescent Frank Agnewlast week, has the Latin flava going off, and nobody's hips stood still during their set. Plus, band member Hedge doesn't drink, so they always have transportation. And (hed)peand Kottonmouth Kingswere indeed very loud. We missed The Reverend Horton Heat, though he sounded good from backstage. Unfortunately, headliners X blew like an enthusiastic Dub All Stars groupie, which isn't at all like them. It was just an unspirited show. Fortunately, there was a girl walking around all day in a teal tube top who had gigantic breasts, no bra and very firm nipples for everyone to peruse at his or her leisure. It's amazing what that can do for morale.
So we ditched the cute drunk fireman and headed down to Leucadia (that's in San Diego, folks) for the 33rd birthday party of Surfing magazine editor Jamie Brisick because Surfing is based in San Clemente, so it counts.
Arriving after 11 p.m. on Saturday night, we found a house brimming with such disparate celebs as famous French chef Gilles Knafo; photographer Thomas Campbell; and pro grrrl surfers Falina Spiresand Prue Jeffries, who was in the world's Top 10 last year—all of whom were drinking sangria from a plastic tub till they puked. Well, maybe not them in particular.
Whatever. The extraordinarily global party had a Darryl Hannahlook-alike from a South Seas French island who rocked on the drums for several hours, single-handedly euthanizing all memories of ugly girl drummers like the one in Vixen. She was amazing—and she had never played before. Other percussionists crowded into a tiny living-room annex, going at it with everything from bass (Phil, who came with somebody) to fantastic harmonica (Oliver, a barback at Calypso, where they all hang out) to gourds and tambourines (everyone else) until 5 a.m. And 14 women asked Brisick to sleep with them! We'll testify that Brisick got no nookie despite his general handsomeness and smartitude because we were curled at the foot of his (borrowed; Brisick usually lives in the living room) bed as some 18-year-old boy stood there and told a few Brazilian chicks stories about his Spanish teacher, keeping us up mercilessly. Nancy had already stolen the futon we'd claimed, but as she earlier had kept grabbing the microphone away from the boys and handing it to us instead with many exclamations about our fabulousness as we shrieked like Yoko Ono, we let her pretend to be asleep. Because, you know, it's the fans who matter.Pssst! Wanna give Commie Girl a record deal or throw a cute fireman her way? Oh, yes, you do. CommieGirl99@hotmail.com. No reasonable offers refused.
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