Writing has eluded me, I’ve been so distracted by the wildfires in L.A. The only thing to do (besides donating to support people who’ve lost their homes) was write a little about this place that’s so huge in many ways
I dreamed of living in L.A. but didn’t have the nerve. It’s weird to think that, since I toughed it out in New York City through the late 70s, eighties and nineties. These were the hard and dangerous times but also the cheaper times (though it didn’t feel that way then, I was always broke.)
So when my daughter moved west in 2021, it was a dream realized. Not the same as having my own life there, but a secondhand chance to experience the place almost from the inside.
Maybe you’re like me this week, distraught and distracted by the fires and devastation in Los Angeles. Whether you’ve ever been there, or even been there and not loved it, it looms and towers in all our lives as the place where they made the movies and shows and so much music and art, a whole way of living that’s alluring. I remember being a kid and seeing photos of Shakey’s Pizza in L.A. and just thinking, “Wow,” and, of course, there was Disneyland. Pizza was a serious business back east, still tethered to the old country. In California, it was reinvented as fun — with mock Ye Olde World Tudor lettering. It possibly tasted bad but that didn’t matter —it was the feeling it gave me, just thinking about it—freedom. Beach Blanket Bingo and the Monkees. Burt Bacharach left Queens to live there, with the space to dream up those open-hearted melodies, Carole King broke free of Brooklyn and New Jersey to make Tapestry.
My parents flew out to California for a steel biz convention when I was a kid. They stayed at the Ambassador Hotel (like many places I remember, even secondhand, it’s no longer there). They looked like movie stars to me when they arrived back in Pittsburgh— just having come from Los Angeles they were suddenly glamorous.
But to a kid in Pittsburgh, New York is where the business of becoming an artist began. You had better do your time there;the harder, the better, so that’s where I gravitated.
I went first to L.A. in 1979 with my then-boyfriend for a few days’ stopover after flying to Hawaii when People Express had $29 tickets. We didn’t rent a car, and spent the first night in a Malibu motel on the east side of the Pacific Coast Highway. The beach and the people who were allowed to look at it were all on the other side of the walls and fences. Then we caught a bus to Hollywood. We stayed at the Tropicana and ate in Duke’s — it was the classic lowdown scene I’d glimpsed in Rock Scene, Creem, or L.A. Rocker. I remember feeling like everywhere we went was deserted, like we were the only extras…it was February, and I don’t know; places weren’t crowded back then. We tracked down a great bookstore on Hollywood Blvd. that specialized in film. It felt like the best way to touch what was all around us but not accessible if you were just passing through.
The next time I went was with my country band, Last Roundup. It was 1987. We were welcomed by ex-New Yorkers who’d made a life for themselves there: Peter and Ilene lived in a twenties bungalow complex right near Hollywood, or was it Sunset Blvd—my brother Riley had to sleep in the van to keep an eye on our equipment, the neighborhood was a little scary, even to hardened East Villagers. We played at the Palomino and Club Lingerie and a fantastic twenties theater downtown, the Variety Arts Center, opening for the Bodeans. On a day off, my brother and I saw a Love Connection taping, and we all went to La Brea tar pits and Yamashiro with Kristian Hoffman, who’d done his time in New York but had returned to California.
My trio, the Shams, were my next L.A. experience: we stayed with Ilene again and tried to find a gig as our scheduled one fell through at the last minute. I remember we were in touch with Elliot Roberts, Neil Young’s manager, and he tried to set us up with another show so he could come to see us play. In the end, we did play in a small bar, maybe on Sunset? Before heading up the coast for some other shows, we got very stoned on good California weed and drank Starbucks for the first time. I think the year was 1992.
The next time I went was 1996. I checked into the Sportsmen’s Lodge in Studio City and met up with Elliot Easton the next day near Calabasas to work on my first solo album, Diary Of A Mod Housewife. We recorded most of the tracks in North Hollywood between the Iliad bookstore and the Odyssey video store. Sportsmen’s Lodge was pricey, so I moved into Ilene’s sweet house in Studio City for part of the couple weeks I was out there. We did more recording and mixed the album at Mark Linett’s studio in Glendale.
Thank god for Ilene—she showed me the fun and glory of everyday L.A. Cute places to eat and shop, the atmosphere I wouldn’t have found on my own. So many times she put me up in her adorable, enviable little house.
There was also my old New York friend Roger who lived in a fantastic twenties house in Mt Washington. He always welcomed me in the spare room or would leave a key for me when he was traveling. I can still see the shadows of the massive trees through the arts and crafts windows. It was rumored the house had been the home of evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson. At the time, it may have belonged to film composer Carter Burwell. That was L.A.: legends and stories everywhere. Down the street was a shabby bowling alley and cheap donut shop where the coffee came in styrofoam cups.
There were many hotel stays, too: the Beverly Garland, Santa Monica Days Inn, Hilton at LAX, Best Western Hollywood by the 101. Beverly Glen. Hollywood Roosevelt. Things were still inexpensive back then.
Recording, songwriting. Venues played over the years: The Mint—two or was it three times, Luna Park (2x), Whisky, Hotel Cafe; McCabe’s opening for…Richard Shindell, I think. Spaceland. The Ash Grove, a revived folk club on the Santa Monica Pier, with Stew and Peter Case and Mare Winningham - a fantastic night. Duane Jarvis and I played a small room in the short-lived Knitting Factory in Hollywood. Marti Jones and I did a Cynical Girls show at McCabe’s with Kelley Ryan as our guest; that was fun. When Eric and I got together, there was excitement; he hadn’t played in California for decades, and he was a legend. We were booked to play at Safari Sam’s, a fabled L.A. club they were relaunching. Somehowanother three or four bands ended up on the bill. It was the biggest crowd I’d played to in L.A. It was a long night, but it felt like it went okay.
I don’t think the Eric fans were too thrilled he had to share the stage with me. One guy on a Stiff Records page said, “It’s like waiting your whole life to see David Bowie and getting Tin Machine.” (In case anyone was wondering how we got the name for our boat, there you have it!)
And my fans were proprietary, too. Eric and I did a free (pass the bucket) show at Cinema Bar with Duane Jarvis opening and a stalwart shouting, “Beer and Kisses - let Amy sing one!” Eric told him to put some pants on (he was wearing shorts). Jason Schwartzman was there and canoodled with his girlfriend whenever I was singing, then paid attention to Eric’s numbers. L.A. gigs have their own vibe.
There was a great instore at a cool shop called Mount Analog…I think we lugged our own PA across the country on that tour and set it up inside for a Sunday afternoon show. I played some songs with Eric when he did an instore at another late record store called Wombleton on York Ave, and in a band with Bart Davenport and Jess Peleta backing Eric at Punky Reggae party at La Cita in downtown L.A.
All the great musicians I got to play with, some still with us, some gone.
The Wild Honey backyard concert I performed solo and then with Ilene and Danny McGough and Max Ferguson, their old band Seven Deadly Five backing me. Robbie Rist, who played Oliver in The Brady Bunch, was on drums —he was awesome. A lovely solo house concert at Tobi and Clyde’s, and then an interview with Pat Thomas and reading with songs at Stories when my book came out in 2019.
Driving Los Angeles pre-GPS— starting with the Thomas Guide in one hand, up the 405, across Santa Monica to Laurel Canyon up and over to the valley just for fun when there was time. Or down the 5 to the 110 with its hairpin exits when I stayed with Roger in Mount Washington. So many hours being lost, looping back again. At least if you went too far westthere was the ocean.
The Airbnbs came in: a sweet little casita compound in Eagle Rock where the host put fresh fruit and warm bread on the courtyard table for breakfast. I never saw him or another soul. The dingy nightmare trailer Eric and I checked in and out of at 3 AM after a gig in San Diego. The views from hillsides in Silver Lake, trying to pull a rolling suitcase up the side of a mountain.
Why did I keep going? I rarely played in a big crowd, but the people were cool and nice. I would’ve moved there when Hazel was ten, but I couldn’t figure out how it would work with the schools, working temp jobs, and everything being so far apart. I worried I didn’t have the confidence to assert myself in such an overwhelming place full of accomplished people and dreamers. We went to Nashville instead.
When my daughter moved out west in 2021, I felt thrilled. She was brave and could do what I’d been too daunted to do. She knew some people and loved the place, and after the pandemic lockdown in Brooklyn, she needed that change. A fresh start—isn’t that what draws folks to the west coast? I’ve loved my visits to her out there and have given myself (and my daughter) the gift of visiting a couple times without the stress and pressure of playing a gig. It’s not like the world’s been beating down my door for me to play there; it was just always a way to do what I do and be a part of the place.
I really didn’t mean to make this about me. Or maybe I couldn’t write about something so heartbreaking and awful without filtering it through my experiences. I don’t have any expert opinions, just the perspective of a person who has a relationship with a place that's going through an epic tragedy. As I keep checking the news and seeing stories of people who’ve lost their homes, I look back at all these places I’ve played and stayed —I haven’t even gotten into the food, the hikes, museums, and the neighborhoods and weird discoveries. Or the people. But going through this litany is a form of praying, I guess — a prayer of thanks, a prayer for the future. My daughter lives in a more urban part of the city, close to downtown so not high risk, in one of those perfect twenties apartment buildings with casement windows and a courtyard. Like many, she has friends in Altadena, some who’ve lost everything. We donate to World Central Kitchen and GoFundMes and hope for rain. Life starts up again gradually when this intense risk period ends, hopefully soon. I hope it will go easy on those who’ve lost their homes, family members, pets, cars, work and treasured items. The dream will have changed, the risks feel too real. I’ll always go back as long as that place will have me. You could say I’m a fair-weather friend, but we’re talking about L.A.
I only made it to LA a few times but they were good times. many of my friends ended up there. I performed at the '84 Olympics with Rhys Chatham and hung out and played a few other gigs with friends. I even went to Disneyland with Karen Haglof, if you know her, guitarist with Band of Susans. I went back a couple of times and sat in with people. It was always a mixture of cool and yet uninviting to me. I've been thinking of going out to offer some help in the aftermath of the fires.
Much better than mine!