Elaine’s Hella Hipster Hoedown has become a welcome quarterly distraction—I’d be happy if she staged one every weekend. An indie-rock barn dance held the first Saturday this month at Pehrspace in hella non-bucolic South Echo Park, this happening was packed to the paint with veal-eyed darlings of the Eastside rock scene. I could scarce wedge my lean geezer’s carcass into the room, much less commandeer one of the authentic hay bales strewn about the room as bovine bric-a-brac, so I tarried outside and talked to the hostess. Being a Dixie lady herself, she was pretty impressed to meet a (half) authentic Tazewell Co., VA, hillbilly and I found myself unaccustomedly bashful. (About in the only other social advantage my heritage is usually good for is informing the occasional obnoxious fuck he owns a real purdy mouf’ with just the right inflection, so this kind of approval is unusual.)

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Well, what to do after dark downtown is an abiding question that ArtWalk answers only one Thursday a month. Part market for recession-wracked artists, part roving singles meat-rack, part experiment in social Darwinian set design, this event now features more music and more public mating rituals than ever, along with an uptick in cops and panhandlers, with the latter looking much better-heeled than the human scarecrows kept penned along the Nickel a few blocks away. I was in work mode, but every other unattached male had his game on, with even the most faux-negligent hipster-dude got up like Prince’s pet horse.

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Fool’s Gold transcend the smog of Los Angeles with their big-band tropical-orchestral call-it-what-you-will multi-cultural dance music. If the crowd isn’t sweating by the end of their set, they warrant medical attention.

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dan monick

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Here is a list of the top ten sellers at Amoeba Hollywood for May 5th.

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