Dan Deacon. Photos by Amy Darling.

For the 6^th anniversary of Sean Carnage Mondays, the crowd was the most packed I’d ever witnessed at Pehrspace, with lines circling the parking lot and some people waiting for hours to get in for a taste of special guests Dan Deacon and Future Islands. While it was great to see so many new faces, I have to admit relief at the sight of all of the regulars in the crowd, the people who week after week return to Pehrspace loyally on Monday nights for the eclectic and exciting programming that is Sean Carnage Mondays. The “TGIMers.” Even self-appointed announcer Karen Centerfold managed her way in somehow, but tonight Val Kilmer was the guest host, interacting with DJ Kyle Mabson’s mix of television themes and Tim Allen grunt samples. Jon Barba emerged on the stage bedecked in a silvery cobweb cape for a homecoming set, having established himself musically as “Nicole Kidman” among smaller crowds at Pehrspace and similar D.I.Y. venues over the years. Kevin Greenspon joined Barba on stage with guitar on Southpaw, and finale track Thirst for God, a dancey, biblically based track from Jon’s days of attempting to woo a Jehovah’s Witness. The first time I saw Lucky Dragons I half-expected a fawn to prance into the room and nibble from the stage, and I’ve felt that way at nearly every subsequent performance, tonight’s being no exception. It really is just that magical. With a slow build on a rhythmic journey composed on laptops, employing heavily reverberated vocals in a way that is vaguely tribal and raw.

Before Future Islands took the stage Mr. Kilmer led everyone in a chant of what I think may have been “pancake warp state,” at least that’s what the people next to me were chanting. Future Islands have been quickly gaining traction with powerful emotional performances highlighted by vocalist Sam Herring, alternating between a melodic soulful tone and Danzig-esque growls and howls. They treated the audience to some new tracks as part of a tight set driven by heavy bass lines complementing synthesized beats that occasionally veer into tropical territory. Dan Deacon took to the stage with a green flashing skull light display, and a computerized chipmunk falsetto, bursting into a high energy set like a demented children’s chorus. Deacon led the crowd through a variety of exercises, Jurassic Park vs. Big (the movie) dance contests, and a cathartic head touching interaction, all culminating in a “Wham City!” sing-a-long. Of course, no Sean Carnage Monday would be complete without the subsequent Kyle Mabson-led dance party to a variety of pop jams from the 90s onward, mixed with post-ironic nümetal riffs. Emerging from the space, steam rolling off of my shoulders, my fingers were pruned as though I’d been bathing for hours, and indeed I had been. Bathing in sweat, and filth , and pure joy.

For more on Sean Carnage Mondays please visit www.seancarnage.com

-Walt! Gorecki

[View with PicLens]

The 2nd annual Folktale Fest, and the triumphant return of Sean Carnage Monday nights at Pehrspace after a very brief hiatus, made for a packed crowd on a warm summer night. As I entered I found Sacramento performance artist/musician Mom dancing away, half-clothed and squeaking in a cutesy pitch-modified falsetto to novelty type music in a classic Mouseketeer hat. Surrounded by streamers and balloons and dim red lighting the whole experience was very surreal. Mom has a reputation for being quite messy (think blood, urine, and cake) but she toned it down to simply rubbing squids on the audience and covering herself with milk while a giant man-baby breastfed from her in what seemed like an animatronic Disney tableau gone awry. Next up Knight Rider took to the stage with dreamy synth-pop that devolved into creepy Lynchian territory at times, but was unfortunately cut short due to some technical difficulties. Thundersnail played an epicly haunted set involving a Chinese dulcimer, which just might be one of the most beautiful instruments I’ve ever seen. Folktale Records’ founder Chris Payne followed as Whitman, this time backed by a cavalcade of local musicians–former Mae Shi members Ezra Buchla and Corey Fogel on viola and percussion respectively, and Rich Seymour of Clark 8 on cello. Even with that full of a band, Whitman maintained a very sparse, personal sound with a power that packed the room. LA expatriate Jon Barba (formerly known as Nicole Kidman whilst performing) followed up with a set that alternated between upbeat keyboard tracks and completely acoustic guitar performances. A natural performer who manages to transfer his own awkwardness and vulnerability into something that can command devoted silence from the most raucous crowds, Jon’s power as a musician only increases over time. Finally the monstrous Bay Area free-jazz-meets-noise-punk quintet No Babies kicked into a set that rivaled their already infamously epic live performances culminating in a feverish mosh pit that had a new year’s feel as people ripped apart the streamers and popped the balloons prior to the closing soundblast, “Be the Best.” Of course a Monday night at Pehrspace wouldn’t be complete without a dance party to a set of DJ Kyle Mabson playing pop jams and 90s guilty pleasures. If tonight is any evidence, Folktale Records seems to be successfully establishing a new auditory narrative based not on genre but on context and personal expression.

-Walt! Gorecki

—Daiana Feuer

SHLOHMO, BIRTHDAYS, EMPEROR X, NICOLE KIDMAN, VACATION DAD, BACK TO THE FUTURE THE RIDE, TRUMAN PEYOTE, CRAFT SPELLS, EMILY REO, JEANS WILDER, M31, AND GHOST ANIMAL ON SUNDAY DEC. 26TH AT BACCHUS, 4159 WEST PICO BOULEVARD, LOS ANGELES. 4:00PM/ $5/ ALL AGES.

Girlhouse illustration by Morgan Lee Gerstmar

DREW DENNY

Midway through the night, I was wandering around Girlhouse when I heard a noise behind one of the girls’ doors. I impishly cracked it open and saw Drew and Morgan with their backs turned, rehearsing a song. The haunting melody seemed to seal them off from the rest of the party, blowing a bubble around them, like the bubbles they’d blown around Geoff Geis earlier in the night as he sang the love-sick ballads of his youth. I closed the door again without being noticed.

 Minutes later, Drew opened the door and invited everyone in. It was a relief to see the room that had felt that lonely music fill up. Luckily, I got a great seat on Drew’s bed with about ten other people (and the rest sat on the floor) because I don’t think the whole party was able to fit inside. The twilight blue color of Drew’s walls and her green plants were a soothing contrast to the Obama porn collages and strobing Christmas lights in the living room. 

Drew wore a vibrant orange dress and a hat that made her look Russian (but I’m not a clothes expert). She apologized for her first song, saying it was the first song she’d ever written. But it was pretty and dreamy, and no one would have ever guessed that. We only felt more privileged to be sitting in her room listening to it. She sang into the mouth of a stuffed pink unicorn with golden wings that hid her microphone. 

The second song was the one I’d heard before, a new Big Whup song called “No Mommy,” with that optimistic yet fragile melody. Morgan played slow notes and plucked her viola, holding onto the emotion. Then Drew’s keyboard picked up with this groovy Charlie Brown jazz riff that was fun and came out of nowhere.

For the last song, Drew requested that the lights be turned off and sang alone. It made the crowd invisible, and gave me that eerie feeling of being alone with the music again. When the lights came back on, and she sincerely thanked everyone for listening, I understood why.

—Pablo Capra, Brass Tacks Press

LOLA LOSHKEY

This was the first party of the cold season, and everything seemed darker than normal. A strange feeling of sickness permeated the house (thanks Whitman!).  The performers all played sad and honest music, and one even broke down violently while playing. Porchfest II was, above all else, a celebration of epic catharsis. And at the end of it all, in the smallest bedroom of the house, Lola Loshkey sucked all of that palpable emotion out of the air and spit a bizarre and distilled version of it back at us—a total throbbing mess, collecting all the little pieces of the night and reconfiguring them into a terrifying and alluring package. Mixing burlesque fantasy with energetic self-flagellation, the singing skeleton writhed on the bed and humped a pink pegasus while yelping and muttering through a phaser pedal. Sitting below the singer, a saw-playing skeleton kept her head fixed at a creepy forty-five degree angle—providing a eerily still counterpoint to her flailing compatriot. Sonically, they created a weird whirring soup of gibberish.

It’s easy to dismiss avant-noise as a tired genre. Most of the time it seems like a pointless exercise, made lazily by uninspired people. But Lola Loshkey has the proper sense of spectacle. More importantly, they have the proper sense of purpose. As stark and punishing as they are, they’re also deeply humorous and hopeful. Near the end of their ten-minute orgasm of improvisation, the singing skeleton got really low to the bed and broke down laughing. That was the best part.

—Geoff Geis

NICOLE KIDMAN

His fingers were tarantulas deciding whether they’d walk out of the shadows or stay in the dark kicking the dirt, watching dust collect on their shoes. Nicole Kidman is one man on giant old keyboard. His voice cracks as it climbs a glass staircase out of his throat. Suffering sums it up, but there’s more to disarm and put back together. When he stopped playing, pushed his hair from his face, shuffled his feet, and yanked on his jacket—it seemed the whole room wanted to hold him, make him feel better. He asked for money for his tour, people gave him money. Shoot, I even bought a shirt, which I then lost somewhere in Girlhouse (rumors claim it’s still there…). His unique fragile power pulls heartstrings and makes you want to reassure him kindly, and, by default, might reinvigorate your own faith—or at least makes you a caring liar.

—Daiana Feuer

Download: Sean Carnage’s Mondays mega-mix

(full tracklist with liner notes here!)

Sean Carnage has done so much for L.A. music that there had to be a movie made to help document it—40 Bands 80 Minutes!, now recognizable as early home to much of the most vital actives still performing in the city. He’ll be celebrating four years of DIY shows (across six venues!) all this month at Women during his traditional Monday night residencies, and he’ll have the official Sean Carnage birthdayversary spectacular on July 27. This interview by Drew Denny.

The first time I attended a Sean Carnage night was at Il Corral—Is that where it all began?
That’s cool that you were there! Il Corral was really special, and that’s where Monday Nights began—on August 1st, 2005. I covered the back story of the Il Corral and the atmosphere of the times in my movie 40 Bands 80 Minutes!, so I’d recommend checking that out. Il Corral was everything a Rust Belt kid like me hoped California would be—wild (but still innocent) punk rock fun. Stane (Il Corral co-founder) installed a rope swing in the music area, so that gives you an idea of the venue’s play zone atmosphere. I was really lucky to be able to host shows there. A high proportion of the performers who played there were bona fide geniuses, and for once in my life, I realized what was going down as it was happening and turned on the video camera. People doubted my selection of performers for 40 Bands 80 Minutes! when it came out over two years ago. (Including L.A. RECORD—LOL!) [LOL @ us—ed.] But damn near every person who appears on the screen in my movie has gone on to do important stuff. The Los Angeles artistic and musical community is something to be proud of.
How did you get started?
I love underground music as a style and as a craft, and I had been involved as a musician, promoter, writer and fan for about thirteen years in Cleveland, Ohio. I moved to L.A. to retire, but couldn’t shake the music. So I started booking again after taking about three years off.
Did you know when you began that it would last this long and be so loved?
Derek Hess did Mondays at the Euclid Tavern for 8 years. Speak In Tongues also lasted 8 years. I knew if I could bring regularly scheduled music into the D.I.Y. and all-ages realm, it would work.
What was Speak in Tongues? I’m researching Pentecostalism and speaking in tongues for my thesis right now, so I have to ask…
Speak In Tongues—and the guys who lived there—changed my life. It was all-ages D.I.Y. for eight years—an amazing run. I learned that you don’t need to do shows in bars. You can strip away another layer of mediation and do it yourself. Not an original concept, but it was new for me in the mid and late 1990s, and it informs everything I’ve aspired to since. (SIT hibernates at speakintongues.com)
It seems that at any location—Il Corral, Pehrspace, the Smell—you create a space that fosters a family of bands that might not have otherwise had any place to play, or at least not any other place where they’d feel quite so at home. Was this always a goal of yours?
I was seeing a ton of excellent shows around L.A. in the early 2000s and that was tremendously inspiring. So I just started asking bands if they wanted to play my night. All the attendees of those initial Mondays were way turned on by the energy of it all. When we moved to Pehrspace in 2007, it only got better.
Which bands did you start out with?
The first show was Haircut Mountain Transit, FM Bats, Buko, Ugly Shyla, Szandora… and Jell-O shots. Jon San Nicolas and my boyfriend at that time, Richmond Tan, helped me so much. We were noisy and gay right from the start! Now Mikhai Tran helps me tons with the shows—taking photos and weaving our distinctive bracelets, which are unique for every show.
How political is your programming process? By that I mean, how much—if at all—do you concern yourself with representing or attracting a certain group?
A lot of the people behind Mondays’ success are gay, and I’m proud of that. It’s emblematic of a new non-political phase of the gay rights movement. Young people can now be themselves and not worry what people think about their sexuality. That said, I bring up sexual orientation because with the passing of Prop 8, we still have so far to go. I suppose this is preaching to the choir—musicians are usually pretty progressive—but Mondays have been my modest way of saying ‘we’re here, we’re queer,’ and building something positive and constructive that every music fan can enjoy.
Is there is a unifying factor among the Sean Carnage bands—in terms of genre, style, or scene? If not, what is it that you consider when choosing bands to book?
I’m looking for the best music. I don’t pay particular attention to style. I listen more for general musicality. And the execution is important. I really cherish the Monday audiences so I am always trying to find new ways to thrill them. What’s nice is that most of the bands are already friends, but because they operate in different areas of the music scene, my shows bring them together—often for the first time. The other unifying factor is the between-sets music of Kyle H. Mabson. Kyle’s become my partner in the shows since I met him fall of 2005. I feel like Kyle’s really changed how underground music is experienced. He brings the dance party and that amps everything up.
Who are some of your favorites right now?
I love the new Amazements album. I like American Gil and the Major Dudes a lot. Certain performers like Billygoat, Birth!, D. Bene Tleilax, I.E., Whitman, Nicole Kidman, Moment Trigger… they’re all Monday superstars.
My best friend and band-mate, Geoff—Pizza! and Big Whup—and I just made a compilation that includes tracks from both American Gil and Nicole Kidman. We love them! What is it about those Inland Empire kids that makes them so amazing?
Haha—good question! It astounds and humbles me the people from the I.E. drive so far to attend shows like mine. I don’t 100% understand the local culture there, but I’ve always gotten a good feeling from both the music and the personalities of the Inland Empire folks. Maybe there’s something about living in the 909 that is similar to living along Lake Erie? I’ve always related to people with backgrounds that are similar to mine, but for lack of scientific evidence, I can’t really say much else except: I like what I hear.
Tell me the craziest-best-worst-funniest-most-miraculous-most-tragic Sean Carnage night story. Please?
This past Monday, people were freaking and beating each other with pool noodles on Women’s front lawn for 20 minutes after the music ended—that was pretty crazy!
I heard the police came a few weeks back and threatened to shut down Pehrspace—have there been any recent developments in that story?
I don’t have anything new to report, but Pehr is continuing to host a small number of weekend shows, so please support them every chance you get.
How are you getting by in the meantime?
I’m proud to be hosting at Women. They’ve given me the space to do some really ambitious programming, like the four-week 60 Watt Kid residency in July which features a ton of new bands.
Is there anything we—as Sean Carnage and Pehrspace fans—can do to help in this struggle?
No matter what venue you see live music at, be mindful of the neighbors when you are outside the space. It’s hard—I’m trying to inspire people to be free, but on the street you have to be low key.
What will you do if you can’t continue booking there?
I’ve been lucky to have done Mondays at Il Corral, Pehrspace, the Smell, Zamakibo, House of Vermont and Women, so if I have to find a new home I will. I figure that after 200+ shows in a row, I’ve earned some vacation. So I’m taking this August off to prepare the new Monday home and I’ll be back the first Monday in September.
Sounds like a good plan… And finally, I’d like to say CONGRATULATIONS! What are you doing to celebrate your anniversary?!
On Monday, July 27th I am hosting some truly amazing bands—60 Watt Kid, Shirley Rolls, the Seizure, Mikki and the Mauses and Single Mothers. Then I’m going to take August off and figure out where the heck Mondays are gonna live in the fall. Then I’ll be back on Monday, September 7th with… I.E.! I will be keeping everyone updated through facebook.com/seancarnage and seancarnage.com.

SEAN CARNAGE’S ANNIVERSARY MONTH BEGINS WITH 60 WATT KID, HIGH CASTLE, ITALIC INDIAN, SKULL KISS AND GARRETT PIERCE ON MON., JULY 6, AT WOMEN, 1852 CRENSHAW BLVD., LOS ANGELES. 9:30 PM / $5 / ALL AGES. SEANCARNAGE.COM. 60 WATT KID WILL BE IN RESIDENCY EVERY MONDAY IN JULY. FOR COMPLETE LINE-UP AND MORE INFORMATION VISIT SEANCARNAGE.COM.

Download: David Serby “Don’t Even Try”

(from Honky Tonk and Vine out now on Harbor Grove)

David Serby was a punk kid in Orange County and then an insurance adjuster in L.A. and took a long time and a lot of lumps to become the country singer he is now. He performs monthly at dark bars with old photos on the walls and he has just released his third album Honky Tonk And Vine. This interview by Chris Ziegler.

If you wrote a song called ‘Blues For An Insurance Adjuster,’ what would it be like?
Oh good Lord. That would pretty much be if I wrote a musical for the movie Office Space. When I was doing insurance I had the back of my cubicle backed up to a big window and I went to my boss and said, ‘Can I take this back thing off because its got this big beautiful window here?’ He said no, so a friend of mine who was next to me brought his little Leatherman tool kit in and hung around ‘til everybody was gone and we took it off and put the back of the cubicle in the storage facility bin back behind a big crate and nobody ever said anything. I don’t think they ever noticed.
What was the most productive creative work you ever got out of those experiences?
I think that you figure out who you are by figuring out who you’re not. You put these clothes on and go, ‘This doesn’t feel right on me.’ When I started working there, my life was completely upside down and that job was really the only thing I had to hold on to. I was probably about six months into that job and my friend who I met there was quitting to go to graduate school back in New York—he said, ‘You hate this job—why don’t you just quit right now and we’ll take three months off and we’ll drive around the country? You can bring a guitar.’ I said, ‘I can’t do it—my life has been a mess for so long. I can’t.’ I was still hanging on to that cliff—I hung on to that cliff for another six years before I actually let go.
Are you more of a risk taker now?
Definitely. It’s a completely different world. I let go of that cliff and I just said, ‘You know what? The game is rigged.’ I don’t want to turn into an anarchist or anything but this whole capitalist system is not really set up to encourage freedom of thought and art. And if that’s what you want to do, as soon as you realize that the system is not set up to really help you or encourage you and that you’re going to have to figure out your own path and make your own rules—as soon as you accept those things, life becomes a hell of a lot easier.
Are these the same sentiments you were talking about in your old punk band?
Kind of. The things I was railing against then—being a cog in a machine and all those teenage things you’re pissed about, like having a number on a social security card and all that bullshit. But you do come full circle. You rail against it and then you graduate from high school—I remember feeling instantly ancient. Just old. And thinking, ‘How did this happen?’ And then it was another 10 or 15 years of realizing that just because I was older doesn’t mean I had to be older. I went to high school in Orange County so that was like in ‘78 and in ‘82 I graduated—there was a lot of great punk rock going on in Orange County at that time. I used to see Mike Ness hanging around. I saw Agent Orange more times than I can count! And the Adolescents and TSOL and all those bands—I saw them in high school gyms, I saw them in Elks Clubs, I saw them at the Lodge in Fullerton—I saw them everywhere. There was a lot of great art happening down there and all of that stuff was cool. But my family had country records and I remember I would play the Johnny Cash Live From San Quentin record all the time and I would listen to a band like X—I remember getting that first X record. I got the first X record and the first Blasters record on the same day and I went to my friend’s house and I put it on her record player and listened to it and just stared at the artwork and was completely blown away by that stuff. That stuff is completely folk music. It’s folk music like it’s people talking about what’s going on in their life and on the street. They’re talking about people who are making it day to day. They’re kind of like historians—especially a band like X, they were just brilliant historians. I love that band.
Guy Clark says you have to leave a space in the song for the guy who’s listening to be like, ‘Hey that’s me…’ Is that something you try to do?
One of the things that I love most about country music is that people identify with it. It’s very common language—a very conversational art form and I think people connect with it because they do see themselves in those songs. If you’ve done that and somebody can listen to a song and recognize themselves in it, then I think you’ve really managed to do something special. That is kind of what I try to do. The thing with country music is that people make fun of it because country music talks about ‘my girlfriend left me, my wife left me, my dog died, my pick-up truck’s broken down…’ But you know what? That shit happens to people! It sounds simple, but it’s not simple—it’s not easy to do that. I remember reading an interview with either Jakob Dylan or Tom Petty—a reviewer wrote about how the songs were all three chords and they were all conversational and how the songs were too simple and he said, ‘Look, if being simple were easy everyone would do it.’ Except for the ones about being in prison—although I’ve been in plenty of metaphorical prisons—I don’t think I’ve ever heard a country song that I haven’t identified with. That’s the brilliance about it.
What’s hard about writing a simple song for you?
You have to pick out the little things. My friend said, ‘My husband is always on the street—he’s always working on his car and he should be in the house working on other stuff, if you know what I mean.’ And I thought, ‘That’s like a universal man-woman experience.’ And I came home and wrote this song ‘Better With My Hands’ about a couple that is falling apart—which I know something about—and a guy who doesn’t know how to talk about what he’s feeling—which I know something about. The fact that I was talking to this woman and she was saying the same thing was happening to her—well, you know, there’s something that I haven’t written about and if it’s happening to me and it’s happening to her then it’s happening to millions of people all over the world. The key is to try and tell it in a fresh original way—it’s tough to be simple when you’re trying to be different.
Harlan Howard would do the same thing—just listen to people talking in a bar.
There’s a song on the record called ‘I Only Smoke When I’m Drinking’ and twice in a week somebody tried to bum a cigarette off of me and both times I said I only smoke when I’m drinking. And the song ‘Permanent Position’—I was talking to my friend at the Cinema Bar about how great it would be if Rod—the guy who owns the Cinema Bar—would pay us to drink beer because that’s pretty much one of our favorite things to do. I’m not the only one who wants to sit in a bar and get paid to drink beer, I’m sure.
What’s the big story you want to tell? What’s on your mind that you want in a song?
That’s a good question. I’m in a good place in my own personal life so I’m kind of looking outward more. The first record had its own story, but for the last two records I kind of moved away from that—what I really want to do is look at other people and their lives. The world needs good art right now—it needs good stories.
What makes you say that?
Well, I don’t know—this place is a wreck. The middle class is disappearing and people are so hypnotized by pop culture that they don’t see it. I look at my sister and her husband who have gone through tough times. I watch people struggle and it seems that it’s people who shouldn’t be struggling. It’s people whose families that for generations, their lot in life has improved—and now this generation, everything has gone backwards for them. There’s a movie called The Interpreter with Sean Penn and Nicole Kidman and there’s a line in that movie—‘There are no more countries, only corporations.’ And it’s that. The corporations don’t give a rat’s ass about the people in this country. It’s the death of the middle class, the Wal-Mart economic model—it’s all that stuff and it’s the effect that stuff is having in people’s lives. That’s what’s interesting to me.
What do you think about that strange kind of split in country? That part of it is so stand-up-for-the-little-guy and yet it’s used to market Wal-Mart and expensive trucks?
I know—I agree with that and I don’t think that it even registers with people. I really don’t and I think it’s the hypnotic effect of pop culture. I went off to Stagecoach a couple weeks ago and there was the Palomino stage and it had some big acts that drew some people over from the main area—the bands had a more independent aesthetic and were more country-based like Dale Watson and Jim Lauderdale. And there were sadly not big crowds for them. I spent almost the whole weekend in front of that stage. Late on Sunday night, the wind kicked up and it was kind of cool and I walked back through the main stage area in the middle of Kid Rock’s set and he was playing a Queen song—I think it was either ‘We Are the Champions’ or ‘We Will Rock You’ and there was supposed to have been 50,000 people in attendance but there wasn’t more than 250 people over at the Palomino stage. At that time I think it was Jim Lauderdale and Dale Watson headlining, who I think are just brilliant contemporary country song writers and the other 49,999 people were over in front of that main stage and it was like a drunken spring break over there. I’m not making a value judgement but it’s completely different from old school country and how that art form was historically approached. It’s more like arena rock and pop music and those two fan bases don’t really cross-pollinate.
Is ‘Get It In Gear’ really about helping a girl get naked photos of herself back from a drug dealer? What happened?
I have no idea what happened to that girl. I knew her many years ago and kinda had a thing for her—kind of like the moth to the flame thing. I met her in junior college. You see those things happening and the signs are not good, but there’s a fascination there and you get to a certain point where you either jump off the cliff or walk back to your car right away.
What’s something you walked away from that you’re glad you left behind?
There was a whole bunch like ten years ago. I chose to go a different way professionally—I chose to go a different way in my relationships and I chose not to wallow in self-pity and depression and to try and use that. There is a tendency to kind of wallow in your bad luck—I think as an artist you probably should do a little of that because that’s how you connect with things, but the key is not getting so destroyed that you can’t do anything. I read an interview with Oliver Stone and he talks about going through a period in his life when he was having substance abuse problems—he said even when he was his drunkest or his most drugged-out or whatever, he got up every day and he wrote. There is a real saving grace in creating art. If you can force yourself to do it when you’re down, it will lead you to the light at the end of the tunnel.
Whenever Harlan Howard went into a bar, he’d always take the barstool closest to the front door—what is your preferred barstool and why?
I would take the farthest barstool from the door—but the one that had the view. I like my bars as dark as possible but I also like to be able to see people come and go. I like to watch people when they don’t know they’re being watched—you get an honest read on what people are doing and how they’re reacting to folks. I love to do that. I told somebody recently that I love to sit in airports when the flight is delayed. I just like to watch people. I might sit by the door but then you gotta turn around—if you’re over there in the back of the bar where you can see the whole deal, that would be my place.

DAVID SERBY ON THUR., JUN. 18, AT THE PIKE, 1836 E. 4TH ST., LONG BEACH. 9 PM / FREE / 21+. PIKELONGBEACH.COM.DAVID SERBY’S HONKY TONK AND VINE IS OUT NOW ON HARBOR GROVE. VISIT DAVID SERBY AT DAVIDSERBY.COM OR MYSPACE.COM/DAVIDSERBY.