whoopie music
I remember being starving, jobless and trying to make it as a music journalist in LA somewhere around the year 2000. I was writing for bits and pieces, a small check here and there, free music and and sometimes even free food. I heard Tim Love Lee was coming into town for a few shows. I headed myself down to The Standard hotel in West Hollywood and scheduled a dinner/interview with him, promising a publication in a grand outlet. Tim and I and someone else, his publicist perhaps, don’t remember now, ate at Lucy’s El Adobe way down on East Melrose. I turned my hand-recorder on, shoved my face with cheese enchiladas and Corona and Flan for desert and got to hear this man talk about the electro-vibrations of sound that he has given and received in this life. A wonder. A jewel. Slight porn-star qualities. Sexy teeth. A generous and elaborate music-maker. A fine dining companion.
Apparently I did not actually turn on my hand-recorder, just thought I did and nothing made it to tape and I got so drunk I didn’t remember enough to even write a decent short piece. All I do remember is him saying: my music may be good to have sex to, but it’s so much more than that”.
I took the CD out after years of it in it’s case. I played it after girls went to sleep. The rest is personal.
