Los Angeles has such a unique Reggae scene with various clubs and shows paying homage to the Reggae Scene. New artists and bands are popping up all the time...and the Reggae Community is active and supported. Many DJs spin SKA, Rocksteady and Reggae. However, outside California (and some large cities such as Chicago, New York and across the pond in Spain) the Ska/Reggae scenes are deteriorating. Within these cities there are still Reggae labels such as Liquidator in Spain and Jump-Up Records in Chicago which is run by Chuck Ren who renewed the Ska scene in the Mid-West. NY/NJ based Stubborn Records is a DIY label run by King Django, a legend in the Ska scene who has been in such bands as the Stubborn Allstars and Skinnerbox. Django has run the label independently for over 15 years. In Oklahoma, Megalith Records is a fairly new label run by Robert "Bucket" Hinley, the lead singer of The Toasters and who helped start Moon Ska Records in NY...

Speaking of labels, this blog is named after Big Shot Records which went from 1968 to 1971. Big Shot was a subsidiary of Trojan Records that started in 1968, gaining popularity with releases from Judge Dread and The Tennors. Big Shot released over 130 45RPM singles and a handful of LP releases. The label itself has stayed active due to the popularity of Judge Dread and the iconic image of the Big Shot cannon. Most modern Reggae labels try to achieve the visibility that Trojan Records has and garner the appeal to counter culture kids as Big Shot did in 1968.

Peter Tosh - Legalize It (legacy Edition) [CD] 

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Unlike many, I look forward to Thanksgiving not because of what I get to eat, but what I get to cook. For this reason, I love to host the holiday. In a village like Los Angeles, it’s usually easy to find many lost little lambs who’ve no place to eat (and no ability to manage kitchens themselves). Honestly, it’s like flunking Home-Ec is a requirement to moving to the City of Angels; I guess Type-A personalities don’t have a lot of patience for braising.

Nothing makes me feel more like a magical wizard than when cooking-challenged people like my boyfriend watch me prep food. Am I roasting zucchini or casting a sleep spell on the whole kingdom? Because his reaction would be interchangeable in either event.

I learned to cook from my Mom; sometimes instruction was direct, but mostly I just hung around the kitchen while she cooked and made a nuisance of myself, learning by observation. I was hypnotized by corn starch and its ability to turn any liquid in to a thick sauce. Separating an egg seemed like a delicate and ancient Chinese dance, and gee whiz…! See what you can do when you whip those egg whites?

There were some causalities, from which I grew wiser. One sneaky bite of unsweetened chocolate taught me that some of life’s greatest pleasures can come from something so foul. I learned Tupperware cannot be used like a pot on the burners, and soon after I learned how hard it is to clean cooked and melted plastic off a grill. One of the few scars I have on my body is on the knuckle of my left thumb from the first time I learned how to use a peeler – I don’t remember what fruit I cut myself on, but I’ve always remembered how to hold the instruments securely since then. Oh! And I learned it doesn’t take very many bittersweet chocolate chips to destroy an appetite.

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I’ve lived in Los Angeles long enough now to notice a two-degree temperature drop and the standard grey, morning haze lasting an extra hour and excitedly exclaim, “Fall is in the air!” It’s what I have to work with down here.

Autumn is my favorite time of year. I’m eager to cuddle up in coats, drink steamy brews, over-do holiday cooking, celebrate Walrus Day, and frankly, I like the melancholic pallor it casts o’er humanity – makes my fellow man seem more relatable than when they’re sweating and spiking balls over nets, behavior which makes me skittish and distrustful.

Of course I know this new chill in the air may be a tease; there’s always opportunity for Mother Nature to Alan Funt the situation. I’m not boxing up my cargo shorts and ice cube collection just yet, but I am eager. To prepare, I’ve hand-selected the finest mini-marshmallows to serve in cocoa (I myself hate eating marshmallows – they’re like sugar-sweetened, antique erasers, but ironically I delight in judging and organizing them), I’ve begun psychologically manipulating the boyfriend with subliminal messages while he watches The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills to favor Douglas Firs over White Firs, and I’ve taught my cats to knit their own sweaters. (To be honest, this last effort has been a real power struggle, with both felines putting up a lot of resistance and excuses:

Folks outside of the LA rock scene may not know the individual that is Karen Centerfold. But that should all change with the release of the documentary Centerfold Centerfold.
The subject of this forthcoming documentary is the unique, uncontainable, enigmatic Hollywood/LA rock scene fixture Karen Centerfold - known mainly for her presence on LA cable public access TV and at local rock shows (in addition to political activist, adult model, and office worker).

"If you spent any time at weird rock and roll shows in LA you probably have a Karen Centerfold story. As for me she always insisted on introducing one of my bands everytime we played.  She would then always get the name wrong and spend most of the show smacking us on the ass.," my friend Brandon Perry (aka WFMU DJ Marty McSorley & fka KXLU DJ Paula Poundstone) from the defunct band Explogasm [mispronounced "Explorgasm"] recently told me. Perry continued that the "gender-bending destroyed puzzle of a human that only LA could create" is exactly as she appears in the documentary trailer below and that she typically will  "show up, be loud, sometimes try to take over shows, and just try to cause a scene in general!". The film is directed by Eckse, with production and editing duties handled by Xenia Shin, Angie Meng, and Margot Padilla.  Responsible for the film is longtime LA underground promoter Sean Carnage - the documentary's executive producer. This week I caught up with Sean Carnage to ask him about himself, his film, and of course its colorful subject. That interview follows the trailer for the film below.
 

By now most most Amoeba customers know about our expanded book section. From time to time I'll be pulling out some books from the section and recommend some I find of interest. The First one that caught my eye was Spray Paint The Walls: The Story Of Black Flag, written by Stevie Chick. Here is a small review of the book, which you can currently buy at Amoeba Hollywood.

By the time I finally saw Black Flag live it was early 1986, shortly before the band broke up. Fenders Ballroom in Long Beach, which only held 500 people, was only a quarter full. I had just seen The Circle Jerks at the same venue a few weeks before and the place was packed. Still, the band was amazing and everything I thought it would be. The band was so loud that the vibration from the speakers shook my clothes as if I was caught in a windstorm. Henry Rollins looked like a younger Charles Manson in his running shorts and tattoos, trying to sing between bouts with a group of skinheads. He just glared at them and kept singing, occasionally swatting at a few of them when they came to close to hitting him. Greg Ginn stood away from Henry, eyes closed, obliviously playing guitar and shaking his long hair as if he was Carlos Santana. This version band was light years away from the band that had released the Damaged album, which was released only five years before. It was indicative of the progression of the band, a decision to progress musically rather to continue to play the same music and retain a fan base. In the end, that choice ultimately destroyed one of the most influential bands of all time. Black Flag’s music was not the only legacy they had. The way Black Flag toured, release records independently and even the sound systems they took on the road are still linked to modern day bands to this day.