When I think of music in Los Angeles, I always think of the wrong things. I think of kids who came all the way west to pay to play Cococut T’zers and homogenizing their style into a kind of Los Angeles bar band sound that always sounds a bit dated. On the other hand, I think of folks writing music for movies, and feeling insulted, somehow, because the people for whom they write want the music to be a universal prop for a wide audience film.
I know I should think instead of mariachi guys who light up the sky every Thursday at La Fonda, or guys out in Shadow Hills who make music for the creative commons on their home computers, but I always think about notes in Guitar Center or the weekly alternative that say “must appreciate Alice in Chains”.
I think about the relationship between these two classes of players pretty often. I don’t know why.
The dreamer players are a tsunami. The ambitious — often bitter — talented are a steady trickle. I am myself among the unambitious but passionate mediocrities, who know each other by the wake of modest bands.