Every Monday in LA for the past 8 years at The Key Club, the sold-out sign goes up when the epic glam cock-rock band ‘Steel Panther’ are in the house. It’s best to leave your PC views at the door as these primped and preened 40+ year old guys regularly cross the boundaries between virtuoso metal performance, freak show and stand-up comedy. Shredding guitar solos are standard fare, as are covers of Poison, Guns n Roses and Motley Crue, and for good measure their own unique songs with such deep lyrics as ‘My heart is for you, but my cock is community property’. Amidst the chaos of leather tights, bandannas and big hair is a witty diatribe of misogyny, bigotry and an open appreciation of the female form, often displayed on stage and in the crowd by the more adventurous audience members.
Although our time wasn’t all spent flexing our cerebral matter. Appropriately on July 4 Weekend we choose to exercise our 2nd Amendment Rights – yes folks, I am a card carrying member of the LAX Gun Club, situated in the most ghetto appropriate location, Inglewood. Charlton Heston would be proud!! Fortunately there are 2 of us, as Californian law states non gun carrying individuals can not use a shooting range alone – something about the high number of incidents where disillusioned shooters turn the gun on themselves. So it is Sheriff Dave and his beautiful assistant who stride into the range with swagger. I choose the target that indicates actual bodily organs over Bin Laden (with a point score for each – who would have thought the left ventricle is worth more than the right?).
I didn’t expect my hands to be shaking, or my heart in my throat as I start loading the clip on my cop issue Glock 9. Every time another shooter on the range squeezes the trigger, we both jump 1 foot off the ground. Something about being in a room of complete strangers with loaded guns made us a little edgy. Not so much the old Jewish couple learning to blow the head off a home intruder (shooting within 10ft range only!), more so the guys with their own arsenal of weapons at their feet. But after squeezing off some rounds, I get the hang of this caper and take my target out from 60 feet. After this I move up to the more bad ass Smith & Wesson 40, and continue the devastation. Driving home, it’s only apt that N.W.A is on the stereo. I am a gangster from Inglewood. I can relate to their lyrics at last!!
Continuing to tick of the list of iconic LA episodes, we pack our own picnic hamper and head to the world famous Hollywood Bowl. Since 1922, the best talent in the world has graced this 17,000+ seat natural amphitheatre – The Beatles, Billie Holiday, Pavarotti, The Doors, The Rolling Stones. Taking inspiration from July 4, we are lucky enough to see All American hero John Fogerty (Credence Clearwater Revival) perform with the LA Philharmonic Orchestra. An eclectic mix of young families, old rockers, patriots and curious spectators (us) make up the appreciative crowd. With such an incredible back catalogue of music, a super tight band and the full sound of the LA Phil, Foggy tears up the stage showing many frontmen ½ his age how it’s done, leaving us literally dancing in the aisles.
The highlight of the show is the big finish – classic hits with a healthy serve of red, white and blue fireworks to top it all off, lighting up the Hollywood Hills in the colours of America. The journey home gives the fireworks a run for their money, as the 1000’s of stairs we climbed to our cheap seats present 100’s of metres of handrails, which we slide down with epic speed and precision!!
Topping off our July 4 Weekend trifecta of LA institutions, we take things up a level and break out the finest threads and kicks, for the glamour fest that is July 4 Pool Party at Mondrian Sky Bar. This is known as one of the finest (read exclusive) gigs of the year, so we employed some suitable tactics to ensure our smooth journey to the bar. A friend of ours booked a massive hotel suite for the night… Bingo!! After a long morning in our own pool, on arrival at the hotel our façade of uber-coolness is tested as we cringe when the valet takes away our Kia to a hidden place underground, a long way from the Maseratis and Ferraris parked ostentatiously out the front.
Stepping into the suite is like sliding down the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland into a surrealist dream. But you can’t deny the brilliance of the view across the entire LA basin, and also over the bar below packed with LA’s ‘finest’. A suitable metaphor, as they look down upon the rest of the city’s populous. From the room, at 9pm sharp we watch the entire city horizon bubble and burst in a plethora of colours, as fireworks from Santa Monica to Long Beach and further into the smog towards the OC light up the sky. After this (and a couple of drinks…!), we venture into the bar to soak up the fabmosphere, which I have to say was highly over-rated. When asked ‘do you want to meet recording artist Sean Paul’, my response is a flat ‘no’. I was more than enjoying the current company of friends as it was. Enough said.
Enjoying our constitutional rights, dancing in the aisles and high rolling with good friends. For what is one of our last weekends in the City of Angels, we certainly feel like we’ve managed to cram a whole lot of living into a condensed period of time. Senses reeling, heads hurting, wallets lighter, we retreat back to our base in Hollywood and reflect upon our epic journey… But it ain’t over just yet!!
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