A Beautiful Mess

Five minutes after we arrived at 2nd Street Jazz in Little Tokyo last night, Paul Roessler, who has played with the likes of the Screamers, Nervous Gender and Nina Hagen, took to the piano. Yes, a piano. Just because you're status in the history of L.A. punk is somewhat legendary doesn't mean you can't tickle the keys in a lilting fashion. After the prompting of Monkey Bucket, aka the dude in the fez, the crowd sat on the floor.



This was the only point in the show where there would be some semblance of decorum within the crowd, which is fine because decorum is overrated, except for when someone is playing the piano and a little less chatter is necessary.

Following Roessler was the Tleilaxu Music Machine, which is the brainchild of D. Bene Tleilax of RoMak & the Space Pirates. Feeling at a loss to describe his music at 10:30 a.m., I am instead posting the following photo that might help you get an idea of his sound.



It is a blurry, red lit haze of electronic madness, the sound of frantic dancing and feeling like you might lose your shit, or at least your watch, as one person did last night.

The crowd tossed balloons like volleyballs as a sign of approval.



And a dinosaur pinata made its way into the crowd, where one guy hoisted it upon his shoulders as though it were a drunk, topless girlfriend at a Motley Crue show.



And then the mosh pit began.



We were sitting at a table on the edge of the pit, where patron after patron knocked back to granite table top. Fortunately for the club, the table was posted into the floor. Unfortunately, for the crowd, it was not conducive for bumping.

"That girl in the plaid is going to have one bruised back tomorrow," I told Carlos, which prompted him to recall a time where he hit the pit and took a cymbal to a rib.

"My mosh pit days are over," he said.

"So are mine."

Carlos laughed, knowing full well that I run away at the sight of swarming punks.

The mosh pit may have been fun for those caught in the wave, but it was hell on the balloons.



And then there was Baseck. After a few of his tamest pieces and a collaboration with a rapper wearing raver fingers (who was that cool dude?), Baseck got all grindcore on us and brought out his dancers to help establish the mood.



At this point, the dinosaur pinata had been slaughtered and most of the balloons were popped. And the crowd, well, I gather you can guess its response.



For his last song, "Creatures of the Night," the dancers reappeared in bunny outfits.



The outfits were supposed to be puffed out with packing material. Instead, feathers were used, much to the joy of the crowd and the dismay of whoever had to close down the bar.



I feel badly for the people stuck cleaning up this mess.