Los Angeles: I could go on for hours, and I probably will.....


I come from a small city in the middle of England much like many other small cities in England. In my town people don’t talk about themselves much. If asked how they’re doing they’ll say, “Oh, fair to middling.” even if they’ve just had their legs taken off in a freak farming accident. When the boys in my town want to impress the girls, they start fights with the other boys and use glasses and bottles to emphasize a point. People in my town don’t talk too big, because that would be vulgar. Imagine, for example, you’ve found a cure for cancer and are a little excited and feel pleased with yourself; talking about it would be seen as having airs and graces; someone will say, “Stop going on about that bloody cancer. You’re not the first person to cure some incurable disease. Who do you think you are, Louis Pasteur?”. In fact, one of the only ways to big yourself up in my town--medical genius or not--is to denigrate everything else. This isn’t without merit or fun but it does give you a limited palette to work from. People from my town censor their aspirations; to try and to fail (and from such a background who isn’t predisposed to failing?) would be too shameful. Better to keep your head down. Seen from the outside my town is weird. I thought I’d qualify myself and ‘fess-up straight away. I don’t come from anywhere so special. I’ve got issues. I’m just saying…

I’ve given in. I love LA. For years I hated it – at least the work side of it. The lifestyle side of LA, once you’re away from the business, is amazing; beaches, mountains, sunshine – what’s not to like? But the business side of it seemed feral and undignified to me. And it is, but so is business everywhere else--one of the biggest shocks when I worked outside f the music business for a while was how many petty egos there were outside in the real world. And who am I to judge anyway? I come from a place where sophistication is gauged by what flavour Bacardi Breezer you drink or whether you buy kebabs or chips on the way home.

Because I am only ever a visitor in LA, I am completely fascinated by its rules and etiquette. While it is feral and vulgar and unscrupulous it’s participants aspire, sometimes ruthlessly, to a magical reality that informs everything they do. The rules of the city dictate you respect this. If you go to LA, much like going to Vegas, you can only expect to join in. Neither place will ever accommodate you or your ways. LA has a charm, a neediness that it scrambles to cover-up with faux-satin sheets and brave talk. It shakes its tail at you while biting its lip so as not to ask if you think it looks fat in this. It’s slutty and aloof. It has issues. It’s driven by fear and ambition at the same time. It feeds on hope and aspires to magic. Vegas is a pimp by comparison; a dealer in stepped-on coke and shop-worn virgins.

And have you ever met one of those you like?