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Ah now, this is the life … getting’ to listen to our own Debora Iyall’s music while jackin’ cars in LA via virtual reality on my new Grand Theft Auto game. That’s right—never say never to having your hit
song included on an extremely popular video game soundtrack!
While the tribal authorities that be seriously contemplate the construction of a casino out in 29 Palms, a lot of locals have been successful in taking their talents to the outside world.
Being connected to that world has its pluses and minuses, and I have a feeling we’re going to see plenty of both in the near future.
JT photographer Sydney McCutcheon got hired by no less than Sotheby’s Realty to do a shoot of artist Hallee Thatcher’s Morongo wonder, the “house port.” There are some who’d say putting a
carport on steroids over your little, unassuming desert house just means you’ve been out in the sun a tad too long. There are others who’d see the art in it right away. Or at least say they did.
Thatcher wants to sell the house port for $675,000, and the national press has been paying attention.
Stories about the Morongo marvel have appeared in the pages of the The New York Times, the Chicago Tribune, and the San Francisco Chronicle. With knock-down homestead cabins going for just about that much, Thatcher shouldn’t have too much trouble.
For those of us who like art on the edge of an emotional precipice instead of a literal one, JT’s internationally known visual and performance artist, Linda Sibio, has her show, The Insanity
Principle, at Track 16 Gallery in Santa Monica, through June 11. Sibio’s enormous and intricate paintings are worthy of a drive through LA (as long as you don’t get shot).
The first Sun Runner Showcase was a stellar success. It seemed like everyone got into the action and spirit of the evening. Sun Runner publisher “Shanghai” Brown was nigh in shock as locals came up
and congratulated him on bringing “culture” to the hi-desert.
He had never heard sea shanties referred to in that manner before. Dick Holdstock and Allan MacLeod, the musical stars of the evening, went away enthusiastic about the performance. Perhaps the presence of lusty wenches at the Hi-Desert Playhouse was partly responsible…
Moon’s Mega Music Mania brought another wild evening of, err, culture, to the Playhouse. Opening, was a fiddler who had been staying, innocently enough, at the JT Inn, with his wife on
holiday.
He wanted to practice, she wanted to nap, so she sent him out of the room. As he was fiddling away on the steps of the Playhouse, event organizer John Boyd heard him and convinced him to play that evening. He was so good that we’re going to work on getting him back out here. Talk about desert synchronicity…
Lakota spiritual leader Daniel Moon led a group in Indian drumming and song— the best I’ve heard—and what fantastic energy.
Moon was followed by an eclectic assortment of acts, including guitar-percussionist, Hal Hinckle. Hinckle had spaced an interview on KQ92 that Friday, but evidently hadn’t lost all his mental acuity, as he delivered a virtuoso performance that used the guitar for both its melodic and percussive qualities.
Up at Pappy & Harriet’s, Juke Logan turned in another virtuoso performance, showing exactly why it is that Grammy-winning recording artists want Juke on their albums.
Blazing on blues harp, keyboards, and vocals, Juke and an all-star band of high level LA blues artists proved for good that, just as his CD says, the truth will rock you, and the truth will be mightily delivered by Juke Logan.
Outside, in the Pappy & Harriet’s courtyard, the second annual Chuckwalla Fest was underway. The first day saw some rain showers, which caused delays, but when the final three bands for
the day’s lineup were cut because of time constraints, it wasn’t really because of the rain. Rather, it was because quite a few musicians can’t tell time.
One band, with a self-proclaimed spiritual focus, used up their entire time for set-up, their set, and break-down, just setting up. I know being given half an hour for everything isn’t really long enough, but stealing the opportunity to play from other musicians, so you can jam longer, isn’t cool. What’s needed is a stage manager with a whip—and the will to use it. It might not have been so bad, had there not been a documentary film crew there shooting all the bands—except those three who got cut.
Nonetheless, there were some great performances at Chuckwalla, and it was a success, bringing in cash to support arts programs for the children of the hi-desert. Thanks to all the event organizers
who are sticking with this festival through its growing pains. It’ll pay off.
As it turns out, both Juke’s CD release party and Chuckwalla Fest were great places to see two of my favorite women performers: Victoria Williams, and Pappy & Harriet’s co-conspirator, Robyn
Celia. They got the coyotes howling out under that ol’ Mojave Moon when they sang that night.
A great set was turned in by Barking Pupfish at Chuckwalla—the last gig the group got to play with mandolin maniac Phil Mancini, before he left for Maine where he will become a mosquito rancher.
Don’t ask. Really.
Our favorite Landers landmark was the scene of an alien invasion in early May. Red-shirt clad “Clampers” from the Ancient and Honorable Order of E. Clampus Vitus, Billy Holcomb Chapter 1069,
descended upon the dome to honor it, along with the Morongo Basin Historical Society, as a site worthy of recognition. The Clampers are members either of a historical drinking society, or a drinking
historical society, but they do a great job of helping preserve our history, and they have a heck of a lot of fun doing it. History is crazy, why can’t the folks who preserve it be just the same?
A quick congratulation to the folks who got the Yucca Valley Certified Farmers Market underway every Saturday from 8 a.m. to noon down at the Park & Ride lot by Kickapoo and the highway. What a
great idea (no wonder everything was sold-out an hour after opening the first day).
Finally, the venerable Red Dog Saloon opened its doors briefly during the Pony Express celebration up in Pi-town.
I hadn’t sat down at the player piano (now they’ve got three pianos there) since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, but it sure felt good to see the place full of folks again.
As I curled up back in the den, I dreamt of greens changing to browns, of flowers going to seed, and those seeds blowing about the desert with no more life in them than grains of sand, waiting for
the next rainy season, whenever that may be. The desert may change, but its beauty remains.
So, stay cool and stay tuned. Summer may be here, but there’s still plenty to keep us occupied (like rumors of Sheryl Crow coming to perform in Joshua Tree!). As for me, I’m headin’ up to the Red
Dog Saloon to sip sarsaparilla and get in on some informal Texas Hold ’Em action with Indian Joe.
–Locopelli
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