LA sure is a shiny place, but rock n’ roll hasn’t died in this town yet . Angelenos can get surprisingly gritty, surprisingly down and dirty with their music, especially at the House of Blues. I know, I know… it’s a chain… and there’s a location in – sigh – Orlando. But as long as the crowd is still in love with the music, can you ever count a place out?
Pennsylvania-born MM hit up the House of Blues last night to see George Thorogood, a voice I grew up hearing pretty much everyday on the radio. And as with most things in LA, it was a hybrid experience. Walking past the will call line, I witnessed a 20-something faux -Tommy Lee arguing with the ticket clerk– “The tickets are under my mom’s name, Joanie Jackson. And yes, the tickets were a birthday gift from my mother.” Of course they were, my bourgeois Angelical friend. But once inside the venue, I ended up front row with this same fellow, and we shared a flask of whiskey and screamed the words to “One Bourbon, One Scotch, and One Beer” together. The blue collar passion was there, no matter who bought the tickets. So I’ll just credit this spirit of rock to the ghost of River Phoenix and be grateful LA’s still got it.
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