Since my last posting, I've taken two different road trips up to San Francisco, both of which yielded two very different experiences and both of which were terrific. Below is an account of the first (to the best of my severely fading memory).
At the end of July, I packed up my car and headed North with two friends (Matt & Noah) to accompany me on a trip to see Liz Harris/Grouper perform a sound-installation called SLEEP at the Berkeley Art Museum. We left on a Thursday night and drove as quickly and directly as possible up the 5 freeway, through its flat and often desolate terrain. We stopped only for gas and the occasional snack or pee-break, and my companions were terrific distractions from the headlight-spells. I usually fall under a weird blurring-gaze when driving for more than an hour or two at night. Thankfully, both Matt and Noah have much sharper senses of humor than I do, and I mostly remember a lot of laughter and bad German-accent imitations. And, of course, endless discussions about music.
We reached Noah's families house in Novato, where we were to be staying, at some time around 1:30 AM only to be greeted by a beautiful deer on the hillside by where we were parked. We let ourselves in and pretty quickly passed out on our pillows, in anticipation of upcoming excursions. The next day, Friday, we were up early, munching on bagels, noting the brilliance of a painting hung up in the room we were staying in, and watching Noah's cameo in a cheesy rom-com flick that his Mom was quite proud to show us. We digested our breakfast, washed up and were out the door in search of records.
(The cat on a bookshelf painting in the guest room,which is on the opposite wall of that exact bookshelf)
We reached Berkeley around noon, rummaged around all the usual spots and landed ourselves some good vinyl catches. We killed some time roaming around, probably shoving more food in our faces in the process, and eventually neared the point before it was time to head to catch Liz's set. Right before we walked over to the museum, we popped into a bookstore on Telegraph, where I randomly picked up an eye-catching title called Journal of a Solitude by May Sarton. I've since grown quite fond of the book, and Sarton as a figure. I think she'll be a topic worthy of her own dedicated post at a later date, so I'll leave at this for now.
Afterward, we hustled over to the museum in time to catch the show, which was a tranquil, ambient affair that focused on experimental noise-reflection more than song performances. Like always, I was entranced, but I could tell Matt and Noah weren't as convinced - understandably so for those outside of the cult of Grouper (you either love her music and experiments or you just don't). This particular exhibit was focused more on the patterns and sound-cycles that would occur in a pre-designed interior, made with walls that would reverberate and echo sound waves into a barrage of minimal-noise that washed over the audience in different ways, depending on their position in the venue. It was a really unique experience, and I look forward to seeing how else Liz aims to present her soundscapes in the future.
(Sound diagram of Liz Harris SLEEP sound-installation by Liz)The performance ended earlier than I'd expected, so we found ourselves with some time to kill in the later hours of the night. The guys suggested we go to a bar, whose name escapes me at the moment, and I obliged. We found ourselves there on 'game night', which was a fun little distinction I wasn't expecting. The bar left out board games on all the tables, and had a dart-board room and pool table for customers to enjoy. We played some Connect Four, had a drink or two, and enjoyed a few rounds of darts before heading out and back to Noah's parents' place to crash.
On Saturday, we were up early again to maximize the last day of our stay. We swiftly packed up our stuff and were out the door after some appreciation was doled out to the lovely Green's for having us. We had one main objective left to fulfill, and that was to get our hands on some sandwiches from the infamous shop known as Ike's Place. Noah had been gushing for a while about how good of a joint it was, so we made a point to include it on our to-dos for the trip. We got into the city, scoped out a tourist attraction that Matt suggested we see, stopped off at Amoeba Records for a quick breeze-through and met up with Noah's pal Scott, who accompanied us from there to Ike's.
Upon reaching our destination, we couldn't help but notice the line out the door and a third of the way down the block. However, the long line would not deter us, and only confirmed Noah's claims that this was the kind of place that warranted such excessive waiting. After about an hour or more, we finally reached the front of the line and ordered to our hearts' content. Having spent the excessive time waiting, I decided to maximize my options and order two sandwiches - one for the immediate lunch and one for later during the drive home. Both were terrific, and the vegan “dirty” sauce that was slathered on my fake-turkey sandwich is something to definitely be experienced. Sadly, that specific location of Ike's has now been closed down due to complaints from neighbors about the lines of people outside the nearby residences. However, I believe there are other Ike's locations worth looking into for those interested/able.
(Ike's Place sandwich sign)After devouring our sandwiches and basking in the sunlight beaming down on the front steps of a nearby house, we were ready to head home. We dropped off Scott at a nearby location where he was meeting some other friends, and headed home to Los Angeles - bad German accents in tow for the whole ride down.
1 comments:
hate driving at night on 5. it all looks the same in the daylight, save for a few notable spots which are all but invisible in the dark. i keep thinking i'm closer than i am. oh now, there's a metaphor in that...
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