Care of and korduroy.tv and The Surf Network, some vintage footage of the innovative Larry Bertlemann.

Two things you must check out in this video: Larry’s switch for Pipeline, and the Go-Pro’s very distant relative – probably sat in a dusty, helmet-cam retirement home somewhere near the sea now, telling stories.

I currently have a headache. Luckily, Bon Iver are headache-friendly.
In fact, I’d go so far to say, Bon Iver are better than aspirin. High praise indeed.

The Battle of Chavez Ravine

For several years now, I’ve been bewitched by the story of Chavez Ravine.
For me, it all started with the Ry Cooder concept album of the same name. As to how I came upon that I’m unsure (it was a while ago) but I’d assume it was off the back of a love for Cooder’s previous outings, notably the Buena Vista Social Club record and the soundtrack for Crossroads.
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I remember reading the inlay soon after I bought it and, perhaps as an unabashed fan of the city of Los Angeles and all her gritty secrets, was instantly hooked by the story, the characters involved and the setting of this ‘poor man’s Shangri-La’, now long since destroyed. Suddenly, I felt like I had to know everything about it, like I couldn’t know enough. Weird.. that certainly hasn’t happened since.

My first step into understanding more was to follow up on Cooder’s own research. This led me to the photo-biog by Don Normark and how, almost by chance, he’d stumbled upon this lost, ramshackle neighbourhood, like a land-locked Atlantis, just a few short miles to the north-east of downtown LA itself. I read the book in almost one sitting (it isn’t hard – though loaded with interviews with former residents, it’s mostly full of evocative, beautiful black and white photography) and I remember feeling pretty emotional afterwards. It’s a sad story, with some beautiful, hard-bitten players there-in. I actually wrote a letter to Mr Normark and, although I didn’t get a reply from him, I did get a reply from his publishers, who said Mr Normark had appreciated my letter.

It seems wrong to try and neatly summarise such a passionate and shameful episode in the history of a city for which I have a very deep love but, essentially, this is it:

Chavez Ravine consisted of three Mexican-American neighbourhoods: Bishop, La Loma and Palo Verde.
Chavez Ravine was tucked out of view, hidden amongst the steep, sage-scrub covered hillsides of Elysian Park. Goats wandered the slopes and the kids, as is natural for kids to do, ran amok. There was little concrete; houses were built from wood and tin and the roads were dust and dirt, only marked out by the rickety picket fencing, boulders and rose bushes that lined the limits of peoples loosely clutched properties. And yet, just over the tops of the surrounding, sun-scorched hills, a boom city was growing, encircling and preparing to over-run this happy-go-lucky community, all under the misappropriated term of ‘progress’ in post-war America.
The reasons for the earmarking and subsequent demolition of this community are quite complex, rooted in McCarthyism and urbanisation. The land took the eye of hungry city developers and the LA city council prepared to turn it over to the wolves, continuing its rampant plan to expand public housing. Forced eviction letters turned up in the post. Many took heed and left. Many didn’t.
Chavez Ravine managed to struggle through a few years of uncertainty after projects got cancelled and bureaucracy prevailed. Dozens of families had since moved on, and the neighbourhood was already unrecognisable as the vibrant locale that it had so recently been. LA firefighters set freshly-vacated homes ablaze to train their rooky recruits, as neighbours (often friends or family) watched, helplessly.
The final chapter played out in 1959: the land was sold to the owner of the Dodgers baseball team. For those that remained, the end came swiftly. Many gave up and left as they saw the indelible writing on the wall. Others fought, dragged or carried from their houses by eviction teams. The last moments are best commented on by Normark himself within his book: ‘On May 8, the Arechiga family was the last to go. Television coverage showed deputies kicking in the front door of a home, then carrying struggling women down the exterior stairs. When the house was empty, a ready bulldozer put its blade against the home and shoved it into kindling. The family had lived there for thirty-six years.’
Soon after, the developers moved in. Bulldozers carved out an entirely new landscape amongst the hills and thousands of tons of concrete now make up the myriad parking lots of a stadium complex. These cover a large proportion of the turf on which the three neighbourhoods once existed.

 
The story has stayed with me. In 2009, back out in LA, I made a point of heading to Elysian Park to try and connect in some way with those events 50+ years previous. It didn’t take long: after studying the photos so late into so many nights back in the UK, I immediately recognised landmarks, the reservoir and even some of the few remaining streets that lie next to the Dodgers Stadium. I walked along familiar hilltops and through the large trees that must have seen all this play out below. Of course, the elephant in the valley was the stadium itself, lit by enormous arc-lights in the dimming evening… Progress, in all its crowning glory.
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For me, it leaves the question as to what exactly we define as ‘progress’. Years have passed since this event. I’m a born-again optimist: I’d like to think the world has since become a more enlightened place. But I also remain a rampant cynic… so I doubt it.

But I don’t want to finish this sad tale negatively. It’s heartening to know that several of the former residents (of those still alive) still meet up once a year. Los Desterrados (the uprooted) have a big picnic in a park nearby, and talk of the happy days on the hill-sides. And I like to think that stuff gets learnt, along the way.

Below is a trailer from a documentary on the battle for Chavez Ravine that I’ve yet to see.
Someone now needs to make the film.

“…they were obnoxious from the moment I met them.”

Great archive piece with some golden Rick Rubin.

Birdmen.

I used to laugh at squirrels, and the flying kind were the funniest. Now, all I want to do is be like those little fluffy nutballs. I’m very envious that I’m not in a position to do what this bunch do. Maybe I need to set myself some challenges…

..and then I noticed the skating. Pretty, pretty flick from Nathan Factor Sacharow.

Soundtrack by The Cinematic Orchestra.

I’m not a musician, but I can imagine it’s easy to murder a good Black Keys number. Alex Winston hasn’t. She’s not strayed far from the original, but she’s de-bearded it and made it her own.

Alex Knost: Single Fins

A little hit of California sun, punk and haircuts anyone? Well, here you go.

Featuring Alex Knost; music by Ty Segall; film by Taylor Bonin.

It’s freezing outside tonight. The woodburner is barely upping the ambient temperature of the room and the dog is practically melded to it. So when you see a shot like this by Clare Plueckhahn, you kind of wish yourself away.

Don’t get me wrong: I love where I live, but sometimes a tropical A-frame and a lava-like sunset will make me a little…. restless.