Leaving our beach day respite in Santa Cruz was difficult, but we managed to pull ourselves away, rested and rejuvenated. As we drifted downstream on Highway 101, everyone retreated into themselves; reading, listening to music, watching documentaries. We could practically feel the heat emanating off of Ritchie's "I-don't-need-sunscreen" lobster-red sunburn from the backseat. The farther inland we got, the more the heat swelled around us, pulling at our joints and arresting our unaccustomed Oregonian lungs. Passing jokes turned into tour themes revisited again and again; any harmless comment was liable to become a recurring tour joke, and a quick pit stop off the freeway became the birthplace of the "Rest-stop Ritchie" alter-ego—a theoretical homeless man living at rest stops that gives public service "do's and don't's" announcements to other bums.
The call came once we hit the coast again -- the house concert we were supposed to play in Long Beach that night was cancelled (adaptation is a necessary Darwinian trait of touring musicians). After a quick scramble to find somewhere to stay in Los Angeles, we received a generous invite from Perry's friend Sabrina–there would be plenty of space, and even a trampoline!
"Plenty of space" turned out to be a severe understatement —as we followed the iPhone's blue dot into the winding and clogged streets of LA, the houses became bigger, the gates taller, finally landing us—dusty and bedraggled—outside of a Spanish-style mansion in the heart of Los Feliz. Not only was there a trampoline, but it was actually IN the living room. High arched ceilings greeted us as we descended the curved, tiled and turquoise-banistered staircase to the main floor. Doors with breezy linens were flung open to a palm-lined pool and perfectly manicured lawn. Immediate trampolining ensued.
A production schedule on the wall revealed that the hospitable Sabrina was staying in this house with her brother Akiva Goldsman (the award-winning writer of
A Beautiful Mind), and directors Henry Joost and Ariel Schulman. They were nearing the wrap of filming
Paranormal Activity 3, and the house had the pristine, unlived-in feel of those who work too much to break in their surroundings.
After a late night taco run and too many Tecates and cigarettes, we ran rampant around the house, playing Whitney Houston on repeat at top volume; indulging in antics like children left to their own, unsupervised devices. We call it "visit rich".
The next morning was whiled away drinking strong coffee at Intelligentsia (and included several celebrity sightings), then we made our way to The Satellite—formerly The Spaceland—to load in our gear. It was a special show for us, because we were opening for our friend Van's band Waters (previously of Port O'Brien) and the rawkus and extremely southern Futurebirds. One of the best parts about touring is meeting up with long-lost friends in remote corners of the world to play together, and meeting new bands! We had a lot of fun playing our set, and could really feel that the band was starting to settle into itself, to get comfortable. You can rehearse and rehearse, but there's nothing like a tour to really bring everything together and make it feel cohesive and tight.
Next up... Santa Barbara and Visalia, California!
-Brooke Parrott
