Me (to Lita): “Joan says hi.”

Lovely Lita

If Joan Jett and Lita Ford hadn’t survived the ’70s to become stars of the ’80s, I probably wouldn’t be writing a book about the Runaways. Few people would be interested in reading about a band that never had hits of their own (in the U.S), no matter how earth-shakingly hot they were. Jett’s and Ford’s subsequent solo success proved the legitimacy of the all-girl band for which they provided twin guitar engines. And I had the immense good fortune to interview them both last week, for Queens of Noise (my forthcoming history of the Runaways).

Joan was on the phone, still basking in the glow of her first-ever tour of South America, where she and the Blackhearts played in front of tens of thousands of true rock’n'roll fans in Brazil and Argentina. At Lollapalooza, Chile-style, she joined los Fighters Foo for “Bad Reputation.” (Video here.) Roqueros on that side of the equator are way more appreciative of their guitar heroes than us jaded colonialists up north. “I’m going to be spoiled for American audiences,” she told me (among other things).

The next day, I met Lita at the Grafton on Sunset. “Joan says hi,” I told her. Weird.

Lovely Lita looks amazing. We bonded over buying Doc Martens at Trash and Vaudeville. The fleet-fingered fox has been through hell and back recently, getting the butt-end of a brutal divorce from Jim Gillette, father of her two children. She was amazingly strong, honest, clear, and direct, until the talk turned to her boys, and the song “Mother,” from her forthcoming album, Living Like a Runaway. Those eyes that have seen more than their share of outrageous shit — after traveling the world as an underappreciated, overexploited jailbait genius, the woman dated a young Nikki Sixx and was managed by Sharon Osbourne — lost their steely resolve. Lita Ford: teenage pioneer, guitar goddess, wronged matriarch.

The Italian-English Ford was the Runaways’ pugilist, but lately she’s been peace-maker, breaking bread with Jett and singer Cherie Currie for the first time in decades. The woman who quashed a previous Runaways reunion attempt thinks the timing is right now. But mostly, she just wants to end three decades of stupid fighting. “At least we can establish our friendship again,” Lita said. “You’ve got to crawl before you run. All I’m trying to do is be friends.”

The Desert

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Five days in the desert: Desert Hot Springs, Joshua Tree, Salton Sea, Pioneertown. I was feeling too bougy to camp; instead, we luxuriated at the Pioneertown Inn, Hicksville Trailer Palace, and, best of all, the Hotel Lautner.

Suzi Quatro Crash

We spent much of our spring break desert trip listening to Suzi Quatro, particularly her great song “48  Crash.” Sad and ironic to find out that she recently had a crash of her own. I’m in the midst of reading her memoirs,  reappreciating the ground she broke. I don’t think there would be a Runaways without the Glycerine Queen — certainly, Joan was never the same after hearing Suzi Q.

 

Suzi Quatro accident – broken wrist & leg.wmv – YouTube.

via Suzi Quatro accident – broken wrist & leg.wmv – YouTube.

Kim Fowley’s Sunset Years

Kim Fowley can be brilliant and bullying, self-obsessed and tearfully sympathetic. He’s an infamous, compelling figure who has been the most singularly helpful source for Queens of Noise, my Runaways book. In fact, I had so much extra material from him — as anyone who has talked to Kim knows, he will talk your ear off — that I creamed some of it off for this feature in the Los Angeles Times today. Are you a Kim lover or hater?

Kim Fowley: One of the runaways, here to stay – latimes.com.

via Kim Fowley: One of the runaways, here to stay – latimes.com.

Popping in New York

Cowboy boots competition

The Chrysler tattoo has returned to its homeland: I’m in New York, attending the EMP Pop Conference at New York University. I gave a paper today on “The Roads to Ruins: the Runaways and Los Angeles.” Went okay. It’s been quite a scene. Last night’s keynote featured Santigold, Esperanza Spalding, Angelique Kidjo, and Heems (Das Racist). (Link to my Pop and Hiss blog about it below.) On my way to the party tonight, hosted by Rock’s Back Pages, I ran into Greil Marcus. The Kimmel Center classroom was packed with old friends, favorite writers, and minor celebrities: Lenny Kaye, Danny Fields, Alice Bag, Vivien Goldman and Jana Martin (the Fictionaires!), Greg Tate, Barney Hoskyns, Lucy O’Brien, Ann Powers, Daphne Brooks, Josh Kun … the list goes on. Thursday night, out for dinner, we saw Matt Dillon, Fran Lebowitz, and another old friend, Dean Wareham. Two more days. I love New York.

The Fictionaires

via Language, music and art: Santigold, Heems tackle urban experience – latimes.com.

In Dreams

I lost my dreams.

Frida Kahlo

Dreams — daydreams and night dreams — used to guide me. In the morning when I woke, I would make sure to remember what had happened to me during the night, and that memory would cling to me throughout the day, like a tissuey emotional shroud. I loved my dreams; recurring ones were old friends. They helped me see life in new ways. They taught me.

I thought about my old friends when I toured “In Wonderland: The Surrealist Adventures of Women Artists in Mexico and the United States.” This exhibit at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art is one of the most powerful and affecting gatherings of artwork I’ve seen in years. Re-seeing imaginative and confessional works by Frida Kahlo reminded me of her deep gift and profound statements. Looking from her paintings across the room to Alice Rahon’s Ballad for Frida Kahlo, I was also reminded of the powerful connections between women — how we can be each other’s muses.

Rahon was one of a dozen painters, sculptors, and photographers about whom I knew little or nothing prior to this show, and now I’m obsessed with. Dorothea Tanning paints a bare-chested woman — herself, I think — with a seaweed skirt and a winged griffin at her feet. The fascinating Lee Miller — model turned photographer, object become subject — photographs a breast removed in surgery, and then twins it. Gerrie Gutman paints a terrifyingly ghoulish statement of herself  holding a casket, symbolizing her loss of custody of her son; it made me think of Kristin Hersh. Sylvia Fein is gothic and impish. Leonora Carrington’s horses gallop and have breasts.

These are dreamscapes, fantasies, nightmares — projections from the parts of our brains and hearts that we don’t always use every day. The less we use them, I’ve found, the rarer they appear. In Wonderland inspired me to take those first moments of consciousness, and remember where my mind went wandering the previous hours.

 

The Roads to the Pop Con

http://www.empmuseum.org/education/index.asp?categoryID=26Attention Runaways fans, New Yorkers, and pop scholars: I’ll be presenting a paper called “The Roads to Ruin” at the EMP Pop Conference at NYU on March 23, at 2:15 p.m. I’ll be providing a sneak peek at some of the research for my book Queens of Noise, framed within the conference theme of Sounds of the City. With music, slides, and video. Registration is free but should be done in advance.