HOLLYWOOD & VINE, 1980 (online press kit)
FREDERICK MOORE & JOHN PITARRESI
If you visit Hollywood Boulevard today it has a sort of theme-park vibe, but when as a young music composition student I landed a job waiting tables at the Howard Johnson's at Hollywood & Vine, the intersection seemed to be a magnet for every teen misfit in the country fleeing dysfunction, neglect, abuse, or homophobia in their homes and hometowns. We'd been puked out from the heartland and here we encountered a concentration of homelessness and prostitution, but also of hopelessly star-struck dreamers and those craving the freedoms of pre-AIDS hedonism. There was an ugly side to all of this, for sure, but amid the ubiquitous exploitation and the occasional tragedies, there was generosity and decency to be found. Most impressive was the ability of these feral kids to survive and their capacity to hope for something better than whatever cruelty or neglect they had fled back east. Generally speaking, hospitality was something we neither expected nor found. Still it was an amazing experience to be one among so many haunted but driven souls.
Downtown LA, the final stop of that fifty-dollar Greyhound special, and the first thing they do is cab-it-over to Hollywood and Vine. Yeah they’ve arrived, the high school theater phenom and her sweetheart. Fresh from Erie PA, they’ve given themselves 2 years to break in. But for now they’ve braced themselves for what they need to do. Always pragmatic, the sweetheart harbors notions of pimping her out in a pinch. You can’t help but wonder how so many land right here? There are, after all, no Bogart handprints on this grimy stretch. They come out wanting to be on records or they come out wanting to be on the tube, but you’re truly more likely to catch ‘em on the screen of The Cave or The Pussycat.
But at night this entire Boulevard turns into a City of the Floating World.
Monday comes round and David, who’s training her for the early morning coffee shift, shifts into one of his rants: “If you go down to Sunset and turn right, and you just go-go-go all the way to the water and then turn right again, you will soon see houses on the left. They don’t look like much but inside, two or three expansive stories below, they open right up onto the beach. Now here’s the promise and here’s the validation.” And then he teases her. “Who owns these houses? Who owns the private beachfronts? Who owns the sunsets? Not you.”
Down the street from their room, she steps on Jackie Gleason, and then Audrey Hepburn. She’s reminded that there’s a lot to like and a lot to want out here. Still, she knows that for the most part what we all want and like are the same things, so if you don’t wanna sell your ass or live in an alley you’d better figure something out.
For now she works the morning counter at HoJo’s from where she can observe the foot traffic on Hollywood and where for a 50-cent coffee any runaway can hang for half the morning. Men, young and old, hand her cards: producers, models’ agents, directors. Could even one of them be real? It’s hard not knowing when in the end who you know is all that matters?
This is my corner, this is my boulevard, and this is my sidewalk. And I don’t want you here. Who owns the buildings? Who owns the Sunset billboards? Who owns the hillside? They don’t know you. Who owns the HoJo’s? Who owns the Chinese Theater? Who owns the porn shops? They don’t need you here. Who owns the Lakers? Who owns the fucking Lakers? Who owns the forum? They’ve never heard of you. This is my corner, this is my boulevard, and this is my sidewalk. I don’t want you here.
Mia-May comes from Miami and her voice is full of grace notes.
She has a thing for major 7 chords, but she radiates skunk and patchouli.
We took a chance and we fell free with ginger-ale and LSD,
We sang into the footlights.
Like bourbon in a chocolate sea, our last dive-bar epiphany
Of friction laced with fantasy.
The bar owner knows it’s a numbers game
And Mia’s pizzicato kisses keep the men inflamed.
The house is full and now he knows just why they’ve stayed
One more set from the girl with the long Italian name.
We’re gonna do good, we’re gonna do fine,
In goes the water, out comes the wine.
We’re gonna be good, we’re gonna be kind,
In goes the water, out comes the wine,
We’re gonna be good, we’re gonna be kind.
Slink and sway sister, it’s the way it’s played Sister.
It’s you, me and a LinnDrum, that’s all.
C’mon Sister, it’s the way it’s done Sister.
We’ll groove right through another last call.
In the way the dancers sway they pave a way for me
To stoke and tweak an inner freak untethered to a key.
Mia’s voice cracks in a way that magnifies the slink and sway.
The dancers give to we two strays this moment we can save.
On her way to work one morning on the road down by the lake,
A tender hearted woman found a poor half-frozen snake.
His diamond studded skin had been all frosted with the dew.
I’ll take you home she said to him and I’ll take care of you.
Take me in tender woman, take me in for heaven’s sake.
Take me in tender woman sighed the snake.
She wrapped him up so tightly in a comforter of silk,
And laid him by her fireside with some honey and some milk.
She hurried home from work that day and soon as she arrived,
She found that pretty snake she’d taken in had been revived.
You’re beautiful she whispered as she smiled and closed her eyes.
But if I hadn't brought you in by now you might’ve died
She stroked his skin so lightly and she kissed and held him tight.
Instead of saying thanks that snake gave her a vicious bite.
I saved you cried the woman and you’ve bitten me but why?
You know your bite is poisonous and now I’m gonna die.
Oh shut up! silly woman said the reptile with a grin.
You knew damn well I was a snake before you took me in.
Take me in tender woman, Take me in tender woman,
Take me in tender woman, Tender woman take me in.
Magazine racks wear new faces,
Carnival girls that you meet,
Star that you are, now that you have come this far,
See the grey-blue sky that falls upon defeat.
Echo the park, year-old Sunday,
Echoes your far away home.
Lame, change your name,
It’s the first move of your game,
And you’ve come our here to fight it out alone.
Time out, chance to fade the stain.
Old men dancing in the rain.
No need, no need to explain,
Old men dancing in the rain.
Star that you are, do you still know where you are.
Could it be you found this town a little late.
Time out, chance to fade the stain.
Old men dancing in the rain.
No need, no need to explain,
Old men dancing in the rain.
Cars keep good time, grab a partner.
Dance to the song of your laughter.
Star, you’re no star,
No one knows just what you are.
You’re the hidden son that never seeks the sky.