When I saw the red tail hawk cruising the canyon, I knew it was going to be a great night.
A pair of tickets to Underworld at the Hollywood Bowl had just landed in my lap and I was on my way to pick them up, then meet my date at Hungry Cat. We had a delicious gazpacho, more of a tomato broth than the chunky soup I’m used to, chilled to perfection and served with a timbale of avocado and Dungeness crab piled into the middle of the bowl. That, a market salad and one of their great cocktails, and we were off.
We even used public transportation to the bowl- a real live metro bus, followed by a shuttle to the Bowl that was crammed with happy concert-goers. It’s a big deal for a car-saddled girl like me, and I enjoyed the different views of streets I travel every day.
What a study in contrasts the show was!
Paul Oakenfold blew. I’ve had some great times dancing to his beats, so it was disappointing. He had live musicians- violinist and tabla player sitting raga-stylie, then a jazz saxophonist, and finally an oud – it was fake and pretentious and vaguely insulting to his artists, who toiled away in the shadow of Oakey’s huge black behemoth tower o’ turntables. He made me think of Wizard of Oz: pay no attention to the burned out DJ…..Plus, his visuals were stale: here are the fast moving clouds, here ’s the sweep through the forest canyon, now we’re in the desert, and Oh, here’s that Asian chick again flailing her hair around and squatting in my face in yet another lame fetish outfit. Like – where’s the beer luge, dude. The sound was distorted, the strobes flashed out at the audience in a really harsh way. Embarrassing, really.
Gratefully Underworld erased all memory of it with their boundlessly inventive Brit pop ambient energy. They’ve been around for so long, but they’re still as fresh as Oakenfold is stale. Karl Hyde was in rare form, dancing, leaping, singing away in an amazing silver jacket that seemed to have a life of its own, while Rick Smith and Darren Price bent over the consoles spinning those exhilarating beats. I fell hard for them, all over again. Great sound, brilliant use of the stage, gorgeous visuals choreographed to their beats. Pure sonic bliss. 17000 happy people (and at least two generations) dancing as one…A great way to say goodbye to summer.
Instead of taking the bus back to my car, we walked down Hollywood Blvd. taking it its fading seediness, punctuated by groups of hipsters and Goths waiting to get into various Sunday night parties.
I’ve decided I need to take pictures of the all the views that will disappear when the new W hotel goes up. The price of urban renewal, I guess.
Vox Pop Sudari 
