A Trip to Amoeba

Well, I finally broke down and did it. I drove on out to Hollywood, to shop at Amoeba Records. Everybody's always talking about how great it is, so I figured, what the heck.

First things first: I still hate Hollywood. Not the concept of Hollywood as it has come to be known; the symbol of American anything-as-long-as-it-makes-a-buck cultural hegemony. No, I'm fine with that. Rather, I hate Hollywood the neighborhood. There's too much traffic, no parking, dirt and litter and graffiti and discarded chewing gum everywhere.

I can't say as I'm too keen on Amoeba yet, either. Oh, sure, it's huge, and the selection is amazing. I'll definitely go back, some day. But the store is completely crowded with heroin-addicted hipsters, with their trucker caps and eyebrow piercings, and deliberately obnoxious hairstyles. Call me a heretic, but I'll keep Aron's as my primary source. Give me bright, happy Highland over depressing, dismal Cahuenga any day of the week, my man.

Hm? Oh, yeah:

Baja Sessions, Chris Isaak
Ghost Train, The Hot Club of Cowtown
that dog. and Totally Crushed Out!, that dog.
The Indestructible Beat of Soweto: Volume One

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