Just three dudes from Philadelphia and one full, orchestral sound. Throw together tambourines and shakers on top of explosive rock pounding from Greg Lyons (drums), gauzy harmonies between Josh Ostrander (lead vocals and guitar) and Vern Zaborowski (bass) and you’ve got the multi-layered celestial sounding Eastern Conference Champions teetering at its pinnacle. Draped in candy-colored luminosity on Safari Sam’s lofty stage, the Champions rocked out (sadly, without Ostrander’s cock out) for their first Los Angeles performance after a series of unfortunate van troubles causing them to miss their peviously scheduled shows in the city of Tacos. Despite the Mozart-influenced intricacy these East Coast music architects execute, the guys are nothing short of a good f’n rock band. Just when I had attended a series of make-me-wanna-poke-my-fucking-eyeballs-out shows where the performers and listeners alike hardly showed signs of any pulses in between tossing their side-swept tresses, I thought, Thank Gawd for the Eastern Champions. My faith in American indie rock was restored. They manage to summon all of those crucial influences—The Beatles, The Who, The Kinks, and Rufus Wainwright—to create a series of songs, showcased on a brand new sampler scheduled for release in the spring, tinged with a quality of the present, while at times seeming to intertwine a bit of “The Bends” with a soupcon of “Hail to the Thief”.
Ostrander’s voice, with its nasal quality, soars through the vocal gamut, resembling Thom Yorke’s in some instances and falling into moments of Latin-reminiscent molasses. It was something like Caetano Veloso in Pedro Almodóvar’s “Talk With Her” scene in which the internationally renowned Brazilian singer/songwriter serenades a still audience on a sultry Spanish summer night with "Cucurrucucú Paloma". Only replace Almodóvar’s curly haired bullfighter protagonista with a herd of Hollywood hipsters at Safari Sam’s “Check Yo’ Pony Tail” on a Tuesday night and stick ‘em in a 99 Cents store parking lot for a cigarette—all in the name of the Champions—relishing in the aftermath of Ostrander’s cacophonous belches, also rendered heart wrenchingly remarkable.
The trio appears to be causing a stir locally and now internationally, touring in the UK before returning to the U.S. of A., and relocating from the Philly chill to Los Angeles. Their nascent national name is fueled the most by their song “Nice Clean Shirt” and “To the Wind”, the former in the Champion vein—that is, beautiful with a classically U.S. touch. It’s only a matter of time before an ECC show at Safari Sam’s finds the cool kids camping in the parking lot to merely overhear traces of a most merited ovation for the Eastern Conference Champions. Bravo, ECC! We welcome you to LA.
I’m a globetrotting, pen and ink loving LA woman doused in honey but oh so very raw, raunchy at my finest, and certainly straight up. I’m just as likely to quote Theodore Dreiser—"The old melancholy of desire"—as I am to rap to some Khia and tell you what to do to my neck and back. Of course, I love tacos. My mom still makes the best I’ve ever had. Actually, there was that one time in Mexico City that my stance on this matter nearly changed, but I got car sick and threw up in my cousin’s 1987 VW bug, so that taco de carnitas did not seem so tasty on the way out. Here’s to life: L’chaim!
Plus an Roman chef veteran in a Hollywood apartment, chocolate Cuba Libres, Uzbeki plov with lazer rice, and cochinita melts in a Silver Lake yard. Here are the best things to eat around Los Angeles (and San Juan Capistrano!) this weekend.
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The month-old strip mall taquería in Anaheim make all their flour tortillas from scratch using both lard and butter, resulting in an extremely tender vehicle for their juicy guisados like carne en su jugo, carne deshebrada, chile colorado, chile relleno, and chicharrón. Every tortilla is cooked to order, too.