Early one morning after a long night, I slipped out of my ex’s Silverlake flat and meandered back to my Highland Park bungalow. As I wound around the reservoir, a flood of memories of debauched evenings and street festivals mashed together. At a light, I pulled out a scrap of paper and scribbled down the phrases that came streaming out.
Back in the day, almost every time you’d drive down Sunset Blvd, you’d see a bizarre local doing their thing. The Sunset Junction (where Santa Monica Blvd. meets Sunset) you might see The Walking Man (a slender shirtless guy who was out on the street 7-8 hours a day, and who walked and read at the same time) or the neon-roller skating guy with spandex and boombox, who may have time traveled from 1980.
Silverlake is a hilly, older neighborhood east of Hollywood, perfectly situated between Hollywood and Downtown LA. When I moved there, it was not full of actors, models and hipsters, but rather a spot that lured young artists and musicians from all over the county for its low rent. There were no music venues, one coffee cafe (a place near Micheltorena full of old Russian men that served thick Turkish coffee) and a porn shop, the legendary Circus of Books.
These early days were magical because everywhere you’d go, you’d run into friends you’d met earlier. The house party and BBQ invites were plentiful as young kids met each other through mutuals, and for live music, we’d drive downtown to Al’s Bar or to Raji’s in Hollywood until one day the club Pan aka Spaceland opened at the nightclub “Dreams of LA” which became the epicenter of Silverlake. This was our “City Hall.” We’d go there sometimes 5 nights a week. It seemed as if every friend was in a band. We’d see ear-splitting punk bands, heavy rock bands and sugary pop bands, everyone playing on each other’s bills with no regard for genre. Spaceland was locals only, if you knew, you knew. A very special time, and it felt like the center of the world.
Every year there was a street festival called Sunset Junction where Sunset Blvd. was blocked off for three days. LA bands would perform, drag queens would emcee and the banter was bawdy. I’d walk through the crowd, running into muscled leather daddies wearing chaps and nothing else, moms with strollers and friends I hadn’t seen in years.
Silverlake was a paradise, the playground of my youth, then it became gentrified. It felt like overnight homes that were $150k became untouchable, in the millions. The new inhabitants were celebrities, entertainment professionals and screenwriters. The magic we experienced dried up as artists were forced out, but I still have the unforgettable imagery embedded in my mind’s eye. It was a time!
Silver Lining came out of those scribbled lyrics and took form later when I had a vivid dream. I heard the song in my head and visualized the lyrics in cinematic form: the Sunset Junction festival, a cacophony of loud bands playing around me, the glamorous Silverlake legend Sean de Lear throwing his head back in laughter near the backdrop of colorfully lit carnival rides.
I flew out of bed and grabbed a guitar to write down the chords from the dream. Every time I play the tune I feel like I’m back at the Junction where local characters appear in my brain’s scrapbook of indelible moving picture memories.
I found me a ticket, a shiny golden ticket I washed it in a jean jacket pocket
