Jess Matthews in Big Sur. Photo by Sammy Ponzar.
America Hearts and Olivia Mancini & the Mates combined into one superband for a West Coast tour, playing sets of songs from both bands. We asked them to send us some thoughts and photos from the road. This week, Jess Matthews sends us the final installment of Running Red Lights.
San Luis Obispo is intensely charming. Something smelled like jasmine and the street signs were all in a Lord of the Rings font. We visited the famous Madonna Inn, a boutique hotel and restaurant campier than anything you can find in Baltimore. The dinning room was full of the bridal showers and old ladies’ birthday parties. We sat in a pink booth, outfitted with pink sugar, under pink plastic flowers bigger than my head.
That night we ended up sleeping in a fort in the living room of the singer from Green Jelly (Little Pig, Little Pig, Let me In). The teen in me was deeply impressed by this. The me in me was tired from sleeping on the floor in a row of bandmates under a table, but recognized the benefits of counter balancing the rest of the day’s cuteness.
Outside a clean, well-outfitted club in San Diego was a gas station surrounded by homeless people on one side and a closed office building on the other. A four-lane highway separated it from a bar and motel that were equally sketchy. Above the bar was a shirtless man on a balcony with binoculars talking on a cell phone and smoking a cigarette. We had fun imagining that this Little Lord was sizing up each band as they loaded in to alert local scenesters. “Looks like a Marshal stack, a Korg and — wait a minute — is that a China crash? Hey Tommy, Tommy! You gotta get over here. It looks like some late ’90s emo is going to go off. Yes, tonight!”
Touring is tiring. Photo of Sammy Ponzar by Jess Matthews.
The next day we swam and napped on Encinitas, a beach just north of San Diego. Our first Southern California beach stop had everything: amazing sun, big waves, rock cliffs, and kids participating in some kind of lifeguard camp. Sometimes the water was too blue and you had to look at the clouds to see the sky.
Silver Lake Lounge was dark—dark enough that it was hard to see the marks on the fret board of my guitar, but not dark enough to keep people from noticing that I was playing out of a 9” practice amp. The long blonde-haired Australian sound guy who mic’d the amp and ran it through our monitors told me that it sounded like shit. But he said it in such a laid back voice that I had to ask myself if it was meant to be mean or cool. The gear we hoped to use did not show up, but a big group of our friends did. We all had fun. And a hair band went on. And another hair band went on.
Our next show was at a pizza place in Long Beach. The sound was good and we played well. Despite the eclectic line up, including a band from Germany with a smoke machine called Big Foot, a lot of people were there and I think I sold the last of the America Hearts records that I had.
Back in LA, we played a private party in Silver Lake. I arrived a little late after a second day of surfing, only to find a house and yard full of California’s most smartly dressed showgoers. Even Sammy [Ponzar] was wearing red pants. From the stage in the back yard, we could see the LA skyline above our microphones and the fence.
Aforementioned house show. Note Sammy Ponzar’s red pants.
On the drive from LA to Big Sur, white and yellow lines held the grey cracked asphalt between the cliff leading down to the sea that was smashing rocks below and the paralyzed fog hanging across golden rod, brown/red clay, thorny brushes, broken rocks, and aggressive trees. Loose rocks lay in the road justifying the falling rock and landslide warnings signs. Of the 3,748 miles we drove, this section was the most beautiful, jagged, and indifferent.
Before the show we stopped in to see our friend and host at the Henry Miller Library. He took us to a nearby restaurant situated on a rock cliff 800 feet above the Pacific Ocean. The restaurant is famous for its views and association with Orson Welles and Elizabeth Taylor. We each had a six dollar beer and were somewhat pushed to move on. As we were leaving, my bandmates saw Robert Redford. They said he looked good—wealthy and short.
The venue was small but packed with receptive people and delicious beers. Everyone in Big Sur seems to be an artist of some kind. It felt good to play in a beautiful, remote area amongst a small community of interesting people.
Olivia Mancini and Jess Matthews in Big Sur. Photo by Sammy Ponzar.
On our last night, we were given a second homecoming of sorts at the Starry Plough in Berkeley. We played at a kid’s rock camp called, Art Beat. The line up alternated between kids who formed bands and wrote and recorded songs together that week and kid friendly bands. The kids’ bands were amazing—great lyrics, some good guitar players and singers.
During the America Hearts set, I explained that I’ve been living out my childhood dreams of traveling and playing music on the West Coast. When we stepped off stage, we all collected high-fives and hugs. Then 15-year-old Willa, the daughter of Super Natural’s singer Antonette, took the stage. She played bass perfectly while coolly singing, “You are too young to be this sad.”
