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i’m beginning to really like my neighborhood.

there’s a place down the street called chelsea’s cafe. abount 10 last night, i felt a little restless and decided to head out to find a pint somewhere and see what i could dig up.

i didn’t expect much. southdowns after dark is really peaceful and sleepy, which i like. it’s a little hectic around 7 am and 3 pm when glascow elementary school is to-ing and fro-ing, but otherwise it’s pretty slow. chelsea’s is probably a mile or so away, and i figured, on a wednesday night, i’d be walking into an empty bar that was preparing to close up. too many years in topanga, i suppose, racing down to froggy’s before it closes at 9:15 or whatever godforsaken time the place shuts down. shameful.

so i pull up and find the absolute last parking spot up on a grassy field behind a dumpster. chelsea’s is literally under the 10 freeway, a part of the so called ‘perkin’s overpass.’ it’s a cute mid-sized arty bar that has a good live room, outdoor patios, pool table, and (from what i hear) really good food.

i walked into a $5 cover and hear a band is playing. i handed over my nickle, grabbed a stella, chatted with the bartender for a minute. pretty cool crowd, good music on the jukebox, lovely southern gals floating about … nice.

suddenly, literally all at once, the music drops in the back room. i heard horns.

the sounds of the the michael foster project.

this is michael foster.

his sousaphone sounded like a fat fender p-bass through an old tube bassman rig. the first few songs i couldn’t pay attention to anything put his playing. i talked to the sound guy, alan, who said michael is also an incredible electric bass player and, of all the sousaphone players who come through, his sound is the most distinctly incredible.

forget it. one of those musical evenings when you walk away unable to really call yourself a musician. cool guys, just fucking ridiculous music. i told the trombone player ‘that was just stupid, man. stupid. you’ve got to be kidding me right now.’ guys were about my age, and i have no idea what the hell they’ve been putting in their cheerios in the morning but it is something that has made all of them off-the-fucking-charts bad asses.

i’ll be there next wednesday for the last night of their residency. ’bout 10-ish. come on down. i’ll buy you a stella …

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