I tend to run with the artsy fartsy crowd, so when I heard two weeks ago that Lucent Dossier was performing Wednesday the 23rd (or was it the 16th? it all blurs) of April down at The Edison, I was bummed to miss it. Having a real-life day job has put a serious crimp on my nights out. Yes, I have money now, but I never spend it anymore because I never leave the house after 8pm.
Luckily the Lucent + Edison pairing seems to be an ongoing thing. I went to take in the show last Wednesday. Apparently I was there along with LAist Editor Zach Behrens, LAist News Editor Andy Sternberg, and Caroline on Crack, but as I am a blogger who primarily communicates via screen, I haven’t the faintest what they look like. Checking Caroline’s pics from that night, I think I remember seeing them. But everyone was dressed very alike, very glam-roaring 20s-clubby, so I could be completely wrong.
Click through for Miss Lucinda’s Wild Ride. :P Pics by Caroline on Crack for LAist.
The Edison has been lovely and magnificent since the day it opened. As much as I love it, I tend to forget where it is in relation to everything else downtown. So when I cruised down 4th and spotted an open parking spot in front of Bar 107, I instinctively grabbed it, yanking the car across two (empty) lanes of traffic to park, before I disembarked to the curb & realized my destination was actually two blocks away. I hoofed it up Main to 3rd, doglegged through the alley behind The Smell*, and arrived at the crack of 10:30 to pay twenty bucks to see a show I’d prolly leave within an hour.
As I approached the door a pair of men passed me, departing, and I overheard one of them muttering, “I remember when it used to be…good.” This did not bode well. But I was meeting friends and hell-bent on catching the show (I had a very short burlesque “career” and still entertain notions of getting back in with a performance troupe, so seeing Lucent ignites all sorts of envy and awe), so I handed over my twenty and dove down the massive staircase.
I felt quite cowed by all the $1000 suits and stilettos. I’d left the very fancy dresses at home and instantly wished I’d worn one of them. The Edison has garnered a certain cachet among the monied LA crowd. While the joint seems as if it would appeal most to artists and aesthetes, the schmoozy, boozy, spendy Chateau Marmont types–you know, very “LA”–outnumbered the artsy folks 3 to one. For a girl who’s planning on dying her hair electric blue in a week, I felt out of place, and I was furious at myself for feeling that way.
The way I’d dressed was more in line with the look of the performers: fedora, pigtails, big stompy boots, black chemise. I felt gawky, juvenile and hopelessly awkward.
I don’t really drink but I still made an instinctive beeline for the bar, because it’s the prime distractor/busymaker when feeling awkward in a club. While waiting for my Diet Coke (straight up, no ice, in a bucket), I got chatted up by a slimy banker-type who made a fuss over allowing me to order before him (“You know, people say there’s no chivalry towards females here in LA, but it’s not true”) and then made small talk along the lines of “This is such a great place. I come here all the time. [laughs with his friend behind him] But these nights bring out the…you know. [gestures towards crowd] The, like, goth types.”
I smiled too enthusiastically and excused myself from the greasy-haired bankers and finally, finally found my friends. The remainder of the evening was a sophisticated, really enjoyable night. The Green Fairy didn’t need to make flit about and rounds: she stood pretty as a picture while everyone came to her for their old-fashioned medicine bottles of absinthe cocktails.
The aesthetic of the Edison couldn’t have been better suited*** to the Lucent Dossier cirque. Aerialists performed off and on through the evening, dropping down into the crowd like a spider dangling from above; the crowd would part, and the aerialist would perform, spinning through the air and leaving the crowd gaping. Occasionally members of the troupe would wander among the mob of onlookers, other times they’d perform routines on stages or atop catwalks on the hundred-year-old industrial machinery. We found a perch over the grand staircase and watched as aerialists and dancers performed directly beneath us, drawing the crowd into their antics and leaving everyone dancing to the music.
It turned out to be a great evening. Were you there? Great! If you weren’t, they’ll be doing this again. I’m a bit confused on when: I had one person tell me every Wednesday, and another tell me it’s going to be every Thursday and Sunday. Hopefully someone can clarify that in the comments?
See you there next time! I’ll be the one sucking down a Diet Coke, better dressed for the occasion, probably with blue hair by then.****
*I do not advise any lone woman attempt this at 10:30 at night–at least, not for a year or two, til the area gentrifies further (one of the benefits of gentrification = fewer muggings)–I only did it because I could see a crowd of people at the end of the alley, in front of the Edison.
** I sigh not only because he was hopelessly off base and possessed of a sensibility I found uninformed and thoughtless, but also because, well, really–the Edison was full of steampunks, not goths.
*** It only could have been better if it had been a gypsy caravan. But really, this was quite good.
**** You can put a classy dress on the girl but you still can’t get the punk out.