JasonKoivu

This is the L.A. music scene through-the-ages as seen through the eyes of a Brit. And why not? After all, so much of it depended upon the English.

Along with the Beatles, the Stones and the rest of the "British Invasion" of the 1960s came a presence - an almost invisible, yet vocal entity in its own way - the record producer. Sound engineers, moguls, and other music movers and techies from the UK descended upon the city of angels, not only producing their own people, but influencing no-name bands eager for a piece of the pie. So, British rock and rollers were front and center as well as behind the scenes and rather quickly much of the sound of American music came to depend on whatever was the flavor overseas.

Yet, Waiting for the Sun begins a little further back, as it should. For without American jazz, blues, rockabilly and eventually the earlier stages of rock and roll, there would be no British Invasion. Hoskyns dives deeply into America jazz, specifically the soft and smooth west coast sound prevalent in 1950s L.A. I found this section very interesting, but I was impatient to get on to the late 60s and the Sunset Strip. I had just finished up a three year L.A. "tour of the duty" (as might be said by folks that don't think much of the place). I wanted to learn more and see if I recognized any of the landmarks I'd seen, aka the clubs like the Whiskey-a-go-go and Troubadour, which I'd frequented.

Indeed, the '60s was the section that shines in this book. Hoskyns holds back little when describing the sex, drugs and rock'n'roll that gave L.A. an infamous name for itself. The Doors especially receive their due. Even the title and subtitle refer to them, as well they should. The Doors bled all over L.A. and received likewise and willing sacrifice. For the briefest of moments, they were gods.

But like Hoskyns, I won't belabor that topic. He moves on to the soft, folk/country rock sound that somehow shuffled its way on to center-stage. One wonders how such wimpy stuff could take over from the muscly jock on the block. But I suppose it's not too hard when the opposition keels over: Jimi Hendrix - d. 1970; Janis Joplin - d. 1970; Jim Morrison - d. 1971; The Beatles - d. 1970….

With an aw-shucks grin and bolts of plaid, the likes of James Taylor, America, Bread warmed the airwaves with a heavy blanket of dull. The L.A. scene slept for a bit, woken by the occasional visit from Led Zeppelin, before having its eardrums plucked out and beaten upon by punk. You can tell this is not Hoskyns' area of expertise, because a sorrowfully slim section of Waiting for the Sun gives scant detail on the underground craze of So Cal hardcore. The book hurriedly moves on to rap/hip hop and then calls it a day, a generally satisfying day.