Posh Honky Tonk Bar Turned Indie Rock Feeding Ground: The Unifying Power of the Local Music Scene

Photo by Rebecca Bloch

I moved to Los Angeles just over three months ago from a small suburb just an hour north. Although so close to the city geographically, my two worlds couldn’t have been further apart. My life in Los Angeles thus far has been filled with opportunity, music, and kind-hearted people from all walks of life. My life back home was constantly invaded and corrupted by the small-minded and arrogant neighbors, strict socio-economic and academic hierarchies, and posh honky-tonk bars (yeah you read that right. These people were mental). 

No part of me had ever planned to go back. My parents lived outside of town, my old friends had moved either up north or out of state entirely - I thought I was done. I thought there was nothing worth going back for. I still can’t believe I was wrong. 

A couple weeks ago my friend Rebecca (AKA the amazing editor of this fine magazine you’re reading right now) invited me to an indie rock show just outside of town. I didn’t care to ask more. The promise of music was more than enough. 

It wasn’t until I had got in the car that I realized where we were headed. We were on our way to Agoura Hills - the town where I spent the majority of my time during my high-school years. The town that I promised I would avoid at all costs after graduation. 

Just being in that town set me on edge. I was so scared that I was going to run into someone I knew, someone I wished I could forget that old faces began to corrupt all the new ones I met, and on top of everything, I was surrounded by garish symbols of upper-middle-class republican suburbia. People were clad in ranch shirts and cowboy hats, American flags were tied into all of the decor from the wall art to the wristbands they handed out at the door. Everything about the venue was a huge reminder of why I fled. 

But I didn’t run into a single person I knew. Surf and Turf, the indie label that threw the event, did everything they could to cover up the flags or replace them with more rock-n-roll skater boy paraphernalia. And the cowboy hats - simply an ironic Halloween costume. Here, in this small town, I thought I knew so well was this underground of people just like me - people who loved music and hated the stuffy, ignorant, unchecked privilege that oozed out of every corner. 

There were a grand total of four bands that played that night, each one greater than the last. When they weren’t up on stage playing, the band was in the audience, dancing and moshing along with the rest of us. There was no separation between artist and audience. We were all fans - fans of the music. Everyone was open, inviting, friendly, and just overjoyed to be in this space enjoying the art form we all loved. All of us wanted to escape from the conservative confines of our community by building a new one centered fully around music. After that night I made a promise to myself to go to as many backyard, dive bar, living room, DIY concerts I could find. I was dead-set on becoming a house show regular. 

Over the course of the following few months I went to around 20 different DIY shows across the greater Los Angeles area. I quickly began seeing familiar faces, memorizing band members names, learning the words to everyone’s songs, and just feeling more and more comfortable as the weeks went on. These DIY shows were more than shitty concerts, they were a safe place for all the music-geeks and indie-weirdos from across Los Angeles. To me, these shows were a community full of supportive, loving, and passionate people, and I knew that I couldn’t be the only one who felt this strong sense of community.