By DAVID WILD What passes for stormy weather in Los Angeles is whipping past the kosher markets and bagel spots along Fairfax Avenue. Tonight's rain and lightning will likely keep the body count down at most trendy Hollywood hot spots. Yet at 9 P.M. - an hour before showtime - the homey club Largo is packed with 125 people for a performance billed simply as Jon Brion and Friends. For three years running, this has been one of the best and most low-key music events in the city. Ten dollars at the door gets you a long, spontaneous night of bohemian vaudeville during which Brion and friends like Aimee Mann, Michael Penn, Grant Lee Phillips, E of Eels, Elliott Smith, Robyn Hitchcock and Fiona AppIe - as well as the stray superstar - boldly play without a net. Across the street from the legendary Canter's deli - where the Kibbitz Room hosted star-studded, pastrami-fueled rock jams in the early Nineties - something too good and genuine to be called a scene is once again taking place. In this capital of hype and glory, Largo's community of musicians and comedians represents something totally different. Instead of a crowd of A&R men checking their cell phones, Largo attracts audiences who come to listen. What's more, the powers that be - namely singer-songwriter Brion (who's produced albums for Apple and Mann) and club owner Mark Flanagan - don't seem too anxious to spread the word about this good, often great thing. "What Jon and Mark have done at Largo is important," says Fiona Apple. "It's a reminder of what music really should be all about. So many shows, even the shows that I'm doing, get overcast by the business aspect, the pressures of who's there and who's reviewing. At Largo, it's all about what you want it to be about when you go on the stage. It's possible to do anything you want and have it be fun. And as long as Jon Brion is there, he's an orchestra and a seven-piece band in one. You're not going to make a fool of yourself, because Jon is there to catch you." Yes, the famous do regularly come by on Fridays at Largo - Michael Stipe has played, Elvis Costello and Neil Young have checked it out. Neil Finn recently thrilled a crowded house. Tonight, Tom Petty is here for the first time, tucked away in a booth with his daughter Adria and Heartbreaker Benmont Tench, who has become a regular on keyboards. Hanging upstairs are Smith and director Paul Thomas Anderson, a Largo booster who populated Magnolia and its soundtrack with club regulars, including owner Flanagan, who appears briefly in the film's opening moments. Told that he stole the picture, Flanagan laughs. "Of course, Cruise is getting the fucking Oscar for it," he says, his Irish accent still heavy after almost a decade in LA. Yes, Tom Cruise has been here too, but for the Largo faithful, stargazing is almost beside the point. Indeed, the biggest star is Brion, who has played cat-and-mouse games with mainstream success over the years. A late- Nineties so1o deal with Atlantic ended with Brion leaving the label before releasing anything; a VHI pilot that captures some of the spirit of Largo hasn't been picked up. His new record is scheduled to come out this spring, though; it will be available on the Web through Artist Direct. Brion, well provided for by his production and session work, hardly seems hungry for success. A bright hipster given to thrift-store chic, he's too cool to pander, a sensibility he shares with Largo. "This is not a scene for being a scene - not the place where you're most likely to spot a supermodel," Brion says. "The reason those well-known people are here is for the quality of experience, the quality of performance and the quality of Flanagan." One of the qualities that has endeared Flanagan to countless artists is his ability to nurture a supportive group of patrons. "Over the years, Flanagan has beaten the audience into a quiet submission that we touchy-feely singer-songwriters appreciate," says E, who tested out much of the material for Eels' recent album at the club. Flanagan has little patience for people who talk loudly or get unruly during the show. "I have gone over to a whole table of six, bought their dinner, given them their money back and just said, 'You know what, guys, you've got the wrong place,' " Flanagan says, though he emphasizes that he always gives a warning first. Brion also takes extreme measures to ensure respect for Largo performers. "The first year we were doing this, it was very militant," he says. "The point is that there are hundreds of bars you can go to just to drink or pick people up or ignore the band that's playing at huge, deafening levels." Flanagan first dabbled in putting on eclectic live shows while a student at Trinity College in Dublin, promoting friends like the Hothouse Flowers. He came to Los Angeles in the early Nineties to teach psychology but soon found himself filling a void in a music scene that had largely become a pay-to-play tangle of hair bands. He started organizing nights at Largo and eventually became a part owner of the club before leaving to book shows independently for several years. In 1997, Largo was handed back to him by a wise bankruptcy judge, and almost immediately the place made a splash. Rickie Lee Jones played opening night, and k.d. lang was in the audience. A couple of days later, Flanagan's close friend Brion reluctantly hosted his first Friday gig. When Flanagan offered him Fridays, Brion recalls, "I actually chewed him out. I said, 'You're my best friend - don't put me on the breadwinner night of your club.' " Brion asked for Tuesdays, but Flanagan had confidence. There were twenty customers for the first show and a few sparsely attended Friday nights after that, but within several more weeks the show became one of the hottest in town. In fact, one of Flanagan's biggest problems at Largo is keeping industry types from overrunning his joint. The issue came to a head when the club was home to Andy Prieboy's musical extravaganza, White Trash Wins Lotto. "It was challenging, because I don't do industry showcases," Flanagan says. "It was a big attention grabber, but then the fire marshal came in one night and closed me because we were over capacity by six people." Following tonight's opening act, Jeff McGregor, a clearly jet-lagged Brion takes the stage with characteristic informality. "As usual, I'm clueless," he says. "Now what?" What follows is a mix of audience favorites (many of which are featured on his new record), covers, requests and ragged singalongs. At one point, Brion cuts short his ragtime-y take on Ratt's "Round and Round." "That's as much of Ratt as I'm going to do, even with some beers in me," Brion declares. "I have some scruples." Around midnight, Brion calls out, "Elliott, you around?" and soon Elliott Smith joins him onstage for a stunning take on the Kinks' "Sunny Afternoon." Petty doesn't get onstage tonight - and no one pushes the point - but if history teaches us anything, he'll likely be back. When things bog down at one point, Brion declares self-mockingly, "Folks, we're experiencing a lull - this is a professional lull." But even the lulls are lively, and the highs - including a surf-and-turf medley that starts with "Pipeline" and evolves into "Riders on the Storm," "Tequila," the Pink Panther theme and "Secret Agent Man," featuring Tench and drummer Dan McCarroll - are sublime and silly. "You can get applause for playing 'Riders on the Storm' as a surf song!" muses Tench. "What a wonderful world." To Brion, the fact that artists who can play far bigger rooms for better money so fully embrace the Largo experience is indicative of a hunger out there. "I think the way people promote records now has largely disposed of intimacy," he says. Brion admits that Largo isn't for everyone. "I'm sure you'd find tons of people who think it's absolute indulgent bullshit," he says. "Like any religion, you're going to find naysayers." Brion calls Flanagan's commitment to Largo "a cultural service - them's big words, but I honestly believe it. I'm surprised there aren't more Largos, even around town. What I wanted to see happen is performers take themselves less seriously and audiences take themselves more seriously. I'm tired of half-assed experiences."
Brion admits he feels spoiled by
the freedom at Largo. "I
fit very well in this little pond," he says. "I've got
a lot of room to swim around." |