Cigarettes and a Punch in the Face

Written By Ethan Cowell

Photography By Rick Perez

Reckless Correspondent Ethan Cowell takes us on a journey through one night at the Echoplex, where Strawberry Fuzz headlined the iconic Los Angeles venue with guests The Mainliners and Frankie and the Studs. With a fresh perspective on the L.A. music scene, Ethan shares a story of cool kids, stage diving, and stepping into a parallel universe.

Los Angeles, USA

Covering the recent show at The Echoplex was an exhilarating assignment. With Frankie and The Studs opening the night, The Mainliners in the middle, and Strawberry Fuzz headlining, it promised to be an unforgettable evening. However, getting there proved to be a challenge as parking in the neighborhood was quite difficult. Nevertheless, I persisted and finally found a spot, deciding to walk the extra couple of blocks to the venue.

Strolling through the Echo Park neighborhood, one thing became apparent: everyone was dressed to impress. Regardless of what they had planned for the evening, everyone was impeccably styled. It set the tone for what was to come- a night of music and people who dressed a lot cooler than me.

Once I arrived at the venue, I met up with “Good Time Rick” outside the venue, waiting for his photo pass. We made some small talk, while I smoked a cigarette and soaked in the atmosphere. After waiting a little longer, we were ready to dive into the night’s performances. Although we missed the first few of Frankie and The Studs’ songs, their powerful anthemic melodies and beefy guitar riffs could be heard from outside. I ordered a gin and tonic from the bar that doesn’t take cash apparently, and watched the rest of their set. They gave it their all and asserted their dominance over the not-quite-loosened-up crowd as they continued to pour in.

After the first set, I went to the back patio in search of a quiet place to smoke, take in what I had just witnessed. I was shit out of luck on the quiet part. The smoking section seemed to be equally as packed as inside the venue, maybe even louder, too. So many smokers and scream talkers packed together, we seemed to have made a hot box out of the canopied area we were all standing under. I finished my cigarette and went back inside in anticipation of the second band.

The Mainliners, without a doubt, made a lasting impression from the moment they stepped on stage. They exuded an unapologetic rebelliousness that was impossible to ignore. It was as if they were ready to kick small dogs and give old women the finger, channeling the raw punk spirit that defined their sound. What really set The Mainliners apart for me was their ability to capture everything you love about your favorite old school punk bands while still being able to to inject their own identity into the sound.

Throughout their set, The Mainliners maintained an unwavering connection with the audience without appearing to give a shit how the crowd felt about them. The crowd surged forward, backward, side to side, clockwise, and counterclockwise, colliding in a frenzy of moshing and stage diving. The atmosphere was charged with an exhilarating mix of adrenaline and catharsis.

Towards the end of their set, they let the crowd know that they were on their last three songs. I watched two and tried to beat the crowd to the smoking section. I once again, did not in fact beat the crowd to the smoking section. It was still seemingly equally as loud and full as the inside. I lit a spliff and leaned up against the stairs to nowhere.

Someone approached me and inquired if the chair I was standing next to was taken by anyone. I said no, and he took advantage of the vacant spot. He told me his name was Ardem and he’d just been punched in the face in the mosh pit and just needed a second to regroup. We made some small talk while he regrouped. He told me who he knew that brought him to the show, the projects he was working on, and who else he had connections to. This seems to be a regularly occurring conversation I’ve been having since moving to Los Angeles: Who do you know and what are you working on? It is what it is and I continue to smoke, first a spliff, then a few cigs to kill the last few moments before the main event.

Strawberry Fuzz is an enigmatic powerhouse that left me spellbound. They possess a magnetic pull, drawing a kaleidoscope of fans spanning ages, shapes, sizes, styles, and backgrounds. Their intoxicating presence generates an atmosphere that immerses you in a riotous tapestry of inclusivity and unadulterated revelry. From the very first song I knew I was witnessing something special, and they didn’t take their foot off the gas for even a second.

To attend a Strawberry Fuzz show is to step into a parallel universe where restraint is a foreign concept. The band's infectious energy acts like a drug, compelling you to surrender to the chaos and comradery. In the mosh pits, bodies collide, while the more daring fans take flight off of the stage. Strawberry Fuzz took the torch passed down by their openers and turned it into a raging inferno of fun in the purest sense. They were a breath of fresh air, and gave me what I’ve been searching for as someone who is new to this music scene.

After the show, I waited in the back of the venue to meet back up with photographer Good Time Rick. We didn’t see much of each other throughout the evening given that he was much more willing to get down and dirty, and subject himself to the abuse that came with being front and center of the chaos. You gotta respect the commitment. My goal was to get punched in the face as little as possible to make sure the night remained fresh in my mind. Success!

We reconvened before being herded out of the venue by security. We stood outside while I smoked and discussed what the next move was. Rick suggested that we get a drink from one of the many cool bars in the area, on him. They were all packed. It turns out cool bars in hip neighborhoods fill up on Friday nights. We settled for shooters from the neighborhood liquor store and tacos al pastor on the curb before finally going our separate ways.