Sampling nineteen-sixties pop records into something that sounds like a half-remembered childhood was being done in a bedroom in Los Angeles years before anybody had a name for it, and the person doing it has never particularly cared about being credited for that. Pamela Valfer's records came out on small labels at the turn of the century, went out of print, and were rediscovered by a generation that found them through the same internet channels that made the whole aesthetic ubiquitous. An evening framed this way — with friends, informal, in a room this size — is closer to a listening party among people who care than to a concert. Highland Park's upstairs Masonic hall, wood floors, a Sunday night in November. Music at 8:00 PM at 104 N Avenue 56. Nights built around a scene rather than a headliner are where you find out how many people around you have been quietly keeping something alive.
Sampling nineteen-sixties pop records into something that sounds like a half-remembered childhood was being done in a bedroom in Los Angeles years before anybody had a name for it, and the person doing it has never particularly cared about being credited for that. Pamela Valfer's records came out on small labels at the turn of the century, went out of print, and were rediscovered by a generation that found them through the same internet channels that made the whole aesthetic ubiquitous. An evening framed this way — with friends, informal, in a room this size — is closer to a listening party among people who care than to a concert. Highland Park's upstairs Masonic hall, wood floors, a Sunday night in November. Music at 8:00 PM at 104 N Avenue 56. Nights built around a scene rather than a headliner are where you find out how many people around you have been quietly keeping something alive.
Sampling nineteen-sixties pop records into something that sounds like a half-remembered childhood was being done in a bedroom in Los Angeles years before anybody had a name for it, and the person doing it has never particularly cared about being credited for that. Pamela Valfer's records came out on small labels at the turn of the century, went out of print, and were rediscovered by a generation that found them through the same internet channels that made the whole aesthetic ubiquitous. An evening framed this way — with friends, informal, in a room this size — is closer to a listening party among people who care than to a concert. Highland Park's upstairs Masonic hall, wood floors, a Sunday night in November. Music at 8:00 PM at 104 N Avenue 56. Nights built around a scene rather than a headliner are where you find out how many people around you have been quietly keeping something alive.