Hang Him on the Wall
It was ANDY WARHOL week in L.A. all right, practically a homecoming, in fact, given that the O.G. Mack Daddy of Pop Tarts originally had his first one-man gallery show here. Think Super Bowl of Modern Art at MOCA, where the "Andy Warhol Retrospective" opened with a bang -- and a lot of lines. In between Wednesday's glam-slam gala, which pulled the likes of DENNIS HOPPER, ANJELICA HUSTON and CHARLIZE THERON, to the unscheduled invasion by hordes of scary clowns clutching tickets at Saturday's public opening, we found ourselves grumbling about the mega-queues during Friday night's mobilization of the B-List Battalion, otherwise known as the members' party. It was cattle time all the way -- MOCA estimated 4,000 people showed up over five hours -- with even a line to get into the bookstore. (Seemed line mania was the rule of the eve: Folks weren't allowed to move from the party to the exhibit without having to queue up all over again in the main entry line.) But it was a fun night out nonetheless, shakin' it up to frug à gogo spun by '60s classicist hub-and-wife DJs MIKE and ANJA STAX, and contemplating the riddle of whether Andy's work is populist elitism or elitist populism. Getting their 15 minutes in were A-list artist ED RUSCHA, Andy Warhol Foundation prez (and former L.A. city councilman) JOEL WACHS, Warhol film femme BIBBE HANSEN and video king SEAN CARRILLO, casting maven JANET CUNNINGHAM, artist MARGARET WYNN, Traxx proprieter TARA THOMAS, painter/Coagula columnist GORDY GRUNDY, L7's DONITA SPARKS, Garage booker TOAST, performance artist SKIP ARNOLD and writer/Warhol whip dancer MARY WORONOV.
Downtown was a computer-geek cornucopia last week, as the interactive-entertainment industry's ultimate gathering, E3 EXPO AND CONFERENCE, took over the Civic Center, with four days and three nights of high-tech hijinks. Microsoft's Xbox and Sony's PlayStation2 both threw parties, but it was the latter, held at the new STANDARD HOTEL, which provided the biggest bash of celebs, rockers and cell-phonies. On a huge platform outside of the hotel, a rotating bar served up stiff ones, while surprisingly loose celebs including TV punkette KELLY OSBOURNE, Spidey boy TOBEY MAGUIRE, Charmed one ALYSSA MILANO and rappin' hair-raiser COOLIO played video games and got jiggy to JANE'S ADDICTION and JA RULE. Jane's singer PERRY FARRELL (looking very Saturday Night Fever in a white leisure suit and black shirt) and guitarist DAVE NAVARRO sounded better than ever, especially on old faves such as the medley of Lou Reed's "Rock 'n' Roll" and the Stones' "Sympathy for the Devil" (which they also performed a few days later during an impromptu jam at Amoeba Music). Other familiar faces such as HUGH HEFNER, FRED DURST, DAVID SPADE, STEPHEN DORFF, COURTENEY COX and DAVID ARQUETTE hung out in more low-key areas of the soiree, such as the hotel lobby, where Chateau Marmont's chrome-dome drag dom CONSTANCE, trusty riding crop at the ready, made sure nobody spilled their cocktails on the plush pink sofas. Not that she had much to fear: Security guards actually checked the hue of everyone's libations as they entered, the mantra at the door being, "No colored drinks, clear only," and anything that could stain the furniture was not allowed in. Hasn't this country had enough segregation?
YOU DON'T KNOW DICK
"Damn, that bitch was pissed," announced ANDY DICK, host of the MUSIC VIDEO PRODUCTION ASSOCIATION awards at the KODAK THEATER, after a clip of MARY J. BLIGE's "No More Drama" was screened -- which features a prodigiously dramatic Blige yelling at a store window of TV sets broadcasting moments of profound human drama, such as scenes of 9/11's aftermath, and moments that make you go hmmm, such as P. Diddy and Mariah Carey singing along into the camera. When the video won in the category of Best Direction of a Female Artist, and its director, SANJI, came up to accept the award, Dick asked: "Was she pissed that day?" Sanji replied very seriously, "No, but she would whup your ass if she heard you call her bitch." That prompted a collective intake of breath, and there was a sense that Dick was losing the crowd of mostly behind-the-scenes music bizzers, which included directors JOSEPH KAHN (Sountrack Video of the Year winner), SAMUEL BAYER (Hall of Fame awardee) and FRANCIS LAWRENCE (who won director of the year). Then Dick's night really went south, so to speak, after the projection system broke down: To stall for time, he warbled his repertoire of below-the-belt hits, including a five-minute tune about a part of the anatomy usually not celebrated in song, "the little brown way." His ditty prompted an earlier-than-scheduled migration to the after-party at the ROOSEVELT HOTEL, where actress MAURA TIERNEY and SOMETHING CORPORATE bandmates grooved among the schmoozers. "Thank god this won't be televised," concluded Dick, "except in my nightmares."
GOING GOING LIKE SO GONE
Rather than put on a ho-hum one-man show to celebrate the debut of photographer PATRICK HOELCK's first book, TAR, the art soireeistas of ONE EYE decided to hold an auction -- a cool, brash, this-ain't-Sotheby's kind of auction -- instead. Establishment and scenesters alike packed the house at RUDY'S BARBER SHOP, all looking to score one of the L.A.-based artist's photographs. Actor JASON LEE, SOLEIL MOON FRY, Brit model/actress twins NIKKI and TEENA COLLINS, and ex-boytoy TONY WARD were among the would-be collectors who sipped wine and draped themselves over barber chairs while the smooth grooves of DJ STATIC REVENGER got us in the bidding mood. No one much cared that promised MC Vincent Gallo was a no-show when his substitute turned out to be professional surfer/auctioneer KEN CALDWELL, who dazzled local luminaries such as restaurateur FRED ERIC, poster giant SHEPARD FAIREY and Urb founder RAYMOND ROKER with his lightning-fast linguistics as pretty young things parted the crowd, holding the photographs up for auction above their heads like round numbers during a prize fight. The shrieks of victory and moans of defeat played out every time someone in the hungry crowd outbid another, until all the work was sold. Call it a night well spent.