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Sunset
Strip rolls on, gaudy and vibrant: a cradle of American Rock 'n' Roll,
a gathering place of stars, groupies and paparazzi, and the home of
a tiny, neon-lined parlor known as Tattoo Mania.
At work inside is Gill (the Drill) Montie---one of the top 10 tattoo
artists in America, according to the voting readers of Outlaw Bikers
Tattoo magazine. At 36, Montie has devoted half his life to becoming
the Rembrandt of his field. He sports six earrings in his left ear and
a veritable sample case of designs on his burly frame, from abstract
swirls and copulating lions to a hooded executioner.
"I'm known for doing skulls," Montie is saying just before
a young woman customer walks in. With a sheepish smile, she asks for
a tattoo, a teeny red heart. She wants it put near her tailbone. At
once, the scene becomes surreal. The woman, Jennifer Young, 21, who
has driven all the way from Irvine, is perched on an inclined bench,
baring the target area. "I'm going to have to expose one cheek,"
artist Dan Paolucci tells her. "Don't look," she says, but
far too late. Montie is several feet behind her, raising a miniature
pair of binoculars. "Don't worry," he deadpans.
It is one of those vivid, irresistible moments that seem to flow naturally
on the Sunset Strip, a 1.7-mile stretch of limelight and panache bridging
Beverly Hills with Hollywood. Contained now almost entirely within the
young city of West Hollywood, Sunset Strip circa 1991 is both historic
and timeless, a playground of shimmering richness.
It was the original commuter route of the stars, bursting into prominence
with bars and dance clubs in the 1920s and 1930s. Clark Gable hung out
on the Strip. At a place called Villa Nova, now the Rainbow, Marilyn
Monroe met Joe DiMaggio. The 1960s television drama, "77 Sunset
Strip," glamorized Sunset Boulevard even as the street was hearing
the strident muses of rock music.
A handful of clubs such as the Roxy, the Whisky and Gazzarri's became
the springboard for stars from Jimi Hendrix to Neil Young. Luxury hotels
sprang up: one, the Chateau Marmont, later gained notoriety as the place
where comic John Belushi was found dead of a drug overdose. Trendy outdoor
cafes and pricey restaurants now cater to celebrities and power brokers
of the film and music industries.
Every night, Rolls Royce's and limousines come and go from Spago, Le
Dome, Nicky Blair's and other well-known restaurants. "It's been
the definitive nightspot for the past 50 years," Catherine Stribling,
executive director of the non-profit West Hollywood Marketing Corp.,
said of the Strip. "It's a world class boulevard......one of the
few places in L.A. that's truly pedestrian oriented."
"For my mother's generation, it was where the stars dined,"
she added. "For my generation, it was the birth of rock 'n' roll
in Southern California, the birth of the Doors, all the groups of the
'60s. The first place I came when I moved to California from New York
was the Sunset Strip."
Today, the Strip is as busy as ever, if not more so. About 60,000 cars
travel the street each 24 hours, most of them, it seems, on Friday and
Saturday nights when cruisers clog up traffic. On such nights, West
Hollywood's population more than doubles, reaching 70,000 or 80,000
if one counts the Strip crowds. "At night, a lot of the freaks
come out," said Jason Ebsworth, 24, who wears dreadlocks as he
works the counter at Gil Turner's liquor store on the Strip's western
end. "You see people in mohawks, colored hair, weird clothes, guys
who look like girls, girls who look like guys. It looks like Halloween."
Two patrons come in for beer, holding $16.50 tickets for the night's
show at the Roxy, where Buddy Guy is headlining. They have exciting
news. "Eric Clapton just walked in down there," announces
Charlie Norrie, 24, of Northridge. "We were standing there, getting
tickets, and he just walked in."
Clapton turns out to be the Roxy's surprise guest this night. Word spreads
quickly, especially in the line out front, where 50 people are gathered
early for the 11:00 show. Russell Dowdy, 39, a former employee at Sequoia
National Park who is passing through town on his way to a new job in
Costa Rica, doesn't know whether to believe the rumor. "I'd love
to see Clapton," he admits. "But if he doesn't show up, I
actually came to see Buddy Guy. But it would be nice." Booming
guitar rhythms are already filtering into the street.
Down the block, the Whisky is filling up to see Robyn Hitchcock and
the Egyptians. At Tattoo Mania, a cluster of bikers and teenagers, one
with half his head shaved, mill about as work continues on the young
woman from Irvine. "Oh God, it stings," she says, turning
the other cheek to allow the artist to complete his delicate task. The
job done, she is told to keep the fresh tattoo out of direct sunlight.
"That shouldn't be a problem," Paolucci assures her.
At Spago, which occupies an embankment high above the boulevard, a TV
fan with a video camera is filming from the steep sidewalk outside the
door. From an impossible angle, he is trying to capture the mastication's
of "Hunter" star Fred Dryer. "He's eating. He's right
up against the wall," says the fan, James Flores, 32, a visitor
from San Antonio. "He just bit the spoon." Inside, attorney
Joel Kleinberg, 48, of Pasadena sits at the green marble bar, nursing
a drink while his 16-year-old daughter boogies at the Whisky. He gives
a thumbs-up to the duck-sausage appetizer, but has harsh words for Spago's
salmon with Maui onions. At any rate, don't count Kleinberg among those
who are overly impressed with the Strip. "For kids my daughters
age, it's the place to be," he says with a tolerant smile. "For
the mature Pasadenian, it's irrelevant."
Even at midnight on a week-night, the restaurants are crowded. The paparazzi
are stationed outside Le Dome, where two stretch limousines fill the
curb. "We're waiting for Elton John," says one of them, Bob
Watson, who commutes between Los Angeles and New York, shooting for
tabloids and magazines. "We don't know if he'll be back. He was
here for lunch." Watson sounds jaded as he talks about the stars
and the miles he has chased them for profit. Sleeping on airplanes,
racing to meet deadlines----he is weary of it. But the Strip is his
goldmine. "At these outdoor cafes," he says, glancing up the
street, "you'll see people from Faye Dunaway to Elizabeth Taylor.
We just saw Billy Idol go by tonight on a bike, a little while ago."
At 1 a.m., thunderous music fills the upstairs disco at the Rainbow,
making it too loud to talk. The dark dining room downstairs twinkles
with tiny multi-colored lights and framed gold albums. At almost every
table are men in open-necked shirts, women in tights and plunging necklines,
and beer bottles. Forests of beer bottles.
White-haired proprietor, Mario Maglieri, 68, has been a part of this
scene for three decades. "Right here, John Lennon, the Beatles!
How much bigger can you get?" he demands, remembering some of the
stars. "Janis Joplin. I remember buying her a bottle of Southern
Comfort three days before she OD'd .
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