ABOUT THIS ALBUM

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There’s a kind of hardcore authenticity found here that is quite unlike what one finds in the rest of Los Angeles– a tenacity, a guts if-you-can-make-it here attitude. You find it in the faces of the old immigrant women, the hard luck cases drinking at a diminishing number of dive bars, the homeless people sleeping on the cracked sidewalks next to the telephone poles pounded with rusted nails that once held signs for lost dogs, garage sales and Bandera concerts at Dancing Waters.  These are a testament to an authenticity that is deeply embedded in this place along the avenue known as South Pacific where the low riders still cruise Friday nights in souped up Chevy’s, the gang wanna-bes run and the walking wounded of civilization mingle with hardy working class.
 

These are a few of their stories.