Whisky A Go-Go
8901 Sunset Blvd.
Hollywood, CA 90069
(310) 652-4202 X 6 (nightly band line-up)
Event: No Bozo Jam
Date: January 21, 2008
Day: Monday
(All Ages, All The Time)
Imagine seeing The Doors, Buffalo Springfield, Love, and Van Morrison singing vocals with the band Them with Frank Zappa guest appearing, all in one night, at one place, in a little venue on the corner of Sunset Boulevard and Clark Street in Hollywood. That is the history of the Whisky A Go-Go in the summer of ‘66. At the time, The Doors were the residency band playing every night for nearly a four month stretch, opening for other music legends in the making, until James Douglas Morrison had a falling out with the club owner. Since then, the place has also been given credit for nurturing recent rock greats such as Guns N’ Roses and Mötley Crüe. In 2006, The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and Museum finally recognized Whisky A Go-Go as a landmark for their remarkable contribution and influence on music history. A well deserved honor.
In the beginning of 2008, near the end of January, on a drizzling Monday night, Whisky A Go-Go’s headlining band for the evening was Suckerstar. Raven’s Cry, Makeshift Bronson, Cast of Kings, Vicious Licks, and Phonocast were the opening and after acts. It was a No Bozo Jam.
is currently known to be mostly a “pay-to-play” venue, but now it seemed clear that they were renting out both sides of the wall. The one good visual about the exterior is that the center marquee facing the corner of the street is also giant, clear and obvious as a magazine cover, large enough to bill all six bands playing tonight; situated black block letters on white under the red script neon name: “Whisky A Go-Go.” Wonder how much that premium ad space cost the bands? But another redeeming quality to this place is that there is a plaque off to the side, slightly in the dark, the commemoration given by The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Like a medal around the neck.With the exterior visuals taken in, followed the “whiskyagogo.com” above, painted down the length of the awning leading to the little ticket window where set times were posted and tickets were being sold for $7, or $5 with flyer discount (other nights vary in prices). Doors tonight were at 8pm, with the first band at 8:15, as read on the paper taped to the glass. Before seeing this paper with exact start and
end times for the bands, there was no other complete listing posted previously anywhere else, not even on the website. The only set time that matched from the assortment of flyers created and posted individually by the bands was that Suckerstar’s set started at 9:45. Other flyers seen earlier stated the doors were at 7:30 or had set times close but not exact. Every flyer found leading up to this night was like another piece of the puzzle that didn’t match-up. Didn’t even know Makeshift Bronson was playing until getting to the window and realizing their set was almost over. If one doesn’t follow the bands, Whisky A Go-Go is one of the hardest places to find out who’s playing. Even the club’s general information line is vague. It seems that every band is only responsible for promoting their show and not the rest of the line-up. There was no single flyer or listing for the entire line-up until seeing it at the window. This was not turning out to be a very likable venue.Then got a square little ticket with the Whisky A Go-Go logo on it slid under the glass to me, nice momentary souvenir, until turning around, taking one step, and giving it to the door attendant. He pocketed the ticket, checked ID for drinking, got a stamp on the wrist to drink, and then entered through the open glass door where Security stood and made everybody spread arms for a body check. Photography of any sort was okay, but no video recording, absolutely a no-no, said clear and specific as he patted down shirts and pants.
($200 table minimum)
Once inside, to the immediate left is a step leading to four rock star red slick lounge booths with $100 table minimum (credit card only as stated on the small placard), and a single super large 10+ crowd booth at the snug end in the corner in reaching distance for an insolent tug on the bartender’s torn cleavage shirt, the bar begins where the back cushions ends with a $200 table minimum (credit card only as stated on the small placard). Glamour lights above tucked under the second level and step lights at toes adorn these lavish seats where individual Jack Daniel’s signs serve as backdrop to each booth. (It is likely that these booth minimums change depending on event.) The irony of the expense is that these are one of the worst stage viewing seats in the house, too far back to see anything, only good for sitting next to the entrance and being pompous.
(first level bar)
The bar at the end is class in itself: wood grain, Western saloon cowboy style with a cash register that appears to have been in use since the day they opened, a push button cha-ching machine. It’s not a long bar,
but good size enough for one slim female bartender to serve up drinks and take food orders. She serves up drinks pretty fast, and if it does take time, enjoying her scenery isn’t a bad wait. A couple of Jack Daniel’s stools scatter at its edge, next 
to the top to bottom wall of passing through musician photos, current color performances mainly, beside the wall mounted Jack Daniel’s barrel top. The mark of Jack Daniel’s is all over the place, which not a problem, except for maybe Jim Beam enthusiasts.
The alcohol starts at $6 domestic beer and well drinks for $7, both served in opaque plastic cups. But this is one place, as it will be described, that plastic cups actually enhance the stripped down atmosphere of the venue. And yes, there is food served, starting at $5 for a large plate of curly fries, fried fresh, with about a ten minute wait, about three songs. Tasted good for the place and price. $7 will get a cheeseburger and fries, which might be a temptation for next time.
The rest of Whisky A Go-Go can best be described as a two story venue that has been burned charcoal mellowed black and grey, much like the Jack Daniel’s process to create a heavy, flavorful and unique tasting bourbon whiskey. It is amazing how much bigger the place looks from the inside, a little smaller than the size of a one court gym with ceilings the same height, but everything charred and ash, no color, like a desert night without stars. The feeling feels the same: the relaxing simplicity of wide open space without color or visual bombardment. There is another saloon bar near the stage, but tonight it was only serving as decoration. With the exception of the deluxe booths and two stools, no other seating on the first floor, just standing room only extending between the lounge carpet to the open floor to the stage at the opposite far end corner; a stage that is five steps above the crowd and at least four times as deep and toped with a center raised platform for the drummer. No stage diving (unless you want Security to throw you diving onto the sidewalk). The stage is dark and desolate until the classic rock playing DJ lowers the volume and the next band glares under an attack of multicolored spinning lights that beam like a UFO invasion.
but good size enough for one slim female bartender to serve up drinks and take food orders. She serves up drinks pretty fast, and if it does take time, enjoying her scenery isn’t a bad wait. A couple of Jack Daniel’s stools scatter at its edge, next to the top to bottom wall of passing through musician photos, current color performances mainly, beside the wall mounted Jack Daniel’s barrel top. The mark of Jack Daniel’s is all over the place, which not a problem, except for maybe Jim Beam enthusiasts.The alcohol starts at $6 domestic beer and well drinks for $7, both served in opaque plastic cups. But this is one place, as it will be described, that plastic cups actually enhance the stripped down atmosphere of the venue. And yes, there is food served, starting at $5 for a large plate of curly fries, fried fresh, with about a ten minute wait, about three songs. Tasted good for the place and price. $7 will get a cheeseburger and fries, which might be a temptation for next time.
The rest of Whisky A Go-Go can best be described as a two story venue that has been burned charcoal mellowed black and grey, much like the Jack Daniel’s process to create a heavy, flavorful and unique tasting bourbon whiskey. It is amazing how much bigger the place looks from the inside, a little smaller than the size of a one court gym with ceilings the same height, but everything charred and ash, no color, like a desert night without stars. The feeling feels the same: the relaxing simplicity of wide open space without color or visual bombardment. There is another saloon bar near the stage, but tonight it was only serving as decoration. With the exception of the deluxe booths and two stools, no other seating on the first floor, just standing room only extending between the lounge carpet to the open floor to the stage at the opposite far end corner; a stage that is five steps above the crowd and at least four times as deep and toped with a center raised platform for the drummer. No stage diving (unless you want Security to throw you diving onto the sidewalk). The stage is dark and desolate until the classic rock playing DJ lowers the volume and the next band glares under an attack of multicolored spinning lights that beam like a UFO invasion.
(Suckerstar) photo by J.M.Hebron
Suckerstar burst bright with star sunglasses sparkling exactly at 9:45. The sunglasses were soon disposed as they smashed into thick rock. They are a force sprung of four females cranking Rock & Roll hardcore: tattoos penetrating down the arms of lead singer and guitarist Wendy Lee, Guns N’ Roses paraphernalia thrown on by death black hair second vocalist and guitarist Punky, busted jeans and a “I Think I’m In Hell” trucker hat pulled low over Blare N. Bitch attitude on bass guitar, and pounding Lanie Fire on drums slamming head whips and hell fire. Rock & Roll musicians never looked and sounded so filthy sexy on stage, unless accompanied by full bodied skimpy girls dancing out-of-rhythm. Suckerstar themselves were the veteran seductive, rubbing on instruments amplifying their sweet sweaty adrenaline foursome. Lee and Punky traded off on lead guitar and vocal thrusting: Lee with the sharp switchblade razor edge slit wrist sound unobstructed from her lungs, slipping 
her tongue, to listener’s ears, straight through, no torture, simply fast and pleasurable, like slicing butter with a hot wire taken from the guitar she squealed and strangled throughout the set. On the other end, Punky’s vocals were more course, barbwire, gravel rocks, cigarette scarred harsh, a more rough and grit sound, like being dragged across dirt and busting teeth concrete. Wendy Lee’s vocals shank’d and stabbed while Punky’s punched and pummeled. Their opposite extreme vocals and guitar spasms played out hotter than a rollercoaster smoking steel wheels on a soot black tarmac to hell and back. If there was a star in space named Suckerstar, it would be an imploding black hole star turning everything inside out and sucking truth and reality out of control and spitting it out the other end in disgust, similar to what the band exemplifies in their music. This band couldn’t be more in your face unless they were sitting on it, which is a possibility with such pure crazed rock stars.
If their Rock & Roll didn’t hit the listener upside the head, there’s a chance that a rattle shaker might. Before their final song, Punky started flinging out cans of all kinds, beer cans, tin cans, pop top cans, filled with kernel corn with their logo across the front; this was makeshift dirty music at its best, and an imaginative use of recycling. The crowd of cans shook like dozens of rattlesnake tails that were being lead by the venomous four headed Suckerstar animal on stage striking chords wild beneath the spiraling rainbow of lights above, twisting and winding, shake the cans damn it shake!, until they were killed by the dimming lights that ended their set. Everything slipped back into calm as the classic rock DJ returned to casual volume.
After the impressive show, it was time for a break, a breather, as if waiting for the next display of fireworks. Going to the restrooms was a scary thought, but the beer was taking its toll. That’s when one notices the wall of flyers between the opening to the men’s and women’s restrooms. It’s the designated spot to post flyers for upcoming events; the wall to plan the next outing to the Whisky
while waiting for your man or lady to finish in the restroom. When heading under the moon neon script “Restroom” pointing to the men’s entrance, the thought of holding breath and hoping not to slip on the waters of overflowing toilets and towels came to mind. But to a strange delight, it was nothing of the sort. The room was bright and sparkling. No stickers on the wall. No graffiti, except for the small amount on the advertisements, which are itself corporate graffiti screwed into protective frames on the wall that are forced to be looked at when standing at one of the three spotless white porcelain wall stalls; graffiti upon graffiti in its designated spot. There’s one clean toilet stall with all the necessary amenities, but with a busted door lock, making one realize why the toilet paper was still a new roll. A clean sink, liquid soap, and a hand blower complete the waxed sheen surroundings. Stepping out of the bright restroom and back into the club was like stepping out of a hotel and into an alley, that’s how strangely clean it was.
For some reason, having a clean restroom leads me to believe that the area where food is being prepared would be comparably as clean. It’s not like the kitchen has its own private toilets, though it’s a possibility. With that said, ordering something on the short menu of food came to mind. This was where the curly fries came to a taste test that turned out delicious. Ordered the fries, waited the quick ten minutes, picked-up the toppling plate from the bar, and carried it up the lights of the stairs to settle down and enjoy on the second floor.
her tongue, to listener’s ears, straight through, no torture, simply fast and pleasurable, like slicing butter with a hot wire taken from the guitar she squealed and strangled throughout the set. On the other end, Punky’s vocals were more course, barbwire, gravel rocks, cigarette scarred harsh, a more rough and grit sound, like being dragged across dirt and busting teeth concrete. Wendy Lee’s vocals shank’d and stabbed while Punky’s punched and pummeled. Their opposite extreme vocals and guitar spasms played out hotter than a rollercoaster smoking steel wheels on a soot black tarmac to hell and back. If there was a star in space named Suckerstar, it would be an imploding black hole star turning everything inside out and sucking truth and reality out of control and spitting it out the other end in disgust, similar to what the band exemplifies in their music. This band couldn’t be more in your face unless they were sitting on it, which is a possibility with such pure crazed rock stars.If their Rock & Roll didn’t hit the listener upside the head, there’s a chance that a rattle shaker might. Before their final song, Punky started flinging out cans of all kinds, beer cans, tin cans, pop top cans, filled with kernel corn with their logo across the front; this was makeshift dirty music at its best, and an imaginative use of recycling. The crowd of cans shook like dozens of rattlesnake tails that were being lead by the venomous four headed Suckerstar animal on stage striking chords wild beneath the spiraling rainbow of lights above, twisting and winding, shake the cans damn it shake!, until they were killed by the dimming lights that ended their set. Everything slipped back into calm as the classic rock DJ returned to casual volume.
After the impressive show, it was time for a break, a breather, as if waiting for the next display of fireworks. Going to the restrooms was a scary thought, but the beer was taking its toll. That’s when one notices the wall of flyers between the opening to the men’s and women’s restrooms. It’s the designated spot to post flyers for upcoming events; the wall to plan the next outing to the Whisky
while waiting for your man or lady to finish in the restroom. When heading under the moon neon script “Restroom” pointing to the men’s entrance, the thought of holding breath and hoping not to slip on the waters of overflowing toilets and towels came to mind. But to a strange delight, it was nothing of the sort. The room was bright and sparkling. No stickers on the wall. No graffiti, except for the small amount on the advertisements, which are itself corporate graffiti screwed into protective frames on the wall that are forced to be looked at when standing at one of the three spotless white porcelain wall stalls; graffiti upon graffiti in its designated spot. There’s one clean toilet stall with all the necessary amenities, but with a busted door lock, making one realize why the toilet paper was still a new roll. A clean sink, liquid soap, and a hand blower complete the waxed sheen surroundings. Stepping out of the bright restroom and back into the club was like stepping out of a hotel and into an alley, that’s how strangely clean it was.For some reason, having a clean restroom leads me to believe that the area where food is being prepared would be comparably as clean. It’s not like the kitchen has its own private toilets, though it’s a possibility. With that said, ordering something on the short menu of food came to mind. This was where the curly fries came to a taste test that turned out delicious. Ordered the fries, waited the quick ten minutes, picked-up the toppling plate from the bar, and carried it up the lights of the stairs to settle down and enjoy on the second floor.
(second level bar)
The second floor is where the normal, non-hundred dollar credit card minimum, tables are located. Given, they are not as glitzy as the brass button seating on the first floor, but to get away from the squish and beer splash crowd below, this is it. Almost everything on this level is once again a flat black and dull gray, from the tables to the chairs to the wood charred like railing to the bare walls to the dark carpeting – all simple, straight edged, and colorless. The lacquer wood bar that appears plywood-made with brick alley walls fitted in the corner looks like a playhouse of neon amusement with rainbow squiggly beer logos and drink menus eye catching over the mortar, with few Jack Daniel’s stools, but not an area worth sitting longer than it takes to get served a drink, unless the sweet slip bartender feels chatty. The prime, get there early spots are the eight tables perpendicular along the edge of the L-shaped railing, four tables on each length with four chairs apiece (all tables supposedly have a two-drink minimum per person, but there was no enforcement except the small print mention on the menu table placard). 
With the stage in the opposite corner and the speakers angled towards the center, the tables are great for getting a balcony view with unobstructed sound. There are three more four-chair tables and two round Jack Daniel’s stool tables with matching Jack Daniel’s stools along the back wall on each side, but the only visible entertainment from these seats is the wonderful stage lighting; so maybe this would be a good spot to just watch the rainbow light show accompanied with live unseen music. But that’s the thing: anywhere in Whisky A Go-Go is a good spot to hear the band loud and crisp, with the exception of the restroom. The venue feels like a music cube where sound does not bounce, distort, or gets muddled. It is definitely loud, but it is so comfortably clear that it feels like ambience music, meaning, no matter who plays, the music doesn’t get annoying or overbearing at any time. The bass isn’t body pounding (though some say they only turn on the bass for the headlining act), and the listener can actually hear and understand the lyrics being sung, not just the repeating chorus! One doesn’t realize how head exploding loud it is until you find yourself screaming your throat dry at the bartender or the person next to you. Watching a band is like finding yourself in Best Buy glued in perfect center of a surround sound HD home theatre display; it doesn’t matter what movie is playing, the visual and sound experience is astounding (until one sees the multi-thousand dollar price tag for it all). So, that’s how pure the sound system felt while chomping down crisp curly fries and washing the hot oil down with another cold beer. Cast of Kings was the band playing in the background with their manager filling in as their bass player, or something like that, asking the crowd if there was somebody seriously interested in joining the band to fill that missing gap for their next show; one of many struggles of an independent artist. The strength is keeping it going, regardless.
With the stage in the opposite corner and the speakers angled towards the center, the tables are great for getting a balcony view with unobstructed sound. There are three more four-chair tables and two round Jack Daniel’s stool tables with matching Jack Daniel’s stools along the back wall on each side, but the only visible entertainment from these seats is the wonderful stage lighting; so maybe this would be a good spot to just watch the rainbow light show accompanied with live unseen music. But that’s the thing: anywhere in Whisky A Go-Go is a good spot to hear the band loud and crisp, with the exception of the restroom. The venue feels like a music cube where sound does not bounce, distort, or gets muddled. It is definitely loud, but it is so comfortably clear that it feels like ambience music, meaning, no matter who plays, the music doesn’t get annoying or overbearing at any time. The bass isn’t body pounding (though some say they only turn on the bass for the headlining act), and the listener can actually hear and understand the lyrics being sung, not just the repeating chorus! One doesn’t realize how head exploding loud it is until you find yourself screaming your throat dry at the bartender or the person next to you. Watching a band is like finding yourself in Best Buy glued in perfect center of a surround sound HD home theatre display; it doesn’t matter what movie is playing, the visual and sound experience is astounding (until one sees the multi-thousand dollar price tag for it all). So, that’s how pure the sound system felt while chomping down crisp curly fries and washing the hot oil down with another cold beer. Cast of Kings was the band playing in the background with their manager filling in as their bass player, or something like that, asking the crowd if there was somebody seriously interested in joining the band to fill that missing gap for their next show; one of many struggles of an independent artist. The strength is keeping it going, regardless.
(second level seated view)
It was time to call it an evening when the plate of curly fries was nothing more than an oily paper towel with over sizzled potato pieces. No waitresses to clean the mess; so took a moment to clean-up a bit and tossed things into the trash. No table tip needed.
I did have to ask the cute empty counter bartender one question that had been bugging me the whole night, “What’s that framed pencil sketching mounted on the wall next to the stage lights?” It had its own special spotlight and everything: one illegible framed scribble on the empty gray wall. “It’s a graphite rubbing of Jim Morrison’s headstone,” she answered. So, there it was, a bit of early music history was found after all.
The preconception of Whisky A Go-Go was expecting to find myself in a place similar in appearance to images seen from the well-known loving trash pit that made CBGB so infamous. But it was nothing of the sort – it was well maintained and clean. From the wall-to-wall plastered advertisement exterior walking up to the venue, the thought was that it would be the same inside, full of advertisement space for sale littering the walls much like expecting to see brown toilet paper clogging the stalls. But it was nothing of the sort. After getting past the two check points at the door, thought the place was going to come heavy with attitude and constant Security surveillance. With the exception of a sign reading, “You are being recorded,” it was nothing of the sort; one Security shirt walked around the perimeter of the floor, but never bothered anybody. As mentioned, supposedly a two drink minimum at the table, but nobody bugged. This place is a chill hangout, though the Indie line-up is hit and miss, having to sometimes wait through a few bands before wanting to return downstairs into the stage front crowd. Still, a return is imminent.
I did have to ask the cute empty counter bartender one question that had been bugging me the whole night, “What’s that framed pencil sketching mounted on the wall next to the stage lights?” It had its own special spotlight and everything: one illegible framed scribble on the empty gray wall. “It’s a graphite rubbing of Jim Morrison’s headstone,” she answered. So, there it was, a bit of early music history was found after all.
The preconception of Whisky A Go-Go was expecting to find myself in a place similar in appearance to images seen from the well-known loving trash pit that made CBGB so infamous. But it was nothing of the sort – it was well maintained and clean. From the wall-to-wall plastered advertisement exterior walking up to the venue, the thought was that it would be the same inside, full of advertisement space for sale littering the walls much like expecting to see brown toilet paper clogging the stalls. But it was nothing of the sort. After getting past the two check points at the door, thought the place was going to come heavy with attitude and constant Security surveillance. With the exception of a sign reading, “You are being recorded,” it was nothing of the sort; one Security shirt walked around the perimeter of the floor, but never bothered anybody. As mentioned, supposedly a two drink minimum at the table, but nobody bugged. This place is a chill hangout, though the Indie line-up is hit and miss, having to sometimes wait through a few bands before wanting to return downstairs into the stage front crowd. Still, a return is imminent.
*(UPDATE)*
For Bands:
Important excerpts about The Whisky A Go-Go.
Taken from Ninja Academy (Los Angeles band) blog (12/19/07):
“Let me tell you about our experience there. Perhaps you can relate. Perhaps you can learn from it.”
“So, let's get to it. First of all, parking and traffic in Hollywood IS A BITCH. The Whiskey parking is $10. I didn't want to pay that. I got lucky and got street parking right in front. I still had to put $7 in quarters in the meter (and go out there every 2 hours to feed it). Pain-in-the-ass. The cover for the night was $15. I know it varies from night to night but you've already spent $25 before you even got to see any bands play. Too much. Drinks: a beer was fucking $7 and we didn't even get any drink tickets. Bullshit. We were supposed to have a 30 minute set. We timed out an exact 30 minute set but they cut us short so we didn't even that. Fuckers. For you bands out there, be aware that the Whiskey takes 20% of your shirt sales.”
“If you want a DVD of your show it's gonna cost you $150. Take that! Also, your friends cannot go in there and record your set. They're liable to get charged $20 if they get caught. Our friend actually did this and got caught. They didn't charge him $20 but they did kick him out of the club. He couldn't get back in. Oh yeah that reminds me, the fucking door guy didn't believe that Gongis Khan was over 21! He told her that her I.D. was fake and they didn't give her a drinking bracelet! Unfuckingbelievable!! She had to go complain to the manager to get it. What's next?”
“Bands, DO NOT PAY TO PLAY. EVER! There are too many other good clubs out there that don't make you do this. What the hell is the point of having to sell 75-100 (or any) tickets just to play a 6:15pm slot? Come on, seriously. There is no need for that.”
“This experience was so disturbing to all of us that our friend, who was helping us out that night and experienced it all with us, started a Myspace page about boycotting the Sunset Strip.www.myspace.com/nomoresunsetstrip.”
(For complete blog, informative reply comments, and Ninja Academy music checkout Ninja Academy.)
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