Lucent Dossier Experience: The Private Party [Review]

All Photos by Phil Holland

[Guest Blogger- Joseph Windowstosky]

Once more into the fantastic go we! Once more into the glistening mouth of wonderment, and then aloft among cellophane flowers and cackling birds, go we! Once more the clock strikes eleventeen! Once more the pretty lady in the moon beckons and smiles! Once again into the Lucent Dossier Experience go we! Go we! Oh for heavens’ sake, go “weeeeeeeeeee!!”

If you’ve ever taken shelter under a stack of novels by Lewis Carroll, M.C. Escher, Edward Gorey, Robert Heinlein, and Shel Silverstein, and then rested your head upon a two foot clown nose, and fallen asleep there for a thousand years, and THEN (and this part is key) let yourself dream, you’ve totally been here before.

If you’ve ever licked the magic paper square, at an arboretum, on Venus, while cranking electronica mp3s and running top-speed through the pretty little red flowers, holding hands tightly with Salvador Dali and laughing from ear to ear, then yes, you totally know how it is.

If you’ve been carried away by a smartly dressed chauffeur, opened a weathered letter from a long-lost stranger, fingered a tuft of cotton candy from a hick faerie clown gliding by in a tremendous hoop skirt, danced for a moment with a genteel gentleman who then bowed and flew straight up to the sky, and tasted the perfect delicate veggie masala as it melted on your tongue and warmed your heart, then I’m fairly certain you were right there beside me at the Lucent Dossier Private Party, just about a month ago.

(And it was great to see you smile so big!)

But for those of you who weren’t there, well now, gather close and let me tell a tale or two.

I didn’t see much of the neighborhood where the secret location hid behind the nondescript gate. The Lucent shuttle from the safe Little Tokyo parking lot was quick and courteous, and then we were checked and ushered in.

Color and lights and music immediately exploded upon us.

Our tour began in an art gallery, where we saw the paintings of Audrey Knight lining the walls. Beyond that, to the left, was the Lucent Love Shoppe and Coat Check, with its warm flickering candles. At the huge room’s direct center lay a large stage and dance floor, where performers and guests were dancing and miming and playing together. Up above, the Lucent Tribal Orchestra rocketed its triptacular tunes through a truly A+ sound system.

Venturing to the far corner, just beyond the food truck of abovementioned masala delight, two private offices were bedecked with lights and signage and flowers and silks: Super Tall Paul’s Leisure Listening Lounge at the left, and the Oracle and Transformation Station to the right.

Where to visit first?

The Oracle was intently scrying great futures in small stones for a well-dressed woman in purple and gold, and Aryiel was busily dazzling as she bedazzled a dapper couple with tiny sparkly stones at her Station, so I climbed in the windowless window and onto Super Tall Paul’s only empty chair, semicircling with eight or nine others. Catercorner, Paul with his electric ukulele and an array of other charming instruments, all plugged into a hi-fi stack better and more mysterious than Uncle Harv’s prized 1974 all-Marantz collection any day of the week. He was playing and singing away, but pitted against the rocking main floor, I could hear nary a note.

Before us, on the table, a jumbled pile of cushy headphones. I put on a pair. There he was, clear as day, bright and crisp with reverb and delay and all that jazz, a professional CD of a full band unfolding live before us, but it was just one guy. How do they do it? How does Disney make Main Street smell like that? What makes Miss Piggy a more believable actress than Kristen Stewart? Who can say? It’s just the stuff that makes life worth living, is all.

I was wrenched from this bliss by a new beat and a changing of lights out at the stage. Lucent dancers, cutely and almost conservatively dressed in vintage travelling clothes and carrying bright suitcases, poured from the dressing room. Live singing accompanied a remarkably emotional, almost balletic dance. Enchanting.

Our next course was an aerial act, I believe – or was it the Warholian live painting of two nude figures – obliterating the line between model and canvas (the pictures are incredible, and the spectacle unforgettable) – it all blends together into a tasty cinnamon swirl, at this point, and one I could have enjoyed for many hours more.

But it was not to be.

We are Icarus, who rose too close to the sun. We are Earhart, who flew somewhere else entirely. We are Sarah, who just wanted that baby to shut up for a minute and wound up meeting David Bowie and his six foot thick crotch, but never got to bang him.

Which is to say, it wasn’t even midnight yet when the cops showed up and shut the whole thing down.

We found out when Dream announced it: “I have some not-so-glorious news.” The room fell dead silent — over 300 people, in total stillness. There was so much love and so little hostility in us, there wasn’t even a round of booing. Instead, there were actual tears from a few performers and even some guests alike. So much preparation, so much creation had gone into this, and now it had to end, when it was only just getting started.

The crowd obediently fell into a remarkably organized and utterly peaceful line retrieving its coats. Some furtively bought last minute Lucent knickknacks, and even tipped a couple of extra dollars, such was their love and understanding. Many were heard telling the staff that this was a beautiful party, they were so sorry, and they would be back. Smiles of ever-delight and sympathetic resignation still radiated as the coat-clad crowd shuffled silently back to the shuttles. Never had I seen such obedience and grace in a situation like it.

But don’t let’s fret, friends. Lucent has announced to its ticketholders that another party is already in the works, with all the “dances left undanced” from this one. Soon enough, your favorite dreams and nightmares will once again commingle for tea. Just not today.

Somewhere, in a parallel quantum universe just slightly divergent from our own, the party raged on unhindered, and grew and grew. Lucent danced and sang and played for hours into the night. Eleonora’s Exposure Booth opened at twelve, and many a charming portrait was born. In a parallel quantum universe somewhere, everybody smiled until their fricken faces fell off. Everybody let their hair down, pulled their socks up, and saw the sun shine, oh yeah. I envy those lucky bastards, but I’m so glad I drank in the 2.5 precious hours that existed here.

And I can’t can’t can’t wait wait wait to go back.

Guest Reporter Joseph Windowstosky, signing off.



2 Responses to “Lucent Dossier Experience: The Private Party [Review]”

  1. O. Candelabra Says:

    I was planning to arrive fashionably late to the party when I heard the news that the LAPD closed them down. Their parties are magical – at a minimum. Your review does a fantastic job of capturing that. So jealous you experienced even those 2.5 hours. See you on the next dancefloor.

  2. Hey! That’s me consulting the Oracle! I was the last fortune told as they kicked us out. And I believe that blurry spot at the bottom of the frame is my girlfriend’s head. She was sitting waiting for me after getting a lovely bejeweled face at the Transformation Station. 😀

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