Once upon a time in a place called North Hollywood, California, near the daunting intersection and across the street from the world's largest golf shop, there was a slight dip in the surface, a small bend, a tesseract, where point A and point B intercepted, hung out, drank coffee, made noise, answered yes, brother and amen when the role was called, paid attention to the speeches of the king (emperor, don, whatever), visited the chiropractor, and made the acquaintance of Gidget, the cat.
Once upon a time, apparently, the proprietor would tend his soup in the illegal kitchen, serve it to you, and then sit on the stage an and play guitar.
Once upon a time. When is a cafe not a cafe? Well... you all know the answer to that one. After they (yes they) dissuaded him from serving victuals, he started serving records and book, and back boards on tabels, and this and that. Might not have been food but we felt fed. Once upon a time there was a coffeehouse lacking espresso machines, lacking steamers and latte (they would be too noisy, said the owner, they would distract from the sounds and the words coming from the stage)< lacking gleaming metal and hard polished surfaces (our motto, or one of them anyway: "This ain't no fucking Starbucks!").
Once upon a time was the People's Democratic Republic of Iguanaland, the World's Smallest Theme Park (or, the World's Smallest Nuclear Power, pick one)< a storefront cafe that lost its kitchen, home away from home away from home away from home.
Apparently, the place opened on Friday, the Thirteenth of October, 1989 (again, I can't report this for certain, I wan't there, and he does have a tendency to tell tall tales)... and closed in the wee housrs of Monday morning the Thirty First of July, 1995 (for that one, I was there, and it was true, and really happened, and it was a bit of a party, fo figure). Between those two dates (is this how we map the beginning and the end of civilization? Elly Mabye might agree), a community of poets and musicians and artists of the canvas and light and chapman stick, was born (and raised and sent out into the real world after school). Listen. If we compare the place to City Lights or the Bitter End are we stretching the envelope a bit? No. Our movement produced movements of its own which produced movements and so on, (and besides we had Gidget. Who did they have? Ginsberg? Oh, please).
We did New Years' Eves, elections, earthquake drills, riots, floods, weddings, divorces, the Allen Jay Freedman Poetry Shindig, hoot nights, trade nights, Christmas pageants, safety meetings and snapple. We held wakes, tarot readings, acey duecy tournaments, and the Tuesday Night Poker Game. But mostly there was sound. I caught some extraordinary performances at the Iguana Cafe (with and without Smear-o-Vision).
Tom Ianniello is the name of the guy who owned the joint. He and his family made the place happen. He plays on this CD. So do a lot of really wonderful people. It was a hell of a place. This is a hell of a document.
Thank you for shopping. Please come again.
Matthew Niblock
Los Angeles
October, 1995
credits
released August 19, 2020
recorded live at the iguana cafe, July 31st, 1995.
produced by Thomas Montague Hall and Tom Ianniello
engineered by Thomas Montague Hall and Fred Davis
recorded digitally
