The Second Installment of Ask Miss Namella: The Debut of Miss Namella’s Personal Party Manifesto

Dear Miss Namella,

I’m playing down the street from you. Will you come see my band? Come on, you better come or else I will never talk to you again. We’re supposed to be nigs, dude. I know you’re totally gonna come with a bunch of your crazy, hot friends. Come on, please come. PLEASE!

Your favorite band,

Ain’t Too Proud To Beg

Dear Ain’t Too Proud To Beg,

DON’T ASK ME TO COME SEE YOUR BAND BECAUSE YOU PROBABLY SUCK ANYWAYS. Let’s face it: this is the nadir of the Los Angeles music scene. Minus a few saving graces, we’ve all belly flopped into accepting mediocrity—and that’s the best that we can do right now. What happened? Why are bands, clubs, and promoters sleeping on the job? What happened to the let’s-fuck-shit-up-at-all-cost work ethics of rock’n’roll? Is everyone just too busy knitting sweaters and shooting up these days? Did the DJ really kill the rock’n’roll star? Are people just too lazy to rock? Are we just waxing nostalgia so much that Madame Toussaud would consider unveiling a hanging Ian Curtis figure for the Guitar Center Rock Walk? Do people just want to go where Dim Mak Records tells them to go because they’re afraid that they’re gonna miss the same old crappy gift bags, the same old watered-down free booze with all the same old washed-up-before-their-prime party scenesters/ mySpace celebrity self-made monsters? Wake up! PEOPLE, just fuckin’ stop hitting that damned snooze button and stop fooling yourselves! When was the last great show you attended? What was the last time you saw a live band that blew you away? How did you react last time you went out?

Miss Namellas Personal Party Manifesto

* I don’t give a shit about going to Star Shoes, Beauty Bar, or Moscow because I am not sixteen.

* I don’t party with Steve Aoki, Franki Chan, or Mark “whatever he’s changed his nickname to again for legal reasons this time…” because I’m a secure woman with no drug addictions at this time.

* I don’t do daytime parties/clubs with ironic kiddie outdoor activities for wasteoid adults that refuse to face reality.

* Loft parties are more dead than Bela Lugosi because of all the transplants who jacked up the price of lofts and made them totally inaccessible for people who used to throw the really great loft parties.

* I know I DJ, but fuck, I’m really sick of the invasion of the DJ’s. My mom plays records on her hi-fi. Does that make her a DJ? By L.A. standards, YES! Give Mrs. Kim Sook a residency at Beauty Bar! Quick, do it fast before the ironic hipness wears off. Aw, too late. That was so last sentence ago.

* I don’t wanna lead, I don’t wanna follow. I just want more variety. I don’t think L.A. and its people want to be monopolized as party fixtures in the same circuit over and over again. That merry go round ride shit is for kids. I want excitement, fun, danger, variety, and a bit of seductive mystery when it comes to going out.

So you wanna mySpace invite me to come see your band?

FUCK OFF.