Los Angeles

"Well, I just got into town about an hour ago
Took a look around, see which way the wind blow
Pretty little girls in their Hollywood bungalows
Are you a lucky little lady in The City of Light
Or just another lost angel...."

The Doors, "L.A. Woman"

Los Angeles' name--the City of Angels--has probably made for more ironic commentary than any other city name in the world. Now the second most populous city in the United States--after New York, of course--the city was once an idyllic, fertile river valley. Even after the region's natural resources were overwhelmed by the waves of immigrants that came from Mexico and the eastern United States, necessitating massive engineering to create a harbor and a reliable water supply, Los Angeles' siren call is undiminished for many; so much so that in 1984 Frank Sinatra sang in "L.A. is My Lady," I brought her my wildest dreams, and she came up with the answer. And it's generally agreed that Guns N' Roses' "Paradise City" is about L.A.--the good, the bad, and the downright tragic: Rags to riches or so they say/You've got to keep pushing for the fortune and fame/It's all a gamble when it's just a game . . .. In fact, that song, better than any other, might sum up what L.A. has come to mean, especially for musicians.

After all, Guns N' Roses, who were at least as notorious for their behavior as for their music, wrote another paean to the city they called home: "Welcome to the Jungle." That song's lyrics reflected the experience of those who, like the band's lead singer Axl Rose, stepped off the bus from small-town America and disappeared into the maelstrom that was the City of Angels: Welcome to the jungle/We've got fun and games/We've got everything you want/And honey, we know the names/We are the people that can find/Whatever you may need/If you got the money, honey, we got your disease. Songs about L.A. always seem to be just a little bit sordid, just a little bit bitter, as though the glittering city can't stand the close-up examination.

It's no wonder, then, that Randy Newman's "I Love L.A." contained just a wee bit of irony. While the song's narrator turns down the wonders of New York and Chicago, mostly because of the frequently hostile weather, Los Angeles' sunny climate draws approbation: From the South Bay to the Valley/From the West Side to the East Side/Everybody's very happy/Cause the sun is shining all the time/Looks like another perfect day. The song's final verse, though, contains a barb: Look at that mountain/Look at that tree/Look at that bum over there, man/He's down on his knees.

It's said that nobody walks in L.A., and indeed few American cities are as dependent on cars as is Los Angeles. For all that car travel is considered quintessentially American, in many cities it's quite possible to get around by walking, biking, or taking public transit. Not so L.A. When the Missing Persons wrote "Walking in L.A.," the lyrics were informed both by the necessity of cars, and by the city's inextricable links with the American film industry: Shopping cart pusher or maybe some groovie/One thing's for sure he isn't starring in the movies/Cause he's walkin' in L.A./Walkin' in L.A./Only a nobody walks in L.A. The song goes on to observe that even beat cops don't walk in Los Angeles--they drive. In "All I Wanna Do," Sheryl Crow's contribution to the body of musical observations of Los Angeles, she sits drinking beer in a bar that faces a car wash, where Los Angelenos, professionally attired, wash their cars on their lunch breaks: They drive their shiny Datsuns and Buicks/Back to the phone company, the record store too/Well they're nothing like Billy and me, cause/All I wanna do is have some fun. In a city where cars are so essential, even the non-status symbols get washed and waxed.

Nor is Hollywood ignored when singers--many of them aspiring to be film stars as well--pen songs about Los Angeles. Bob Seger's melancholy "Hollywood Nights" is the quintessential small-town-boy story: He'd headed west 'cause he felt that a change would do him good /See some old friends, good for the soul/She had been born with a face that would get her way /He saw that face and he lost all control . . .Night after night, day after day, it went on and on/Then came that morning he woke up alone/He spent all night staring down at the lights of LA/Wondering if he could ever go home. In "Screenwriter's Blues," Soul Coughing was rather more direct about the toll L.A. takes on entertainers: Los Angeles beckons the teenagers to come to her on buses/Los Angeles loves love/It is 5 a.m. and you are listening to Los Angeles/I am going to Los Angeles to build a screenplay about lovers who murder each other/I am going to Los Angeles to see my own name on a screen five feet long and luminous…

Los Angeles has served as the muse for many artists, willing and not. Arlo Guthrie, as always, presented a unique and quirky perspective in "Coming into Los Angeles": Coming into Los Angeles/Bringing a couple of keys/Don't touch my bags if you please/Mister Customs man. Then there was X, one of the most important bands of the punk scene that burgeoned in L.A. in the late 1970s, only to be replaced by hair metal in the 1980s. Like Guns N' Roses, who belonged to the latter movement, X's observations on Los Angeles were both bitter and sweet: She gets confused/Flying over the dateline/Her hands turn red/Cause the days change to night/Change in an instant/She had to leave Los Angeles/She found it hard to say goodbye/To her own best friend.

If one must pick a song to sum up L.A., it would probably be the Doors' "L.A. Woman," the lyrics of which began this column. They also provide the perfect note on which to end it: If they say I never loved you/You know they are a liar/Drivin' down your freeways/Midnight alleys roam/Cops in cars, the topless bars/Never saw a woman/So alone, so alone…

Genevieve Williams is a freelance writer specializing in music, book reviews, and film. She is a former music editor for Amazon.com and a regular contributor to Blues Revue.