Photos by Ava London
“How does it feel to be the youngest one here?” The leather jacket asked me, a shock of cropped salt-and-pepper hair alluding to an adolescence spent pogo-ing at in Chinatown. “I’m used to it,” I replied coyly, and I was.
Cement acting as groundwork for ever-expanding edifices, my reverence for those who came first trumps an innate tendency to seek out the novel. The urge is not easy to ignore; playlists cluttered with 2023 and 2024 releases reflect a distinct urgency to stay a step ahead, to be hip, to be cultured, to be cool. And yet as I awkwardly pushed my way into The Mint, unmistakable youth plastered on my sleeve, my eagerness dissipated, dust in the wind. I found myself immersed in a crowd of those who had lived through scenes I could scarcely scrounge up record of online, and frankly, I was humbled. From X to the Patti Smith Group to Siouxsie Soux, I had not been lying when I informed the stranger I had grown accustomed to being the youngest in attendance, where’s my medal? Yet The Mint’s starkly lit interior, wood tables lining a petite 840 square-foot ballroom, was intimate in a way I was not accustomed to. It felt Old Hollywood, and I was the odd (or young) one out.
I was clearly not the only one impacted by the huge personalities about to hit the stage, my own awe echoed by Calling Cadence’s sombrero-donning frontman, Oscar Bugarin. An ex-military with an affinity for the blues, Bugarin paused the opening band’s set to pay his dues to The Immediate Family, whom he enthusiastically accredited as the inspiration behind the band’s decision to “do analog;” to record their most recent release, Calling Cadence (2022), entirely on analog tape, without digital alterations.
Commencing with, “Throw My Body,” a vintage recording style was manifested in a vintage sound, as frontwoman Rae Cole’s warm harmonies became the glue to a rolling groove clearly inspired by ‘70s roots and soul.
The performance was peppered with nods to the past, fittingly anticipatory in the context of a band opening for a gaggle of musicians responsible for shaping the soundscape being zealously emulated. “Just The Way It Goes” saw that theme continued, Jeff Liffman’s glimmering work on keys juxtaposing a newfound gruffness in Bugarin’s vocalizations, face scrunched as he steered his band through the poppy song’s soaring climaxes.
The highlight of the set was undoubtedly the band’s soulful performance of “Let it All Go,” which by the four-minute-mark felt more like a jam session as guest electric guitarist Darnell Cole took over with an effortlessly complex solo, fingers flying even as he remained impressively stone-faced.
Accompanied by Bugarin, now demonstrating finesse behind the keyboard, the lineup was completed by Karlina Covington, Jules Galli, and Rae Cole’s gospel-esque background vocals; Garret Ray’s breezy melodies on drums. Seemingly a better fit for the eclectic folk scene of a 1970’s Laurel Canyon than the fast-paced industrialism rampant in 2024’s Hollywood, Calling Cadence was an homage to the long-gone indulgence and free-spiritedness of times past.
It’s understandable the veritable supergroup of session musicians Danny Kortchmar, Steve Postell, Russ Kunkel, Leland Sklar, and Elliot Easton (of The Cars; a fill-in for Waddy Wachtel) would attract a crowd both expert and time-honored given their respective careers as recording artists for the ‘70s biggest names: Joni Mitchell, James Taylor, Jackson Browne, Carole King, Crosby Stills & Nash. They call themselves The Immediate Family, decades of playing together behind the scenes acting as glue long-dried, solidifying a familial bond. Not only are members each other’s “immediate family;” the relationship is extended to the venerable artists each member has respectively recorded for. On continuing relationships with artists, Kortchmar had this to say: “In other words, you care more about the song than just going in, recording them, and going home. This becomes a personal experience.” Perhaps this uniquely intrinsic experience denotes the secret to a dynamic collaborative relationship that saw seventeen songs for The Immediate Family’s debut album recorded in just three days. “The high comfort level has made The Immediate Family a highly democratic collaboration. ‘Everyone is involved in the production,” remarks Kortchmar. “That’s the way we do it. With guys like this, everyone is going to have an equal say.’”
As selfie sticks and point-and-shoot cameras competed to document Kunkel’s quietly anchoring drumming or Easton’s electrifyingly polished guitar licks, it was all too easy to forget the assemblage was not the collaborative force behind roughly half of the performed works. From renditions of The Cars’ “Just What I Needed,” to Don Henley’s “Dirty Laundry,” the crowd may well have been transported to AIR Studios or Record One, destination ateliers where the original albums took shape. Naturally, vocals courtesy of Postell and Kortchmar differed from those of Ric Ocasek or Don Henley, yet the demarcation was negligible in the context of a swaying crowd there to witness Sklar’s long-time coveted bass playing, to hear Kortchmar’s songwriting directly from the source.
That’s not to say the band shied away from playing well-received originals: pertinent whining guitars peppered 2024’s “Skin In The Game,” while a lively organ transposed bluesy riffs in “Cruel Twist,” a 2020 single (the band’s debut) derived from one of Kortchmar’s side projects. Blatant nods to classic four-on-the-floor rock and roll, The Immediate Family’s new work is a time capsule housing remnants of music history’s band culture; a time up until around the mid-90s when it was commonplace for great musicians to play together on record. So as the band launched into their final encore, a conservatively tight version of Don Henley’s “All She Wants to Do is Dance,” I just felt lucky to be there, surrounded by my predecessors who too found themselves clinging onto the allure of days past.
Needless to say, it was a special night at The Mint. As vibrant Afghan coats, sheer aviator sunglasses, overgrown curls, and thinning ponytails shuffled leisurely towards the exit, a temporary camaraderie permeated a hazy entryway, excited chit-chat replacing the rush of Pico Blvd traffic. One with the crowd, dare I say my prior alienation was somewhat relieved, my existence now seeming more a testament to music’s timeless appreciability than the intrusion of an unschooled youth. The Immediate Family has that effect–of making accessible such supreme talent so that the audience too, becomes part of the family.
