The late-winter rain is my worst enemy. Dreary afternoons transform me into a hibernating bear hungry only for sleep. In these uninspired moments, I take the 71 bus from Chinatown to Amoeba Records for the purpose of finding uplifting new music. On my journeys, I often encounter a specimen in a worse slump than myself. The characters I speak of are seen near Amoeba's front gates wearing patchwork clothing and beads, twisting tangled hair, and gazing with glossy retina. These are the hippy panhandlers... More >>>