Dark Daze photography blog

For a man that’s permanently got a metal soundtrack playing loudly in his head, occasionally interrupted by the sound of a shotgun going off and some pigs guts flying against a wall, Odisie can really hold it down when it matters. And this mattered. You don’t walk into a LA neighbourhood like this without being prepared to drop someone, especially when there’s not enough girls to go round and writers are pushing to get their paws and pens on some flesh. But, “There’s Something About Odisie”, to steal a line from somewhere else. Apparently by the time we rolled up in the HHR (see earlier post) which we wisely parked round the corner, word had gotten out to the organisers that if anyone here deserved a piece of meat to brand, then it was the educated hooligan from England.

Already psyched by a day that had laid claim to the best of the trip; we had found the biggest and most freaky Hall of Fame that either of us had laid our greedy Paint and Polaroid eyes on… Tasting the true east LA culture was a hot look for that day, rolling past a street somewhere in outer outer outer East LA, we had freaked ourselves out by finding the Old Memories club, a hardcore group of car fetishists, that had a collection of vintage Chevrolet trucks and vans that burnt long and hard on yr mind and eyes. I busted out a whole batch of Polaroid’s in less than 50m of pavement, and will fill a post with them sometime. We’d seen dusty fruit sellers on the side of the highway out of town toward the mountains, and even passed the County Sheriff as we bounced in baking heat to check out the hidden Fame Walls. It was only a frantic call from Gary, telling us to get back to West LA and the flesh heaven that awaited that got us back in the car. On the ride over early NWA was followed by Slayer and some mental metal psyching music, we passed the lolo driving, traffic light bouncing Chollo, that looked for every second like a MTV 90’s era inspired joint hallucination. Some things in East LA are just too good to be real, but we both got flicks so there it was.

So everything was going good, whilst the others in HA had spent hours driving to the ever-closed Seventh Letter office and to the moneychangers at LAX we had finally tapped the rich holiday vein of LA. But now it was time for the big O to get to work. All day he had been telling me over and over that this was his thing, all his sketching life he had been waiting to paint ladies, and now not just any girls but on some hot juicy So-Cal legs and backs. Now the time was here and the inner id/Od was building.

The BITD shop/warehouse/gallery/yard was hosting the event and the yard was packed with writers and gawkers, the HA were in full effect, even over the beats you could hear Aroe’s comments at the girls, like a eager mic chatting mc, and he certainly doesn’t need any amps. We’ve all seen the West Coast Hip-Hop video girl, and here they were in every corner, fully ready to be painted flossing the kinda bikini/shoes combo that can only make perfect no sense in a hot dry thugged out city. Eyes were on stalks were on stalks were on stalks…etc.

Bang the off-camera flash on high, point it somewhere up at white ceiling, stick a wide angle on for the tanned legs with the Perspex heels that left shines on the lens. Look around at all the I-phones and handy cams being pointed at all angles, and just what do you call upskirt when there aint no skirt on….. and you realise you gotta get in close and be English to win this Cali pseudo snapper shootout. Then look around and Ods has a clutch of pens in his hands and is sat in a chair with that arrogant/expectant look that shows his game is ready and he’s just now waiting for the girl to roll up and disrobe. The rest of the room shows a mix of ladies halfway through some action, some girls with wildstyles, some with pieces and some with the kinda Graff that should have been dragged out and shot like Happy Days back in 84, but hey who’s gonna knock it hombre, you’re drawing on the girl whilst all the other mugs are just gawpin and whooping. Anyways the guy is just fiddly with the markers in his hand, sat there and maybe he just taking it all in or maybe it just doesn’t matter cos nobody has Game like this, not today. One girl gets pushed, dragged, in front, a plastic chair is slung in and suddenly she’s sat down reverse cowgirl like a Chicano Christine Keeler. She’s still lowering her butt into the chair when her t-shirts up and her bra strap is pinging off, like the Ali phantom punch no one sees the Odisie hands move. The Russian bboy gangsta via “Ross Dress for Less” is off and drawing….

No sketches, no thin outlines, just bang on in with a chisel tip permanent marker, so god damn I hope she likes it, but you can tell he doesn’t care, it aint his back. The screwface doesn’t change once, backed into the farthest corner he only looks up when the stacked-to-the-rafters Blonde at 1 o’clock drops out a “Harben Harben” moment, and he grins that shiteater grin. If you get up close and take a flick you might hear the dapper English charm coming out; making sure the girl is cool, telling her what he’s doing, checking if she needs to move for a bit, but for now forget you know that cos this is about frontin and gangsta, this is about the Evil Odisie with the Shotgun and the Sharpie, who’s gonna change the way that skulls and skin look forever.

He’s just hitting that freestyle flow when a second girl rocks up, whilst the first still isn’t even sketched; so wait here comes the patented move; the chair slide, the top off, pinged bra strap and he’s still just shakin her hand with his left and inking with his right on blonde girl one. Game. Playa.

There’s a crowd behind him now, maybe they have never seen screwface Russians at work before,
“eh ah wha ees it man…?”
“s’what it is innit bruv”
he’s mumbling in the mugged up London ‘spraybokkles, sottages” painting patois…. There’s no more questions.

2 hours maybe and 2 girls inked up.

A whole memory card of shots is done, when they wander outside for a yard pic, even the buff girl in the red dental floss bikini has to bend down and pic up a ‘dropped’ tab to get a bit of the attention from the crowd of homies that are now jumpin around behind the two blonde girls with the skulls and the flowers and the bumble bee, yep even a bumble bee, (believe me it looks better than it reads) under his expert pens.

When the colouring starts the rest of HA have already dussed, but their legacy is upheld again, by the dude that flamed LA when he sketched the LA Takedown Wall, the character king, the geek that spends hours poring over the comic book work of Glenn Fabry, and the insane vision of Chuck Close, the four eyed nerd in the corner that’s about to merc a gang of writers in their own backyard with a freestyle colouring lesson.

That fuckin Odisie has got Game, that dude that can lecture you on the merits of the Incredible String Band, whilst drinking numerous pints of Beater and who goes on holiday purely to dress up, who’d end up ‘Grilled n Pimped’ up if he ever spent serious time West Coast, is just a bout to seal his reputation with a brace o’ bitches and get more props than any ego needs from Writers 10 years either side of his generation.

So what if the rest of HA are sat down to a blowout feast at Red Lobster or that I’m all out of SD cards and have seen far too much leg for one days memory banking, and that I have had to shuffle back and forth getting more and more pens as the big O’s waving hands as the colour scheme gets too complex.

If this Cali trip was about proving yourself individually then this was Odisie’s triple double. If you don’t read the words look at the pictures, they are prettier and more eloquent anyway. Odisie, Big Game. Done.

Posted on Sunday, February 17th, 2008 at 12:58 pm in California One.