Kevin Bronson on April 10th, 2017

2

Not only has BROKE LA become a panoply of everything vibrant in the Los Angeles underground, the seventh edition of the DIY festival on Saturday offered the ultimate experience in Short Attention Span Theater. …

Now what were we talking about?

Oh, BROKE LA. Formerly known as Brokechella. Also known as the one-day event that is like Coachella, only Macgyvered.

On Saturday, it took place at the Enox Events center, a warren of warehouse spaces on the southern tip of El Sereno, a neighborhood so working-class it didn’t make Thrillist’s “Idiot’s Guide to 40 L.A. Neighborhoods.” With two outdoor performance areas and four indoor rooms (one devoted entirely to vendors),  BROKE LA was cozy enough to circle in less than 15 minutes, but not so small that the sound bled between stages. Tickets were $25 and it drew a crowd estimated by organizers at between, 4,500 and 5,000.

Designed to appeal to the inner child, the stages were named Jungle Gym (outdoors, where, yes, there was an actual jungle gym), Ball Pit (no), Bounce House (yes), Swings (no) and Sand Box (no). By the end of its nine hours, you could have been one of the lucky few to claim that you watched a Grammy-winning artist from atop a jungle gym while wearing a “Fuck Art, Let’s Party” T-shirt. Or, for that matter, been given an extra bottle of water by a kindly security guard who saw you gassed, in a corner, stuffing your face with garlic Parmesan bacon fries.

And there were puppies too. Here is a Tour de BROKE LA:

3:10 p.m. — Arrive early (scoring street parking two blocks away), check in and immediately bond with the adorable dogs brought to the festival by various adoption agencies. The temptation is to hang back with a Jack Russell mix named Ralph and enjoy music on the main outdoor stage from a distance. But alas, the one-man (Lane Mueller) psychedelic rock wrecking crew known as Candy Cigarettes beckoned fans closer. The day was off to a trippy start.

3:20 p.m. — Only steps away, inside at the Ball Pit stage, Send Medicine was finishing up a set of delicious psychedelic folk, so it was off to the booming Swings room, where Marko Penn was crooning over tracks about real “Friends,” also an appropriate theme for the day.

3:45 p.m. — While Thumpasaurus was trying to get the party started outdoors, Emerson Star was engaged in guitar-pop finery at the Ball Pit. “Great Escaper” and “La Dolce Vita,” both off their 2016 EP, are the best two back-to-back songs we’ll hear all day. Or maybe it was just a couplet that resonated, “I wanna stare into the sun / I wanna be dumb like everyone.”

4:10 p.m. — Cruising indoors with the EDM of $yrup in distance and in search of a sushi burrito, the vendors’ area beckoned. There was a mannequin to mark up. There were “gluten-free chokers.” And there was the dazzling work of Diaspora Africa.

4:45 p.m. — On the outdoor stage, Fellow Bohemian cover Status Quo’s “Pictures of Matchstick Men” and from a seat atop the real jungle gym it’s 1968 all over again. It’s the best cover song of the day, edging out the wall-shaking rendition of Marcy Playground’s “Sex & Candy” delivered a bit later by Velvet, the new persona for the music of louder-and-louder and better-and-better Emily Gold.

5:15 p.m. — Sushi burrito finally consumed and hugs and handshakes doled out, it was time for a cursory stop at the Sand Box stage, BROKE LA’s home for comedy. It was in back of the larger warehouse, situated on an abandoned rail siding, and you could view the comedians from a makeshift bunk bed. Confession though: The only thing that elicited a chuckle today was the BROKE LA T-shirt going for $20.

5:35 p.m. — Fitting that the Bounce House stage was home to the festival’s EDM, and it was consistently pounding all night. People bounced up front, and couples sat at the back of the room on colorful kiddie-cushions, paying no mind when two women in masks and worksuits (emblazoned with “INSECURITY”) came by to post one of their humorous signs that said “Men At Work.” In other news, Brownies & Lemonade are poised for world domination.

6:20 p.m. — Back to the Ball Pit for more guitar pop, where Braeves are soaring as if there’s hope for something, and to the Jungle Gym for Kid Wave, aka L.A.-based Swede Lea Emmery, whose ’90s-inspired indie rock (sounding like power-pop’s answer to Interpol) is ready for FM radio right now. Staring into the blinding setting sun, she ended her set a little bit crimson.

7:00 p.m. — Kolaj dispensed some hard electro-pop on the main stage while the jungle gym wobbled from the weight of onlookers, but inside at the Ball Pit was the more sophisticated experimental rock of Raener, who have impressed wherever they’ve  played around L.A. but still haven’t released any music. Just as we thought to ourselves that every festival, no matter the size, should have its own Radiohead, the guy behind us said to his date, “These guys remind me of Radiohead.”

7:40 p.m. — Speaking of impressive, La Bouquet were devastating on the main stage. Among others, Bryan Sammis did a new song about how much he hates rock stars (yes, he acknowledged the irony) and the title track from La Bouquet’s forthcoming album “Sad People Dancing.”

8:05 p.m. — BOYO made the best guitar faces of festival and proved tight, catchy and nerdy fun. All our circling having affected the appetite, though, it was time for the aforementioned garlic Parmesan bacon fries, although you’d be surprised at how garlic Parmesan bacon fries tend to shorten those up-close-and-personal conversations you have with friends. And nary a breath mint vendor to be found.

8:55 p.m. — Indie-pop siren Bloodboy is not having a good night on the main stage, so it’s back inside for Zealyn, aka Angie Miller, doing songs off last year’s “Limbic System” EP and confessing to problems of her own. In the past week, Miller got in a car wreck and got sick. She offered an apology for her vocals, though none was really necessary.

9:15 p.m. — Rapper John Givez is talking about being profiled by law enforcement. “That ever happen to you?” he asks, and we swear he scoped the whole crowd before spotting the only old white dude in the crowd and asking again, “You know what I’m talking about?” Then he did a great jam titled “Johnny Law Got Me at the Green Light.”

9:35 p.m. — Dream Machines look like somebody mixed up the party invitations, but damn are they a fun bunch. Saxophonist Max Brown wore a trucker’s hat that read “I’m Just the Sax Player.” Singer-guitar Harry May Kline wore an undershirt. Molly WK added cowbell in a striped dress. Keyboardist Luke Burba had the best shoes of the festival. They played disco-pop and there was disco-dancing.

9:50 p.m. — New York duo Brasstracks are well into their long set, piling on the horns, drums, keys and backing tracks to the biggest crowd of the festival. They pause before playing the big song — the Grammy-winning “No Problem” they made with Chance the Rapper — as Ivan Jackson relays as how, shucks, they’re just two kids from NYC who got lucky to work with the most ascendant rapper on the planet. The huge crowd goes crazy for it, and everybody — including those dangling from the jungle gym — jumps up and down and waves their arms. Nobody notices that they are running long.

11:05 p.m. — Local quintet James Supercave takes over, frontman Joaquin Pastor admitting, “This is a shift.” They play the highlights from last year’s Album of the Year (in our world) “Better Strange,” and two new songs, including the immediately likable “Something to Lose.” As the infectious bounce of “Burn / No Pressure” echoes off the brick walls, we recede into the night, where Ubers and Lyfts are lined up on Valley Boulevard waiting for patrons trapped by the fact the railroad crossing arms are down and lights are flashing. No train, however, is in sight.