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Teenage Talking Cars
1. Amnesia
2.Pretty Dolls on Pills
3.Phonetically Speaking
4.City Underground
5.Institution
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Los Angeles, a washed up, clichd, monotonous, grimy city that lingers in the reminiscence of what rock and roll used to be, is a hard place for any rock and roll inspired kid to grow up in. This is the story of an unknown band, which failed to recognize what their absolute and true love was for. After trying college and repetitious jobs, the only thing that life allowed them to fall back onto was music, even though this truth never glimmered in the light of their eyes.
Ammo was a rebellious teen that never saw admiration in a day job. She repeatedly swooned over punk rock idols and imagined life as a photographer that captured her idols true art during shows. She wanted to peel away at the layers of the musicians and capture them for who they were, not what they wanted to be.
As time passed, Ammo met a similar linked girl who had the same aspirations in music. Her name was Taylor. She loved music that came from the soul, which beat in her chest regardless if the speakers from her endless record player saw the end of a record, and they immediately bonded as friends. However, they never saw music in their future.
Not until Poul J. He was fresh out of a local band that parted through differences, and he shared the same intellect of heart pounding music. Together, they gathered in a dim lit, small rehearsal room, and there they found their potential.
The threesome wrote a handful of songs when they decided it was time to share their ability with the world. Taylor, who played drums, had never placed a hand near a snare before. Ammo, who picked up the withering practice space microphone, never dared to sing. And Poul J, being a former drummer, never played a string on his bass. And even though they were newcomers on their instruments, they hissed and smoothed their dark melodies into a love affair that had never been heard of.
Their first and second and third show proved to them that there was a warmth and response for the music that they created, and they wondered whether a guitar player would be the additional link that they were craving.
After a sweaty, small-attended show at a local venue in the ghastly corners of Los Angeles streets, they met their soon-to-be guitar player. De La Cruz was the sound guy in the small room, and immediately he adhered to the screaming bass solos and screeching, childlike vocals that echoed throughout the night.
He agreed to try out for the band, and the first note he hit sang a rose-colored, ice cream flavored taste into the band, and he was immediately accepted.
After his arrival in the band, each member attributed their own personal taste into the music that was being created: punk, soul, Latin-rock, surf, and rock and roll. Regardless of their taste and influences in music, there is a definite passion that takes place in the heat of the moment. Their music is undefined. They have no boundaries. They make me sweat, and at the same time, they make me whimper and fall into a puddle of helpless worry, ready to be taken over by their music one more time, before they put me into a wet, teenage dream.
-Anonymous.
TTC gets written up in LA Alternative
SideStage
Spotlighting the best of local music: Teenage Talking Cars
by Lesley Bargar
"A couple of weeks ago I was waiting outside Silver Lakes margarita mecca El Conquistador when a delectably disheveled girl in combat boots and a shredded white dress stumbled out to the curb. Obviously looking for a slurring partner, she turned to the sidewalks only other inhabitantmeand erupted into a rant about getting kicked out of the Fuck Yeah!! Fest for pouring a drink on the Fests founder, breaking back in, and then diving into the window of a friends moving car (on its way to El Conquistador, no doubt) to escape being caughtagain. Her tirade also included offering to bring me the ice from her margarita, 37 mentions of the word fuck, and the revelation that her name was Ammo. All of it made me love her. None of it clued me in that she was the lead screamer in the group of surfy, dance-punk gallivanters Teenage Talking Cars. But a few minutes laterthe tequila apparently not affecting her marketing skills, Ammo handed me a CD and it all made sense. Only the Karen O-like warped warbler of this sweaty audio/visual assault could be so damn punk rock on a Sunday afternoon.
The Teenage-ersAmmo (yelling), Poul J (bass), Taylor (drums)started playing together having never so much as sneezed on their instruments, but soon began playing shows anyway, and managed to win over now-guitarist De La Cruz in the bumpy and bloody process. Heavy dance bass and drums pump like heavy-metal fists behind the glammy guitar shreds and Ammos scream-along vocals on both their debut self-titled EP and the many fruitful stages of L.A.s east side. And though Im not sure who exactly the talking cars belong to, its hoped these spirited kids will be diving headfirst into the moving windows of them for years to come. Or at least offer strangers their margaritas.
Teenage Talking Cars play the Echo on Sept. 15 for the Eastside Art Crawl."
Just a small correction - I threw ice at someone (he may be important or not, most likely not!!!), I think it might have been 4 pieces! I just wanted to clarify that before I get in more trouble then I am already in, ha! -miss ammo
"Onstage, frontchick Ammo of no-wave rompers Teenage Talking Cars looked heavily sloshed and was playfully shoving a smitten heckler."
- RON GARMON, LA City Beat
