I was scrolling through my social media and saw a post from a good buddy of mine that his band was playing later that night at one of my favorite LA haunts, The Viper Room. Since I have yet to see him play, and the building is set to be demolished soon to make way for a new multi-use complex with overpriced apartments and shops, the likes of which are ruining the aesthetics of classic LA, I figured this would be a great opportunity to support my friend, while simultaneously taking one last jaunt down memory lane in a place that has delivered many good times to me.
I can’t remember when the first time I heard about The Viper Room was. I was definitely highschool age, but I don’t know if I’d heard about it through entertainment news of some sort because of Johnny Depp’s association, or from the reports when River Phoenix died on its doorstep.
I specifically remember the morning of Oct 31st, 1993 listening to the radio as usual while getting dressed for the day, and the local DJ announcing that River had OD’d on the sidewalk outside the front doors of The Viper Room and passed away.
Above left: River Phoenix; Above right: a marker where the payphone once stood used by River’s brother, Joaquin, to call paramedics. Now there is a mural of two buzzards with bubble quotes over their heads which read “Is that a payphone?!” and the other one replies “Thought they were extinct”
Once I’d moved to LA, many of my nights were spent there watching locals play, witnessing special/surprise gigs by well known bands, or having a cocktail or two while standing next to some recognizable faces, before ending the night with a nice walk down Sunset to my car. (I’ll share those stories someday, maybe, but for now, they are in my pocket for safe keeping)
However, as they say with anything, the first time is the most memorable, and the best, just by virtue of being the inaugural experience. I consider it the best, in part because I was new to LA, everything was fresh and interesting to my sheltered eyes, and I wanted to explore everything and everywhere. This being in the years before becoming jaded and bored from overdosing on La La Land.
It was early 2000’s. Some friends and I went to The Viper Room one night to see Juliette Lewis and her band, The Licks, play. We were right up at the low level stage. It stands maybe 2 feet high. She leaned in directly to my face, one foot away, gripping the top of my shirt in her tight fist yanking out chest hairs as she squeezed, held me in place, and belted her lyrics directly at me. I could feel her breath, feel her power and raw energy. It was a pure rock’n’roll moment. Sunset Strip, a kick ass rock band, and a Hollywood legacy performing.
I love taking new-to-towners to classic spots in LA, show them around, and give a bit of the history to our location. I want people to be as dazzled by the lights and legends as I am, even if that light shines on cheap, overexposed celebrities. So, when I heard that friend’s band was playing, I contacted my buddy Anthony and his girlfriend, who recently moved here, to see if they’d be interested in going to the show.
They agreed to go as I knew they would. They are hungry for LA’s offerings, and I’m happy to set the table.
We met up, then carpooled on the 405 from the Valley passing the Galleria, the traffic of the 101 exit, and the monstrosity of The Getty museum that overlooks all of west LA. Our exit was Sunset Blvd between Brentwood and Bel-Air, the same exit as the old Holiday Inn in the round, which has been rebranded to the too-on-the-nose (and boring) name, The Angeleno. We slowly strolled through the multimillion dollar homes with lush green manicured lawns and into Beverly Hills.
There was so much I wanted to show them, that I wanted to highlight and point out on the way; Greystone mansion, the Menendez murder home, and the park where George Michael solicited a cop in the restroom, but I had to save all that for a day when we are on a more casual, less time constricted mission. The show would be starting in about 20 minutes.
The official Sunset Strip is right in front of us now, cruising past the legendary Rainbow Room, Roxy Theater, and landmark Whiskey a Go Go, simply known as The Whiskey. The street was still buzzing with after work traffic of 6 figure priced vehicles; Mercedes S class, BMW 7 series, and a Rolls. All common sights in this neighborhood.
Taking a sharp right onto Larrabee, we paid the $20 fee to park behind the building. There was no way we were going to find street parking, a high commodity on the Strip.
We took a couple of cursory photos in front of the building with the famous awning. The brick is still painted matte black, and looks maintained well. No signs of tagging, vandalism, or weather damage. Not that the Sunset Strip or adjacent Beverly Hills has a gang problem with territory being marked with spray paint like most everywhere else in LA.
I recognized the door girl from my days spent on Melrose, and nights in the alt clubs of Hollywood, though I can’t recall her name. I didn’t take the opportunity to re-introduce myself. That, I’m sure, would have been an awkward moment for both of us. I look much different now. She would have known me when I had bright red devil horns for hair, or a blue mohawk. She looks the exact same, and my past instantly recognized her present.
ID’s scanned and then tucked back into our pockets, we entered the building through the long narrow hallway that leads underneath the club. It has now been painted all black ridding the walls of Hunter S. Thompson quotes, and words in memoriam for River Phoenix that were once scrawled on the wall.
The word “room” in the name of the bar really does aptly describe exactly what the space is. It is just a room, a small one at that, with a single bar, a small stage, and five noir-era style crescent shaped red leather booths. Three on one side of the room, two on the other.
There are two small bathrooms at the back. Genderless and covered floor to ceiling with band stickers and punk rock slogans. A stick of incense was burning in each, polluting the air with the thick fog and scent of sandalwood.
It was not lost on me that this was the bathroom where River got his last high. The one that would lead him stumbling through the small club as his heart slowed down. Then out onto the Sunset Strip where he seized and passed away on the sidewalk, marring The Viper Room’s reputation, while simultaneously morbidly skyrocketing its profile even higher, anointing the bar forever “world famous” by celebrity tabloid standards, as THE place to play, drink, and be seen. At least for a decade or so until Depp relinquished his shares in the business.
The only indication now that Depp had anything to do with The Viper Room, other than what you can find online (there are many stories…many), is a printed photo of him in the merchandise display case holding a Polaroid camera while wearing a Viper Room knit cap overlooking the bar. It’s almost like a patron saint keeping watch over the flock.
As the room started to fill up, I couldn’t help but notice the stark differences within the demographics of the crowd. It seemed to be partly an old guard of the Sunset Strip rocker scene, complete with dyed black hair as black as the Viper Room’s walls, faded shirts, and rough shape denim they probably bought 40 years ago, mixed with the latest wave of the younger, rich, and privileged; mingling, drinking, and laughing. All were welcome, but you could tell this scene was a “home” for the former rockers.
Those of them here never gave it up for a different life, or evolved out of it. That scene is as much a part of them as any tattoo they got during the original run. I could see exactly who they were in their earlier days. Their youth shining through the aging skin they are in now. The clothes, dance moves, and attitudes were all still firmly in place. Only time had changed, they hadn’t.
The Viper Room is, lives, and breathes Hollywood history, but its last rites are being prepared as it exhales its final breath. A demise at the unappreciative hands of gentrification. The building, standing there for 100 years, having been reincarnated from a grocery store in the 20s, to a nightclub, to a strip club in the 60s called Filthy McNasty’s, then to jazz club The Central in the 80s before finally becoming The Viper Room, will be no more.
The Viper Room has its own cinematic history as well. It’s been in videos and several movies; “The Doors”, “Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle”, and my personal favorite, “Valley Girl”.
During its tenure as The Cotton Club, it was not only a celebrity hang out even back then, but also catered to LA gangsters like Bugsy Siegel and Mickey Cohen. There are rumors that some people met their deaths at the hands of mobsters in the bottom room that now houses a VIP bar under the main club.
Also in that underground VIP bar, according to legend, it was once home base to an illegal celebrity poker ring on Sunday nights founded by Toby Maguire, and had A-list caliber stars placing their $50,000 minimum bets at the table. Among them rumored to have been regulars were Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, and DiCaprio. The “hostess” of the evening wrote a book about it that was adopted by Aaron Sorkin and turned into a movie called “Molly’s Game” in 2017.
Now, the atmosphere, gritty charm, and quirky, but dark personality will be bulldozed into oblivion, making way for a rumored new Viper Room to be built on the first floor of an elite expensive apartment building in its place. Shiny, new, virginal, boring.
A place like The Viper Room can’t have a polished existence. Even if it is named the same, it won’t have all of the scars and battle badges earned by time and experience. The Viper Room needs its ghosts in order to BE The Viper Room.
We made one last round through the bar, affording me the opportunity for a final look, to say goodbye and pay my final respects to the phantoms that inhabit its four dark walls, including the ghost of my youth I’d left there years ago, and a scene that is decaying and dramatically shifting into something unrecognizable.
We exited back down the long dark hallway we had walked through when we entered, greeted by the crisp evening air of Hollywood.
There were no packs of paparazzi snapping photos of anyone walking out just in case they were famous.
No groups of patrons hanging out on the sidewalk smoking, engaging in conversation while keeping watch for the famous out of the corners of their eyes, posing as if they weren’t obvious.
No goodnights on the way out to Adam who checked his own fame at the door and worked the bar so that he could alleviate the anxiety that celebrity brought him in the outside world.
It was just a night, like the new Viper Room is going to be just a place. No fangs. No bite.
The glitz, glam, grit, and ghosts were gone, and so were we.
“We all wanna be big starsBut we don’t know why, and we don’t know howBut when everybody loves meI’m wanna be just about as happy as I can be.” – Counting Crows
