The Strip’s One Sure Thing

One hundred years from now, if Charlton Heston in a loincloth excavated the Coconut Teaszer, they’d all still be there. The long-haired rockers, the glassy-eyed skeezers, all cradling goldfish bowls filled with cheap beer and dangling cigarettes between the burned-out grooves of their fingers. Because no matter what changes occur on the Sunset Strip, the Coconut Teaszer is the one constant.

Now in its 15th year (doesn’t it seem a whole lot longer?), the Teaszer is still the place you go when a buddy makes you come out to a show. Maybe because the venue’s primary draw is born out of obligation, its owners have never done much but give it obligatory nips and tucks.

Aside from its after-hours weekend dance parties and the downstairs acoustic showroom, the Crooked Bar, the Teaszer is known for rock ‘n’ roll. And in its defense, some pretty darn good bands have performed on its stage (we’ll get to that beast of a stage later). Nirvana, Green Day, Hole and the Wallflowers plugged in at the Teaszer at one time or another. They plugged in elsewhere around town, of course, too, and only the Wallflowers took up a residency. Jakob Dylan must have a soft spot for kitschy exteriors--that might explain the Kibitz Room residency, too. Despite a recent paint job taking the Teaszer from Barney purple to brick red, it’s still a kiosk for product-placement tie-ins, and no matter how many years it puts on, it still looks like a BAM magazine during the ‘80s, all thin and cheesy.

Inside, it’s set up crazier than Pee-wee’s Playhouse. The performance stage is so ill-designed--its low, hover-craft ceiling creates acoustics that ensure the bartenders will suffer from tinnitus later in life--it’s almost comedic. The adjacent billiard area is adorned with some wacky full-scale carousel-like creatures, which only enhance the vertigo you get from walking on the lumpy floors toward bathrooms that give Al’s Bar johns a run for their money (suuuuu-eee).

But-but-but-but, this is rock ‘n’ roll, and rock ‘n’ roll ain’t supposed to be pretty. In fact, true rock ‘n’ roll is always a bit gnarly, and there’s something about the Coconut Teaszer that brings out the true rock ‘n’ roll in all of us--or at least the rock ‘n’ roll stereotypes.

At a recent performance by Creepazoid--a motley Doors-ian-sounding crew that favors devilish, horror imagery--a smoke machine had gone very wrong, choking everyone in its path on the noxious fumes. No matter, folks were just as happy to give their eardrums a break on the Teaszer’s outdoor patio, the club’s one bona fide saving grace. Not only does the patio allow you to catch your breath and order one of those fishbowls o’ beer without screaming, but you get to revel in the timelessness of both place and populace.

It’s uncanny how well the clientele matches the venue. Standing by billboards advertising bands long since defunct, the guests are still wearing their “Appetite for Destruction” duds: men in bandannas, leather studs, skin-tight black pants a few sizes larger than back in their glory days. It’s no longer appealing, but reveals a certain dedication to the genre. The women are mostly poster girls for “Trashy Lingerie”: thrashed blond hair and daisy dukes that probably looked great back in the day, but now reveal thighs that might be better left to the imagination. After a few minutes, it’s quite clear that if rock ‘n’ roll does make a comeback (and believe me, baby, I’m betting on it), it won’t be at the Teaszer. It’ll migrate to the hot spots hitting the Hollywood map--the upcoming Vynyl, the new Playroom, the Viper Room. But the Teaszer still will be giving bands their first gigs and out-of-town groups their easiest shot at playing the Strip.

It’s true, I wouldn’t be sad if the whole place was gutted and renovated into a rock ‘n’ roll palace, a very real concept when one considers the competition looming in Hollywood. But there’s something about the Teaszer that’s gotten under my skin. Maybe it’s how nice people are here, from dedicated owner Len Fagan to the guy who puts on the wristbands at the door to the bartenders. Or maybe it’s that feeling of comfort--at knowing just what you’re going to get each time you walk in the door. Well, whatever it is, we won’t have to worry about losing that loving feeling. Because if some “Planet of the Apes” future does await Los Angeles, it’s safe to say, the Teaszer will be the last thing standing.

BE THERE

Coconut Teaszer, 8117 Sunset Blvd., West Hollywood, (323) 654-4773. 18 and older. Cover varies.