Editorial
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Welcome to the neighborhood of Echo Park. A visual reference point for consciously clad hipsters, flanneled Cholos with a penchant for paint markers; yet more importantly, a time-honored community of heterogeneous political, social and economic backgrounds. The unique makeup of its inhabitants come to represent a microcosm of Los Angeles’ ‘niche culture,’ a boundless phenomenon that thrives in this horizontal metropolis, cross-sectioned by serpentine freeways.

While the neighborhood is centrally located (a heartbeat away from Downtown) it still manages to retain its geographical personality, nestled unassumingly in Northeast LA, bordered on the east by Elysian Park (home to Dodger Stadium) and on the west by Silverlake. The seclusion afforded by steep roads and hillside chaparral is further obscured by an irrational transportation system that never fully updated with the rest of the city. More than two dozen goliath concrete stairways climb ad infinitum up precipitous hills, offering a panoramic view of the Griffith Park Observatory and the skyscrapers of Downtown. Turn-of-the-century Victorians and sprawling Craftsmans are newly restored and gentrified. Yet wedged in between lay squat one-bedroom bungalows occupied by the lower-incomes. A string of mom-and-pop stores run by Latinos line the bustling boulevard on Sunset, while a hipster oasis thrives along Echo Park Avenue.

By the early 1990s, its more visible neighbor, Silverlake, had placed itself squarely on the map due to its burgeoning indie-rock scene and as a consequence enjoyed steep hikes in real estate value. At first glance, Echo Park’s urban development seems to follow a similar logic; however, that’s a shallow presumption when justifying the neighborhood’s artistic and multiethnic panoply as a result of recent gentrification. Echo Park’s folk has a history that delves far deeper than the eponymous lake that marks its region. Nearly a century before, this small town had undergone various incarnations and became one of the longest-standing bastions of iconoclasm, a history that undulated through generations of artists, ethnic minorities, and freethinkers.

A passionate quest that would eventually develop Los Angeles into the film capital of the nation. Located on Glendale Boulevard, Mack Sennett’s legendary Keystone Studio brought the American public the mischievous antics of Charlie Chaplin and Fatty Arbuckle. During the height of the Silent Film era, images of the neighborhood became a flickering celluloid backdrop for such memorable comedic episodes as those featured on the Three Stooges, Our Gang, and Laurel & Hardy. Despite the success of the studio, when the nation was on the cusp of World War I, the Los Angeles film industry decided to lumber westward and sink its roots into the Hollywood Hills.

As the film community parted ways, a significant influx of Communists and Progressives moved into Echo Park, earning it the maligned moniker, “Red Gulch.” Due to its tolerant political clime, several blacklisted filmmakers and actors took refuge in the hills in the late 40’s to escape the persecution of McCarthyism. A young John Huston was rumored to have bought his home around that time, while political activists claimed the streets, espousing incendiary statements against the prevailing conservatism of the time.

As sudden as the bright flare of a matchstick, the socialist movement burned out with the mid-century postwar exodus. Droves of middle-class families began migrating to suburban enclaves, far from the epicenter of Los Angeles, and assumed new identities of glorified banality; left in their wake was a densely packed Latino population. Although not as vocal as the people of the “Red Gulch,” the Spanish-speaking community boasted the most prominent ethnic group in the neighborhood. Their cultural significance was and continues to be an important aspect of Echo Park’s political consciousness.

Nonetheless, largely marginalized, the youth from the poorer Latino families fell to the wayside and consequently joined the local gangs; the most prominent of these was the Echo Park Cholos (a generational ‘band of outsiders’ which extended back to the 30’s). They militantly patrolled the streets and tagged on abandoned and occupied buildings alike — ubiquitous “EXP”s scrawled in metallic shades of black and silver. Despite the violent backlash, Latino entrepreneurship blossomed as colorful panaderias , pupuserias and mobile taco trucks popped up along the crowded streets, institutions that exist to this day.

Then the freewheeling age of the 60’s counterculture movement bled into the receptive neighborhood, generating yet another resurgence of creative energy. Concentrated groups of freethinkers ushered in, especially in the form of musicians, craftsmen, poets and writers. Some of the town’s most famous residents included Tom Waits, Jackson Browne, and Frank Zappa. The neighborhood of Echo Park even lured Charles Bukowski from the blue-collared beachside of San Pedro to its dive bars and side street cafes.

These time-wearied streets oversaw the errant and uprooted childhood of a young boy who would later grow up to be famed painter Jackson Pollack; and they also bore witness to the death of tortured folk singer, Elliott Smith, tragically found with mortal stab wounds to his heart. Thus concluding another chapter of Echo Park’s profound folk history.

EVIL MONITO FOLK:
Evil Monito (EM) established its studio in 2007 in a space which formerly operated as a carnicería (a Mexican butcher shop). We never intended to open up a physical space, yet we were immediately attracted to the quaint charm of Echo Park. It only made sense for EM to lay down it roots in a location heavily steeped in cultural history yet relatively young in its creative commercial niche.

Now that EM has made this neighborhood its home, we want to take pause and reflect on our role as an editorial/design studio within this community. What does a true neighborhood entail in this day and age? When dealing with this question, we find ourselves closely examining the ever-evolving relationship between the local and global spheres. Its imaginary line is further blurred by technology, rendered indistinguishable. We are also aware of how transient communities truly are, evidenced by the multitudes of cultural movements that spawn and die in the virtual realm overnight. It no longer makes sense to fix our neighborhoods within static zip codes; so maybe it’s time we discard such dated tools and find other means of understanding our place within the growing global community. The new concept of our neighborhood constitutes a collective state of mind, a mental geography, if you will — whose boundaries shift like the sea currents, contingent upon the information we choose to consume online.

After a three-year editorial hiatus, EM Magazine, through Issue No. 22, continues the folk tradition by representing not only our home turf in Echo Park but recounting the stories of disparate neighborhoods from all over the world that mirror the collective consciousness of the EM community. Among the stories featured in the month of May is an interview with T. C. Boyle, one of the most prolific writers on the West Coast, as well an intimate conversation with Mulatu Astatke, the master of Ethio-Jazz, among others.

Hope you enjoy!