PREP IT UP
HOW TO HANDLE AN EAST COAST DRESS CODE WITH A SANTA BARBARA CLOSET, P.40
GETTING GRITTY
ARTIST WALLACE PIATT PARTIED, GOT PAID, LOST IT ALL AND LIVED TO TELL ABOUT IT, P.12
SANTA BARBARA
VO L U M E 2 | I S S U E 3 5 | S E P T E M B E R 1 3 – 2 0 | 2 0 1 3
once a week from pier to peak
W W W. S A N TA B A R B A R A S E N T I N E L .CO M
AMPING UP ANACAPA
by MATT MASSA
Confessions of a Wannabe Rock God
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Hindu SCHOOLED BY FATHER FOR THEmonastics FOLK FINGERER OR THE PUNK PICKER, OF resistance flexibility RESULTs AXEMAN JAMIE FALETTI STRINGSget THEM, STRUMS THEM AND SERVES THEM UPMUST AT GUITAR BAR THAT EVEN AGNOSTICS ACKNOWLEDGE 8 DAYS A WEEK PAGE 10
PRESIDIOSPORTS PAGE 18
VALLEY GIRL PAGE 35
he rock and roll lifestyle has always appealed to me. Creative collaboration, touring, jamming, raising hell… it just feels like my thing. I imagine that it would generally satisfy my insatiable wanderlust, keep me busy and out of serious trouble (ha!) and just be something I could really sink my teeth into and nail. But instead I’m a lawyer. The damned antithesis of rock and roll. So where did it all go so wrong? Easy. It was the fourth grade. It went to hell in the fourth grade. I remember it like it was yesterday. I absolutely loved music; I loved talking about it, I loved listening to it, I loved playing it. I even loved reading it. I also loved the trumpet. The very loud and potentially hugely obnoxious trumpet. Unfortunately, I didn’t exactly love authority as much as I loved all things music. (Rock and roll, baby.) And so, one day in band class, during a quiet moment when the quite strict, quasimilitant teacher was working with the string section, I blew hard into that ...continued p.5
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