Hell’s Belles
Michael Collins | Sep 22, 2009 | Comments 0
Dawn Wilde is ready to rock!
But intimidation does not daunt Denise Anne. She has faced more formidable opponents in her life, and so have I. Besides, the girl’s got rhythm and she likes rock and roll. So a few weeks ago when I saw my friend Falling James Moreland’s LA Weekly calendar notice about an upcoming AC-DC concert in Anaheim, I knew what I had to do:
For those about to rock, we salute you, but bring earplugs: An AC/DC concert causes the kind of nonstop ringing in your head where, the next day, you want to apologize to everyone nearby, thinking they must be hearing it, too,” wrote Falling James, who gigs in the seminal punk band he founded, The Leaving Trains. “It’s that loud.”
AC-DC in Orange County.
Explosions, flames and fireworks. “Highway to Hell” and “Thunderstruck.” Perchorate, heavy metals, and strontium. “You Shook Me All Night Long” and “The Jack.” Sulfur, aluminum powder and iron powder. “Dog Eat Dog” and “Givin’ the Dog a Bone”. Charcoal, magnesium, gums, and organic plastic binders (dioxins). “Back in Black” and “For Those About to Rock (We Salute You).”
Rock 'n' Roll Train
Head banging rock and roll for the most devoted heavy metal fans guaranteed to damage your hearing and pollute the arena with clouds of airborne goo. The most awesome show on the road this year was going to roll into Anaheim with all its beery, low-brow, devil horned glory. Falling James was right – let there be rock!
Denise Anne’s birthday was just days away and AC-DC is one of her favorite bands. I jumped on the phone and scored two of the sweetest seats in Anaheim’s Honda Center Arena, just 50 feet from the side of the stage. Now all I had to do was keep it a secret from the birthday babe.
Or babes. Denise Anne, on top of all things else, is a performance artist and graphic novel cartoonist. She has created 22 (and counting) distinct personas, all hot, fun and wicked. Each girl has come with musical soundtracks that fits her style. Call them Hell’s Belles Symphonies. And indeed, AC-DC has more cuts on more of her compilations than any other band.
The one bad girl that just had to go to AC-DC with me was Dawn Wilde, a live wire from the Mojave Desert disaster of a town called Trona. Dawn says she was born outside of the nearly-deserted ghost town of Amboy, in a lime green Ford Econoline van by the chloride canals south of town.
Livin' large in Trona
This desert doll spends her days in a trailer expertly painted with a huge American flag. “If you are a patriot, you are welcome into my trailer,” Dawn says. “Just be bringing a case of Old Milwaukee N.A. and a carton of menthols or we’re gonna have a problem, Mike. Desert’s a dry place.”
Ms. Wilde’s wild ways scandalized the pages of Los Angeles CityBeat in a September 2007 gonzo piece called “Dawn in Desert Wonderland” where Dawn taught me the mysteries of the Mojave:
Dawn looked lovely. Her golden ponytail stuck out of the back of her USA baseball cap, a rhinestone cross dangled from her neck, and that white ribbed tank top barely covered the rough-and-tumble tattoos that adorned her back, including one of an eagle and black panther in a deadly embrace. Far below her tattered jean miniskirt, she wore cheap black heels with a broken strap. She was a crackup, and her squeals of delight danced through the cool desert air.
We looked into the inky, bejeweled night. The only signs of life were the distant headlights and dim roar of pickup trucks careening to God knows where.
“So what do you do out here in the desert?” I asked.
“Ah, Mike,” she said with a laugh, “We don’t do the desert – the desert does us!”
Filed Under: Blog • EnviroReporter
