Dream Sequence
Light at the end of the summer.
Last night I drove through the gates of the Hollywood Forever Cemetery just before dark. In my car was a close friend since fourth grade. We both have two young children. We both run businesses. We both surf. We both don’t get out like this much anymore.
This setup may seem pretty mundane and uninteresting at first. But the series of events that take place once we drive through those beautiful gates and onto the grounds is so surreal and dreamlike I continue to watch the one 30 second video I took to confirm it all really happened.
My month leading up to last night has been crazy and deflating and epic all at the same time. The rollercoaster of a busy and sweaty time of year. But I had my eyes on last night for a while — hoping it would represent some sort of transcendent evolution from hot annoying summer into the good stuff. A summer of sunburns, live music, beach days, beach houses, boat days, sunshine and warm nights. It was a portal to the good part.
The week started with a domestic thud I won’t subject you to but perseverance and big wave hold downs are only training for the rogue sets of the day-to-day. Don’t fight it they say…
But right now, I’m convinced it may all be a dream anyway. After parking my car next to a woman named Khana’s grave — died, March 2026 — we paid our respects with a bow and walked toward the sound of live music in the distance.
A flock of massive peacocks jumped around in the tree above us as we walked through the graveyard. Large shadowy bulges in the trees as large as turkeys. I thought of Edgar Allan Poe. I thought of Dracula. I thought this couldn’t be real.
Then we walked through a beautiful archway and were greeted by two attractive and young women with scanners. They scanned my phone, told us the bar was upstairs to the right and the show to the left. The building was breathtaking and the sound of loud rock music pulsated.
“Don’t worry, this is the first song, you’re right on time,” a man welcoming us in said. There was no line anywhere, no other people milling about, just a beautiful courtyard with a fountain gushing and a bar and show upstairs allegedly. Is Stanley Kubrick filming this or something? My eyes wide shut.
We entered, were handed ice cold bottles of Stella Artois, walked through another archway and into the show. On stage an ethereal Danish man slithered around the cord of his microphone howling lyrics beneath the vaulted plaster and elaborate chandelier. Iceage was on.
I’ve written extensively about this band’s evolution and my connection. Seeing them is always a highlight, but this venue and the night’s surreal and easy entry for myself and a childhood friend still didn’t feel real. It got even weirder when a filmmaker I recently sent to Tahiti walked in behind me, followed by long time friend and filmmaker and photographer Michael Cukr. All here to enjoy the show, but all in awe of the beautiful experience of entering the night’s portal.
My problem with summer and society and the general state of things right now is usually attributed to things like parking, crowds, people with no bodily autonomy, lack of care, drive, intention, attention and manners. Filthy streets and the stench of marijuana on everything. The general public has me down.
But last night I was reminded of what can happen when a rock show is hosted at a beautiful venue that holds only 150 people in the middle of Hollywood — where tickets were still only $25 each! It was all a dream!
The crowd inside was energetic but not obnoxious. People were dancing, enjoying, not filming every song. They simply enjoyed the surroundings. The moment. It felt entirely original. An environment you can’t bottle, you just swim through it and remember the feeling of experience.
I didn’t know this still happened anymore, and as I entered my state of reverie watching Elias Rønnenfelt dance across the stage in front of his methodically rhythmic bandmates, I remembered why we go outside. Why it’s worth it to enter the real world beyond the bits and bytes of whatever it is we fill our days with. Why we travel. Why we go tangle ourselves up and throw parties and go on surf trips and go see live music and do things that are harder than scrolling and can sometimes be just as likely to implode as be successful. We do it for moments like last night.
Whether it was all real or not, I still do not know. I keep looking for clues in the one 30 second video I allowed myself to shoot of my favorite song on the new album. Clues that it was real. Clues that I did in fact snap out of my summer somnambulance. Clues that this is real life. Clues that we’re all going to make it. And it is all worth the hassle.—Travis Ferré
Above art: And Then We Saw the Daughter of the Minotaur, by Leonora Carrington, 1953.