Sound Studios: An Oral History with Poppy Silverman

I will never forget the faces of my three friends as we walked into Sound Studios for the first time. We were fresh faced teenagers—awkwardly stunted by the isolation we experienced in the Covid years of our adolescence—and as we were recently exhumed from quarantine, we were more than desperate for some kind of fun. This weekend’s plan was found by my friend Ashley, whose coworker had spread the word about a local show she would be attending. It was a far cry from my usual weekend plans—as my life was strictly monitored by first-generation Arab parents who forbade me from even having a sleepover until I was 18—with bands I had never heard of on the bill and a location that was mysterious to say the least. Still, I was very affected by the adrenaline of our teenage rebellion, and I was determined to go.

A poster for one Sound Studios show, posted by Addy Idol with the caption "pu let's get [B]azy."

When we arrived at what looked like a shady warehouse in Van Nuys, we were petrified. Dropped off into the darkness by our Uber driver, we saw nothing that distinguished this suspicious parking lot from any others our mothers had warned us about with a fear-mongering Facebook post. The only thing that confirmed we were in the right place was the two flamboyantly dressed strangers we saw enter the building. Draped in only fur coats, they stumbled to the door, each holding a beer and howling with sing-song laughter; we could do nothing but follow.

I stepped through the door hesitantly, clutching my ten dollar cover fee with shaky hands from our “nerv-cited” and slightly tipsy energy. It was then that we entered what we now knew as “Sound Studios,” for the first time. In Pamela des Barres’s writing she often describes sacred spiritual moments as her “solar plexus” expanding.  I can safely say that my first Sound Studios show fried my solar plexus like a live wire to a telephone pole. 

The outside of Sound Studios, taken from Yelp user "Dana B."

Upon entry, I was jolted as two beautifully wild teenagers whizzed past, screaming in drunken delight. An unassuming hallway led to a larger “living room” complete with its own worse for wear couch and family pictures on the walls (which were actually signed record plaques and posters of nu-metal bands). Fred Durst’s face watched omnipotently over the teenage rebellion that carouseled past, immediately explaining the couch’s dingy appearance. We arrived late and were blissfully unaware that this particular show was an album release for the artist Addy Idol, the same flamboyant stranger we had entered behind moments prior. Such a special event required adequate amenities for celebration, and given the predatory Dionysian nature of  Idol—which we weren’t yet aware of—$2 watered down Fireball shots were sold to the underage Sound Studios sprites. We ran to that fold up table like we had found the fountain of youth.

 My friends and I coyly split our tens—from the cover fee we never ended up paying— into enough to get each of us a shot. My naive brain was completely undeterred by the upcharge, viewing the drainer who sold me the shot as the epitome of Grecian hospitality. 

The night was a whirlwind of fast and fleeting friends, posing with the miniature statue of liberty, trial and error of “pit etiquette,” and trespassing in open rehearsal studios where we flailed around to the discordant sound of broken drums. Many people we met in those rehearsal rooms became legends to us; including one fellow we called “cow-pants” who ended up becoming one of my favorite local artists, Persona non Grata.

The Picture of Freedom: A teenaged Josie Lafontant poses with Lady Liberty at Sound Studios.

When we finally made our way to the main stage we saw an act called “Whoremones,” a name that we had excitedly giggled about during lunch and who appeared to us now in an epic fury. They were unforgettable, with a lead singer who commanded the crowd fiercely, stage antics that seemed to be taken straight from the Sex Pistols tv show (I will never forget Whoremones lead singer, Pascale, shouting “Nobody touch my cigarette!” at the crowd, and sticking it into their pant’s pocket), and a band that pounded into their instruments with a guttural adolescent rage.

Whoremones's drummer, Poppy Silverman, playing in the "main room."

Returning home this Winter break, I felt a great emptiness for all that had faded in my absence: there were no shows being played by bands that I loved as a teenager and in our older age, we no longer had to sneak around. I fell back on the rose-gold coloured memories of Sound Studios to remind me of the “good ole days” and with my newfound journalistic intent put it upon myself to document something that was so important to me. 

I got to work, collecting photos of our first night and recalling stories with my friends through copious laughter. Still, all I had to work with were the few trips we took to the rehearsal studio, so I moved on to the internet. I found that—true to its decor—the rehearsal studio was founded in 2007 to provide a space for upcoming and established bands in the San Fernando Valley. While their official website doesn’t reveal much, Facebook and Yelp paint a picture truer to my impression of the space; with reviews that praise the studio for their amenities, others that critique the drum kits that have seen better days, and even some that accuse the workers of committing credit card theft. With only the name to lead my search, I quickly hit a wall. Until, by a stroke of fate, I met Poppy Silverman at a small get together at a friend’s house. 

Taken from Whoremones's show at famous LA venue, the Moroccan Lounge.

Silverman served as the drummer for Whoremones from its inception—learning to play the drums only a month before. She’d known lead singer, Pascale Dominique, since middle school but it was her boyfriend at the time who suggested Silverman join the band after Dominique made a post about the open position. She reluctantly joined, holding reservations about her short time playing the instrument. However, she quickly relaxed into the role after a talk with the rest of the band where they promised her they’d “learn together.” She spent two years playing with Whoremones—leaving just last year to attend RISD—and appears on their 2024 EP, Hydrangea. Silverman holds two composer credits on the EP, one for the opener “Trashman” and another on the song “Skiing Trip,” which both highlight her drumming as a dynamic, driving force for the punk foursome. 

In our nostalgic recollection of the forgotten venue, I found that Silverman first heard of the venue when Whoremones were asked to play. Although their first show there had a lackluster turnout, she knew it was special, “ I was like, something's up with this place… people are recording while you're playing in the studio…it's overrun with kids like drinking and smoking in the doors.” We discussed the “lawless” environment that was cultivated at Sound Studios and how that differentiated it from other venues, with Silverman attributing it to the lax management at the time that gave the majority teen audience full reign to create their own Lord of the Flies environment. She shared her own experience of the chaos, stating, “I remember it being, like, incredibly chaotic. We had to wrangle people indoors. I know a kid that lost his virginity in the bathroom like it was that ridiculous. Everybody's smoking and putting their stuff out on the carpet. It was just like, incredibly lawless and very fun.” 

But as Robert Frost proverbalized “Nothing gold can stay,” and unfortunately Sound Studios was no exception. Silverman credits the new management of the space to its eventual downfall as a local venue, “They didn't want shows anymore. Kids were too rowdy…There were a couple more shows after the new management came in, but…that essence was gone, and nobody fucked with it. And then we all let it go.” Although it only lived for about a year, the charm of Sound Studios was never lost on either of us, with Silverman summing it up perfectly: “The magical qualities are just like…it's in this weird part of town that, like, for some reason, is close to everyone…It attracted people from all these different scenes, and we were all the same age at the time…we were all, like, 16 or 17, years old getting access to a space like this. Yeah, it was like a random abuse of power by like, really young people. And I think that's what was so fun about it.” 

 After my first trip, I took friends back to Sound Studios where they always left disappointed due to my gross overhype of the dingy rehearsal space. I just couldn’t help it! I heard their complaints but I could never see what they saw; I was too blinded by a place that to me was a beacon, blazing the fire of a freedom I’d never experienced before. Sound Studios seemed to fade away from us sometime during senior year. We heard talks of some “final show,” but we were all busy, and so Sound Studios got away without a proper send-off. There were other venues that came and went: we rubbed elbows at the Lodge Room, screamed our lungs out at the Troubadour, and gave our parents heart attacks at 1720. Still though, nothing surpassed the explosive impact that Sound Studios had on me, and I’m grateful I got the chance for this last goodbye.

R.I.P. Sound Studios; Forever in our hearts, forever in our memories.

Special thank you to Poppy Silverman for her time and beautiful stories.

Sound as Ever,

Grace Abdayem