LA Weekly Best of LA 2004
โBest Acoustic Music Hideawayโ by Joy Nicholson
Paul Kulak is unsuited for this century โ maybe any century, but certainly this one. With his lumberjackโs physique and azure eyes, itโs easy to imagine him as a former All American javelin thrower. Harder to imagine are the five years and many thousand dollars heโs spent in his mission to provide โgreat, free, live singer-songwriter music for all.โ โItโs hard to believe the quality of the musicians that show up sometimes,โ says Alex Del Zoppo of the band Sweetwater. Both the Woodshedโs regulars and first-timers agree thereโs nothing else quite like it. โItโs almost a miracle when someone does something just for the love of it,โ one newcomer says. โIโll be back. I love this place.โ
Kulak, who lives in a one-room apartment and โnever has a nickel in the bank,โ says, โIโm just not a commercial person. The Woodshed isnโt about money. I just want it to be a pure labor of love.โ A common enough desire for a college student, but Kulak is no 18-year-old idealist; heโs 44 this year. His North Hollywood storefront has been described as both a club and a second living room for musicians and geniuses. In any case, itโs more Das Kapital than venture capital โ L.A.โs most alternative place to chat, laugh, listen and generally โworship the song.โ
On a typical Monday open-mike night, there are 40 or so fans milling around the โstageโ โ a green Oriental rug on the floor. A friendly fivesome reclines on a canopy bed in the corner; others settle into mismatched chairs, worn couches. The dรฉcor is visual jambalaya, every cranny crowded with bookshelves, fish tanks, stuffed animals, mirrors, framed poems, CDs, albums, stickers, even a pet bullfrog named Dufus.
On the higher-tech side are six video cameras ever scanning the room. Mounted on tripods, jib arms and an ingenious dolly system incorporating copper plumbing and an inverted skateboard, the cameras send out live Webcasts in the highest-quality audio and video found anywhere on the Internet. โThe musicians might be playing some hole in the wall in North Hollywood,โ Kulak says, in his trademark, laconic voice, โbut theyโre being watched in Iceland, in the Malay Archipelago, in Texarkana. We get e-mails from everywhere in the world.โ
Understandably, remote viewers log in to check out the lineup, but being in the room, inches away from the performers, is best of all. The Woodshedโs casual ambiance is like a party, except no one is drunk and everyone is friendly. Women and shy people feel at ease when alone. Young and old amble in with dogs, books, guitars. There is no alcohol sold, and in fact, nothing sold โ no cover charge, no valet parking, no wait staff, just an honor system for the tea and coffee offered in back.
Supported solely by donations, volunteers and Kulakโs job renting editing equipment, โThis place is my soul turned inside out.โ While describing his reverence for โwoodsheddingโ โ working on the craft of songwriting โ Kulak smiles through a charming slight underbite. โIโve always loved to hear good singer-songwriters,โ he says, โbut I felt unwelcome in other clubs and coffeehouses.โ
Deciding regular music venues put too much emphasis on using performers as bait to attract an audience and make more money, Kulak opened the Woodshed in December 1999, so โgreat artists who should be famous but might not beโ can play straight from the heart. Word of mouth quickly spread: The unusual venue became one of the most celebrated singer-songwriter hangouts in L.A. A former singer-songwriter himself, he has the greatest appreciation for struggling musicians and their often-unsung lives. Heโs hopeful, yet philosophical, about whether the Woodshed can survive.
โItโs a struggle to keep going, sure. But then I watch the Woodshed video archives, and once again Iโm reminded that this is just too special to let go of.โ