I love the review in pitchfork:
The film writer David Thomson once posited the secret genre of movies where nothing really happens. Meet Me in St Louis, where the Smith family almost moves to New York-- but then doesn't. Or Rio Bravo, where there's supposedly some business about a jailbreak or something, but the film is really about Howard Hawks, John Wayne, and Dean Martin sitting around on a Hollywood set wisecracking, flirting with Angie Dickinson, singing the occasional song with Ricky Nelson, and not quite believing their luck that they get paid for this.
I can imagine Little Joy as one of those movies. Here's the storyline: Fab has just split up with his Hollywood royalty squeeze, and while drowning his sorrows at some insanely lucrative half-hour festival appearance in Portugal, winds up knocking back Casa Nobles backstage with a Brazilian named Rodrigo Amarante... Fab digs Rodrigo's slow sad croon, which floats on a breeze blown all the way from his own childhood back in Brazil. They hatch a plan to hook up some time back in L.A.
Soon enough they catch up again, jamming at Devendra Banhart's pad up in Topanga (possible part for Russell Brand?), and decide to get a place down in Echo Park, work on some songs and see what happens. By now Fab has hooked up with this broad Binki Shapiro--crazy cute, with a voice like summer wine. The three of them spend their afternoons hanging out a down-at-heel neighborhood bar (it's called Little Joy), mixing their own cocktails, strumming on ukuleles, and singing along to a jukebox stuffed with Brazilian bossa nova, Portuguese fado, Julie London ballads, some early Mazzy Star, one of those Spanish Jonathan Richman albums, and the Velvet Underground's Loaded. And that's it... and it's pretty great.
PS. Next week my "Endless Summer/Wishful Thinking" mix on 8tracks. In the meantime, check out T for Texas, which I neglected to actually publish when I posted it last month.