desert

TONOPAH, Nev. — Some years ago, Harry Chahal and his wife were on a trip to Las Vegas when, like countless motorists before and since, they passed through this high desert speck of a town.

Tonopah, built by the mining industry around 1900 and depleted as the gold, silver, lead and mercury waned, is a remote way station about halfway between Reno and Las Vegas. Signs on either side warn — ominously, given the unforgiving expanse ahead — that once you’ve left, the nearest gas station is not for another 100 miles or so.

Harry Chahal opened hometown pizza in 2015 after driving through town and seeing there was no pizza place.

(Mark Z. Barabak / Los Angeles Times)

As he passed through town, Chahal noticed something missing: a pizza parlor.

Pizza is not generally associated with Punjab, India, where Chahal — given name Harvarinderjit — is originally from. But he learned how to make pizza, and how much customers loved gobbling it up, while working at different gas station mini-marts around rural Nevada.

In that absence, Chahal saw opportunity.

He and his wife, Ravinder, moved to Tonopah and in 2015 opened Hometown Pizza in a vacant building on U.S. Route 95, which runs through the heart of town. Ten years later, they bought the Dream Inn Motel, a 39-room operation just up the road.

Views of the 47th president, from the ground up

Lately, Chahal has been sprucing up the motor inn: new cabinets, new furniture, fresh paint every few months. The reason is President Trump.

Tonopah and the surrounding desert, stretching farther than the eye can reckon, is verging on a boom, owing to vast reserves of lithium, boron and other sought-after materials and a Trump administration promise to turn the U.S., in the words of Interior Secretary Doug Burgum, into “a mineral powerhouse once again.”

Chahal, 40, is a repeat Trump voter and even though he has issues with some of what the president has done — he’s not happy about the war with Iran and inflation has taken a decent-sized bite out of his pizza business — he feels his faith in Republicans in general and Trump in particular have paid off.

A registered nonpartisan, Chahal is fairly apolitical. “I vote for Republicans because they’re better for business,” he said as a lunch-time crowd of locals and folks passing through tucked into the $11.99 pizza-and-salad buffet. Here’s proof: In the last year, Chahal said, he’s seen motel occupancy increase significantly, from around 15 rooms rented each night to 25 or more.

Those fresh touches to the Dream Inn are Chahal’s investment in the future and a belief that, with Trump in office, even better times lie ahead.

Tonopah was built as a mining town around 1900. It’s fortunes have waxed and mostly waned.

(Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)

::

For much of its being, Tonopah relied on metal, minerals and other valuables scooped from the earth. Today, government is the largest employer.

But mining continues to hold fast to the town’s imagination.

A headframe — that’s the tower built directly over an underground mine shaft — is part of Tonopah’s logo. Mining-related sculptures, including statues of Jim and Belle Butler, who staked the first claim in the 20th century silver rush, dot the main thoroughfare. The high school’s athletes are called the “Muckers,” after those who shovel ore into underground rail cars.

The Tonopah Historic Mining Park is a big tourist attraction, along with the Clown Motel and other lodging establishments supposedly haunted by the ghosts of dead miners and other paranormal phenomena. (Chahal says there are no apparitions at the Dream Inn.)

The Clown Motel, which draws visitors from around the world, is said to be haunted by the ghosts of dead miners.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

Lately, however, mining is becoming more than just a part of nostalgic lore. It’s poised to again be a major boon to the local economy and the town’s 3,000 residents.

Plans are underway for a new lithium and boron mine at Rhyolite Ridge, approximately 30 miles southwest of Tonopah, in Nevada’s Silver Peak Range. (Lithium, most of which is now imported, is a vital ingredient in the batteries that store solar energy and power electric vehicles; boron is used, among other things, for bulletproof armor and vests.)

About 27 miles to the south of Tonopah, near the town of Goldfield, a new gold mine is set to open in 2028.

Joe Westerlund, Tonopah’s town manager, said fresh development and the prospect of hundreds of new, good-paying jobs are much welcomed. The median income here is about $37,000 annually, less than half the state average. The hospital in town closed in 2015. Venture off U.S. 95 and the rolling hills are flecked with weathered miner’s cottages and tumbledown homes no longer fit for habitation.

(A three-bedroom, two-bath home in a comfy subdivision on the north end of town can be had for around $250,000, but don’t hurry over to buy; inventory is low and could grow even leaner if demand for housing increases.)

The Tonopah Historic Mining Park is a big local tourist attraction.

(Mark Z. Barabak / Los Angeles Times)

While some of the groundwork for the mining resurgence was laid during the Biden administration, Trump is credited with fostering a much friendlier regulatory environment, which promises even more opportunities for extraction.

“As soon as he got into office, things started loosening up. We had 15 drill rigs,” said Westerlund, who has lived in Tonopah since 1972. “I had never seen that before in my life.”

There are, of course, environmental concerns — about pollution, water supply, native habitat — but those worries haven’t gained much of a toehold. Nye County, which is home to Tonopah, isn’t exactly tree-hugger country — and not just because most of the land is scrub-filled desert. Trump carried Nye County all three times he ran, with landslide support ranging from 68% to 70%.

“This is a pro-Trump town,” Westerlund said, “and I feel like his policies are doing good for the town.”

Chahal stands ready to cash in, knowing firsthand what economic good times feel like.

The Mizpah hotel, opened in 1908, offers the plushest accommodations in town.

(Chris Erskine / Los Angeles Times)

When he moved here in 2014, he and his wife were forced to stay in a motel for six months because workers finishing up a $1 billion solar energy project were taking up most of the living space. That’s the kind of extended-stay guest he’s after, not the tourists bedding at the Mizpah Hotel, the plushest resort in town, with its cut-glass chandeliers, Victorian furnishings and photo gallery of celebrities who’ve stayed the night.

“If I can rent 25 rooms a night, maybe 15 can be for the long term” of several weeks at a time, Chahal said. He’s done the math — $82 a night for a queen bed, single occupancy; $89 for a king — and likes how it pencils out.

::

Chahal came to the U.S. in 2006, after marrying Ravinder, who grew up in the Sacramento area. She had family in Punjab and was a regular visitor to India. The two met when they were 10 years old. Chahal became an American citizen in 2020.

Politically, Indian Americans lean heavily toward the Democratic Party. But in the tiny Nevada communities where the couple lived — Lovelock, Battle Mountain and Ely before Tonopah — there was little or no Indian American presence. So Chahal wasn’t acculturated into the party the way many others have been. Rather, he embraced the GOP gospel of lower taxes and less regulation.

Working seven days a week, Chahal has little time these days for politics, beyond voting. He isn’t particularly ideological or, for that matter, worshipful of Trump.

“Every coin has a head and a tail,” he said, flipping his wrist as though tossing a quarter in the air. He sees two sides to the president. “Maybe you’re angry for some things,” Chahal said. “Maybe you agree with some things.”

He supports the notion of tariffs as a way of bringing manufacturing jobs back to the U.S. He also laments that the pizza boxes he uses, which are made in China, once cost him 30 cents and now run almost 67 cents apiece.

He backs Trump’s promise to round up and deport violent criminals who are in the country illegally. But he’s also mindful of the important role immigrants play, especially in areas like farming and construction, in sustaining the U.S. economy.

Chahal criticized the heavy-handed enforcement that resulted in the killing of two protesters in Minnesota. But he blamed their deaths on overzealous ICE agents, not Trump.

Living in a town greatly shaped by outside forces — the fluctuation of commodity prices, the changing of presidential administrations, the shifting priorities emanating from Washington — Chahal is familiar with vicissitudes and the business cycles of boom and bust.

Not everything Trump has done has helped the mining industry.

His tariffs and inflation have greatly increased construction costs. Cuts to the federal workforce have slowed the oversight and approval processes. His hostility toward green energy has dampened the market for electric vehicles and made solar energy considerably less attractive.

But based on the talk around town, Chahal believes a more prosperous future is in the offing. He certainly hopes so, and he’s counting on the president to deliver.

If the Constitution allowed for a third term, Chahal said, he wouldn’t hesitate voting for Trump again.

Forty-eight days, 16 hours, 57 minutes and 12 seconds after a virus transforms humanity into a blissful symbiotic horde, one of its survivors, Carol (Rhea Seehorn), treats a rooftop as a personal driving range — the golf balls shattering a neighboring building’s windows. “If you’re alone for 40 days, you’re going to go a bit crazy and be lonely,” says “Pluribus” cinematographer Paul Donachie of the series’ aesthetic, which finds surreal beauty in bland desert urbanism emptied of people. “We searched Albuquerque to find the right kind of rooftop and building to frame her in light, but with darkness around her,” he says. “We’re putting her in this box before revealing what she’s aiming at.” Along with a looser framing, shadow and contrast highlight loneliness and emotional ambiguity. As another survivor (Carlos-Manuel Vesga) makes the long journey in search of Carol, “what was interesting about this particular episode was there was no dialogue and we’re telling two little stories of what’s going on emotionally with each person,” Donachie notes. “She is trying to enjoy it and take her mind off it. But I think there’s frustration not knowing what the hell is going on in the world.”

Candles flickered on long wooden tables beneath a sprawling mulberry tree as Matt French stepped in front of the doorway of his sleek Pioneertown home, holding a drink aloft. Dressed in fitted jeans and a dark western shirt, he welcomed the roughly 60 guests who had assembled in his front yard for the kickoff event of the High Desert Art Fair that would take over the 19-room Pioneertown Motel he owns with his brother Mike.

“We’re super honored to be hosting this event and hosting tonight,” said Matt, addressing a crowd that included local artists, musicians and well-heeled art world types from L.A. “This is the exact kind of event that we want to have in the desert.”

Although the French brothers were not directly involved in the art fair itself, the evening’s itinerary had their fingerprints all over it. Dinner was held in front of the expansive compound they share, and the food — perfectly grilled tri-tip with chimichurri, sourdough bread with cultured butter, flatbread pizzas — was prepared by the owners of the Old Town Public Market, a yet-to-open organic deli and wine bar that would soon occupy another building the brothers own in nearby Yucca Valley. After dessert, the ringing of an old-fashioned triangle bell alerted guests that it was time to cross the road to the Red Dog Saloon, another French brothers business, where Shepard Fairey was already DJing to a packed crowd that spilled onto the rustic porch, the cacophony of laughter, bass and cigarette smoke wafting down the town’s main drag.

It was just another dreamy, highly curated night in the high desert of Matt and Mike French’s making.

Vintage design details abound at the French brothers’ properties, including the Pioneertown Motel.

Few people have had more influence on the modern aesthetic of the sun-drenched desert near Joshua Tree National Park than the two brothers from Portland whose properties regularly pop up in travel publications, Instagram reels and “best of the desert” lists. Since buying the Pioneertown Motel in 2014, Matt, 42, and Mike, 37, have built a portfolio of businesses that tap into the mythology of the California desert — part cowboy, part Rat Pack, part cosmic traveler. Across historic restoration projects like the motel where Gene Autry once played cards all night, the Red Dog Saloon where 1940s film crews unwound after long days of shooting and the Copper Room, a restaurant and bar at the Yucca Valley airport that was a favorite of Gram Parsons, their properties give tourists and locals alike a taste of the desert’s history and glamour all while making it feel like patrons have just stumbled upon these magical spots themselves.

Now, the brothers, along with Eric Cheong, a designer and the third partner in their company Life & Times, are expanding their unique vision to other parts of the desert with two new projects. In late 2026, they will open Lord Fletcher Inn, a 1960s-era steak house in Rancho Mirage where Frank Sinatra occasionally stepped behind the bar. Miracle Hill, the brothers’ colorful take on a geothermal bath house in Desert Hot Springs, is slated to open at the end of 2027.

The French brothers purchased the 1960s-era restaurant Lord Fletcher’s in Rancho Mirage, where Frank Sinatra occasionally tended bar.

Designer Eric Cheong, left, on the porch of the Red Dog Saloon, with Matt and Mike French.

With these two new businesses, as well as an ambitious expansion of the Pioneertown Motel, including an extension of the Western facade of Mane Street that was approved in December, the brothers say they feel a renewed commitment to the desert community where they have lived and worked for more than a decade. Although they toyed with the idea of doing projects in other parts of the country, they ultimately decided that the world they have created in this dry desert landscape is too valuable to leave.

“The lady at the post office has treats for my dog and knows my dog’s name,” Mike said. “You can’t buy your way into community like that. You have to earn it.”

The French brothers’ story may sound like a desert fairy tale, but they insist it wasn’t always that way.

Although they’d been traveling to Palm Springs for family vacations since they were kids, it wasn’t until 2009 that Matt first drove up the rocky mountain pass to Pioneertown and fell in love with the funky desert community originally built in the 1940s as a working film set. After learning that the rundown motel across the street from Pioneertown’s iconic roadhouse and concert venue Pappy & Harriet’s was for sale, Matt, who was working for a boutique hotel company at the time, convinced Mike to join forces with him and buy it. It took five years of starts, stops, heartbreak and nearly giving up before the deal finally went through in 2014.

“Matt was really the driving force,” Mike said. “I was like, this is nuts, but I’m in.”

Those early days were challenging. One of their first orders of business was to evict the previous owner’s weed dealer who had been living in one of the rooms rent-free. The manager at the time was known to yell people off the property. Skilled workers were hard to find, and the desert’s popularity as a tourist destination had not yet ballooned.

Mike and Matt French are setting the stage for their next venture, Miracle Hill, a geothermal bath house in Desert Hot Springs.

“In retrospect it can look very obvious and very, like, ‘Oh, of course, the hotel’s cool and it’s right next to Pappy’s,’” said Matt. “But that is not what it felt like back then.”

The brothers also had to contend with a notoriously fierce local community that was deeply suspicious of the lanky millennials from out of town.

“We had our claws out and our guns cocked,” said David Miller, 81, a longtime local and the president of Friends of Pioneertown. “But it turned out that they are model citizens.”

For two years, the brothers ran the motel remotely while continuing to work other jobs — Matt for a real estate company that did large-scale development in Portland and Mike for a ticketing and events start-up in L.A. In 2017, they decided they needed a home base in town and bought a rundown house with an even more rundown barn a 10-minute walk from the motel. They have since renovated it into two homes just yards from each other with a shared backyard that includes a pool, sauna, cold plunge, hot tub and custom-built hammock that can hold up to 20 people. In 2018, they moved in full time.

A Pioneertown Motel pick-up truck, spotted outside the kitchen window of Matt French’s home.

Two years later, in August 2020, they opened the Red Dog Saloon, a full-scale renovation of the historic bar of the same name that originally opened in 1946. The brothers say they weren’t necessarily looking to open a new business — they just really wanted another place to eat and drink in town besides Pappy & Harriet’s. Their original plan was to create a 16-seat whiskey bar in a small building across from Pioneertown’s picturesque Post Office, but their partners, restaurateurs Adam Weisblatt of Last Word Hospitality who operates Hermon’s and Found Oyster and Eric Alperin from the Varnish, suggested they look at the much larger Red Dog Saloon instead.

“They were like, ‘You can actually make money that way,’” Mike said about the restaurant and bar that can serve as many 1,000 people a day. “And we were like, ‘Yes, that’s a great point.’”

The same team came together again to open the Copper Room, a higher-end, full-service restaurant at the Yucca Valley Airport that opened in 2022 on the site of a dive bar they used to frequent called Wine & Roses.

In 2020, the brothers opened the Red Dog Saloon, a full-scale renovation of the historic bar of the same name that originally opened in 1946.

“At the time we really weren’t sure if Yucca Valley could support that kind of dining experience,” Mike said. “Now we have a $200 tomahawk steak served tableside on the menu and they sell out. There is no way we could imagine that happening when we opened.”

As they did with the motel and the Red Dog, the brothers and Cheong leaned into the history of the space when designing the Copper Room. They kept the curved bar where Gram Parsons drank his last margarita intact but went with a 1950s vibe in the main dining room, with heavy brocade banquets and floral wallpaper, nodding to the restaurant’s opening in 1957.

Cheong said that across each project, he and the French brothers leaned heavily on the space’s unique history for design inspiration.

The vintage-style entrance into Red Dog Saloon.

“We really base it around story and lore,” Cheong said. “The spaces merge together because there is a similar strategy, but it’s not a style. It’s not a color palate. It’s like a feeling of respect and honor, but it’s also our twist on it.”

The brothers’ three businesses were thriving, but in 2023, they found themselves in a lull. “We were having trouble figuring out what to do next,” Matt said. “ We have a very specific criteria of what we want to do and we were like, maybe we look outside of the desert. Maybe things here are plateauing.”

The brothers already had one property outside of the desert — Captain Whidbey, a historic lodge and resort on Whidbey Island in Washington that was named one of the best hotels in the world by Travel + Leisure in 2020 — but ultimately they concluded that the price of leaving Pioneertown to start over somewhere new was too high to pay. They had invested years into building relationships with the high desert’s eclectic community. Somewhere along the way they had also come to feel like chosen family.

The French brothers and Eric Cheong leaned into the history of the space when designing the Copper Room.

“So many things were pulling us in different directions, but life is more personal than business,” Mike said. “So we committed to the desert, which was not just committing to doing business in the desert, but was really committing to living in the desert.”

Since then, more opportunities have opened up. The brothers purchased Lord Fletcher’s in 2025 after a real estate agent happened to mention a 1966-era steak house in Rancho Mirage was for sale. Miracle Hill came about in part because the town of Desert Hot Springs is eager to grow its reputation as a destination for geothermal bathing and offered to help them find a suitable location. For the brothers, it represents the first time they are creating a space from the ground up. Construction has yet to begin, but they have already crafted a story for the space that builds off the community’s early 20th century history and mystical geology.

“The core narrative is that it feels like an eccentric, gregarious host’s home that you are going into,” Mike said. “And the mountain alignment, the sun, the wind, the faults and the geothermal water are the five forces that create a vortex-type energetic field deal. So we’re kind of leaning into that.”

At the same time, Mike revived the community’s historic Pioneertown Gazette, which he originally started printing as an in-room publication but has since expanded to a weekly newsletter that enthusiastically highlights the growing calendar of events happening at several venues across the high desert. And in the next few years, the brothers plan to begin construction on the next phase of the Pioneertown Motel, which will include a swimming pool, restaurant and 47 new rooms.

A game of horseshoes at Pioneertown Motel.

Signage pointing to the Red Dog Saloon.

Pioneertown’s history buffs, and there are many of them, will tell you that the picturesque community has a long history of newcomers showing up with dollar signs in their eyes, hoping to make it big in the desert. But few, if any, have been as successful as the French brothers at making those businesses come to life. It helps that they have a good sense of design and an intuitive understanding of what people want. It also helps that they’ve attracted like-minded people like Jeffrey Baker, the warm and personable general manager at the Copper Room and future general manager of Lord Fletcher’s who excels at management (a self-described weak point for Matt and Mike) and makes everyone he meets feel like an instant friend.

But their true secret sauce might be that aside from the motel, their businesses are designed to cater to the local community at least as much as to tourists.

“People here love these restaurants,” Matt said. “They love the Red Dog, they love the Copper Room, they love the Gazette. So we felt that vibe shift of people being supportive and excited about what we’re doing.”

It also helps that over the last few years, some bad actors have demonstrated what the alternative might look like, with new management at Pappy’s that alienated locals from their longtime watering hole and a wannabe developer who floated much-maligned plans to build a concert venue and a massive glamping complex in Pioneertown. (Both parties have since left the area.)

“I think that has given some people some perspective that having locals do it right, and seeing that we are committed, has really made a difference,” Matt said.

Mike and Matt French walk down Pioneertown’s Mane Street.

It’s been a winning business formula, but if you believe the brothers, there’s more to it than that. Creating spaces where everyone from foreign tourists to drunken bachelorettes to crusty locals to families with young kids feels comfortable and welcomed is all part of the desert ideal they’ve been curating for more than a decade.

Mike said that there’s nothing like seeing Pioneertown old-timers drinking with their buddies at the Red Dog.

“It’s so good,” he said. “And then you find other people who get lit up by the same silly thing, and it’s like, maybe it’s not so silly. Maybe it’s the whole point.”

Commenters who never have been — and never will go — complain about the cost, the influencers, the hype. Purists wax poetic about the days when they disappeared into three days of music and the field wasn’t overtaken by brands like Barbie and e.l.f. cosmetics. Defenders claim they can camp their way to an affordable weekend, and others spend the whole time posting. A select few even talk about great performances they saw — it’s still a music festival.

But one thing everybody can agree on: Coachella has changed. I should know. I’ve been covering it as a journalist since 2007.

Rapid advancements in technology and mass adoption of social media have brought out the best and worst of the festival — not just on screens thousands of miles away, but to those of us trying not to trip over the makeshift photoshoot you might have seen on Instagram.

Coachella pre-2010 was a purist’s paradise

Some of Coachella’s most iconic moments happened before smartphones: The Flaming Lips in a human hamster ball in 2004; Daft Punk’s 2006 pyramid set; Rage Against the Machine reuniting and calling for the George W. Bush administration to be tried for war crimes in 2007. If you even had a cellphone when Coachella started in 1999 it was probably a Nokia brick or a flip phone with an antenna that had limited talk and text options.

In the early years, there were no brand activations on the field; nobody knew what an influencer was and the only corporate sign you saw was for Heineken in the beer gardens. (There was no Heineken House with its own stage, just signs advertising the beer.)

The grounds were also considerably smaller, making it easier to explore the different stages and discover new music. You didn’t have fancy food options, but a slice of Spicy Pie was less than $10. (Coachella upgraded its food options from festival staples to weekend outposts of L.A. restaurants in 2014.)

The music was the draw. The festival’s track record includes artists like the Killers, the Black Keys, Childish Gambino and Kendrick Lamar climbing up from small type to headliner on the lineup poster.

Livestreams and influencers made Coachella’s reach global

The vibes started to shift in 2010 as smartphones grew in popularity, although the service on the field was spotty. It was the first year Coachella offered a livestream — available via Facebook and MySpace. The next year, the stream moved to YouTube, where it remains and draws millions of viewers.

As Coachella expanded to twin weekends due to popular demand on the ground in 2012, it also had the first viral moment fans could enjoy from thousands of miles away: Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg brought 2Pac back to life via a hologram.

Celebrities were always at Coachella (I spotted Ryan Seacrest, Corbin Bernsen, David Hasselhoff and Danny DeVito in my early years), but the rise of social media made celebrity culture a key part of the event. By 2011, TMZ was posting about stars like Lindsay Lohan. Clips from Coachella went viral and ended up on shows like “Tosh.0” and referenced in “Community.”

The art, which was always part of the festival, became bigger and more iconic. On the growing photo app Instagram, larger-than-life sculptures of astronauts started appearing in selfies.

Brands saw an opportunity. American Express, H&M and Samsung launched activations on-site in 2015. The party scene outside the festival, with non-affiliated events that were timed because everyone was in town for Coachella, became marketing vehicles. Brands are still cashing in more than a decade later.

The next watershed moment was Beyoncé in 2018. Today, most headlining sets at the fest feel as if they are designed for the viewing experience on the livestream rather than the fans on the field (ahem, Justin Bieber and his laptop). But Beyoncé’s spectacle was just as mind-blowing on-site as it was at home. A year later, the “Homecoming” special debuted on Netflix, widening the reach.

Coachella became a key part of the pop culture landscape, and then it became a cornerstone of the influencer economy.

Behind all the hype, there’s still a music festival hiding

I inadvertently photobombed approximately 500 people just trying to go to and from the press tent last weekend and my inbox is overflowing with requests for coverage of off-site events with brands, celebs and TikTok influencers, including social media clips.

But at the end of the day, Coachella is still a music festival, and a really good one at that. The Strokes, David Byrne, Jack White, Iggy Pop, Turnstile, Wet Leg, Fujii Kaze and even Less Than Jake in the Heineken House were some of the best performances I had seen in years.

Coachella is what you make of it. And besides, everyone knows there are fewer influencers on Weekend 2.

Today’s top stories

A health worker administers a measles test on Fernando Tarin, of Seagraves, Texas, at a mobile testing site outside Seminole Hospital District on Feb. 21, 2025.

(Julio Cortez / Associated Press)

Increasing measles cases in California

• California in 2026 has already seen its highest number of annual measles cases in seven years amid an ongoing resurgence of a disease once considered effectively eradicated in the U.S.
• The re-emergence comes as vaccination rates have tumbled nationwide in recent years.

Testing LAX’s long-awaited train

• LAX’s 2.25-mile electric train system will begin running without passengers next week as testing advances following a series of delays.
• The Automated People Mover system began construction in 2019 and was initially slated to open to the public in 2023.

Nationwide recall of a popular anxiety drug

• Specific bottles of Xanax, one of the most widely prescribed medications to treat anxiety and panic disorders, has been recalled due to its failure to dissolve at a standard rate.
• FDA officials are not warning against consuming the product at this time.

What else is going on

Commentary and opinions

This morning’s must-read

Another must-read

For your downtime

Reporter Deborah Vankin gets a massage by an “Aescape” robot at Pause Wellness Studio.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Going out

Staying in

A question for you: Are you planning on leaving California for another state? If so, tell us why.

Laura says, “I left California during the pandemic. Part of the push factor for me was politics, but not blue politics. I had been living in OC since 2018 and was surprised it was so Conservative (and conservative). That became a bigger source of discomfort for me as the vaccine question demonstrated how our neighbors’ decisions can impact us directly. Rather than moving elsewhere in California, which would have sorted out the political discomfort nicely, I moved to a much more affordable state where I had family.”

Email us at essentialcalifornia@latimes.com, and your response might appear in the newsletter this week.

And finally … from our archives

Kendrick Lamar performs at Coachella Music & Arts Festival at the Empire Polo Club on April 16, 2017.

(Amy Harris / Invision / AP)

On April 16, 2018, Compton’s own Kendrick Lamar became the first hip-hop artist to win the Pulitzer Prize for music.

He won for his album “Damn.,” which the Times’ Mikael Wood heralded as Lamar’s graduation to pop superstardom.

Have a great day, from the Essential California team

Jim Rainey, staff reporter
Hugo Martín, assistant editor, fast break desk
Kevinisha Walker, multiplatform editor
Andrew Campa, weekend writer
Karim Doumar, head of newsletters

How can we make this newsletter more useful? Send comments to essentialcalifornia@latimes.com. Check our top stories, topics and the latest articles on latimes.com.