parking lot

Tens of thousands of people walk in and out of Dodger Stadium on any given night, paying scant attention to the trees, plants, and other foliage surrounding it on all sides. Chaz Perea made his peace with that a long time ago.

“Getting to Dodger Stadium is not a small thing,” said Perea, 41, the stadium’s landscape manager. “You’ve got to park in this monster,” he said, motioning to the acres of asphalt around him, “and then go find your seat in that monster.”

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1. The agave garden sits outside Lot B at Dodger Stadium on Friday. (Gina Ferazzi/Los Angeles Times) 2. Dodgers fans walk past vibrant plants behind photos of former Dodgerss outside center field at Dodger Stadium on Friday. (Gina Ferazzi/Los Angeles Times) 3. A group visits agave island during a tour of Dodger Stadium’s botanic garden on Tuesday. (Christina House/Los Angeles Times)

For the past 17 years, Perea and his four-person crew have been responsible for every bit of stadium landscaping that isn’t the field itself. That’s roughly 300 acres, encompassing the parking lots, the hillsides meeting the 110 Freeway, and 149 concrete planters nicknamed “martinis” for their glass-like shape. The planters are original to the stadium’s 1962 construction, and many had crumbled badly enough over the decades to need painstaking repair.

The landscaping isn’t just about plants and planters. Behind a fence beyond the iconic orange 76 ball in the parking lot once sat a hidden garden. Its centerpiece was an eight-foot-tall stone lantern given to then-Dodgers owner Walter O’Malley by Japanese sports columnist Sotaro Suzuki and his wife, Toku, who had attended the stadium’s grand opening in 1962. Suzuki commissioned the 3,921-pound Kasuga-style lantern, which arrived in five pieces in late 1965 and became the centerpiece of a garden that also featured a small wooden bridge and a collection of rocks.

“For years, it was maintained by our gardener with great pride,” said former Dodgers owner Peter O’Malley, Walter’s son. “But it was remote, and fans couldn’t really get up there easily to see it or sit in the garden. And it got neglected for a few years. Some years later, I forget how many, we had to fence in the whole property.”

In 2024, shortly after the Dodgers signed two-way sensation Shohei Ohtani, the club moved the lantern to a place of prominence outside the top-deck gates, overlooking the downtown skyline. The move was an elaborate, delicate production. Bundled and boarded up, the lantern inched across the parking lot on the back of a flatbed truck that climbed a ring road steep enough to cause concern.

“It was like they were moving the Ark of the Covenant,” Perea said.

No one exhaled until the cargo was unloaded, unswaddled, and confirmed to be in one piece.

An 8-foot-tall stone Kasuga-style lantern is displayed at Dodger Stadium on Tuesday.

(Christina House/Los Angeles Times)

Perea’s crew works out of a large metal shed at the far end of a parking lot, a shop they affectionately call “the Oasis.” Much of what’s inside was retrieved from a dumpster, or scavenged before it landed in one. Perea, who describes himself as a bargain shopper, is passionate about repurposing whatever he can; many of the succulents at the stadium came from his own clippings.

“My general philosophy is I don’t treat the Dodgers like I’m salaried management,” he said. “I treat them like I’m a contractor that they don’t want to get rid of. So I manage the expenses and the labor as such.”

He doesn’t have much interaction with players and executives, though he’s occasionally been called to their homes to help with landscaping problems. One visit stands out.

“Vin Scully is the coolest one I’d stake a claim to,” he said of the legendary play-by-play man. “He was an unbelievable class act. He had a tree issue. He had us out, and was so attentive and appreciative, it was just stunning to me.”

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1. Landscape manager Chaz Perea gives a tour of Dodger Stadium’s botanic garden. (Christina House/Los Angeles Times) 2. A ceramic dog and monkey sit on a golf cart inside the Dodger Stadium landscape team’s shed on Tuesday. (Christina House/Los Angeles Times) 3. A photo of Jim Lefebvre, Dodger player from 1965-1972, is surrounded by plants at Dodger Stadium on Tuesday. (Christina House/Los Angeles Times) 4. Adolfo Hinojosa checks on the planters near center field at Dodger Stadium on Tuesday. (Christina House/Los Angeles Times)

On the hillside above the shop is an open-air lunch area, its seating made from wooden bleachers salvaged from the old right-field pavilion. Peek through the bushes and the stadium is visible in the distance. Inside the shop, the walls are lined with neatly organized shovels, pickaxes, and ladders. Above them hang paintings, art being another of Perea’s passions, most of them made by his friends.

Perea freely admits he’s an odd fit for the job. He’s not a baseball fan; he prefers beach volleyball and mixed martial arts. He had a rough upbringing in Arizona, dropped out of high school, and got by on $6.75 an hour doing golf-course maintenance, supplementing it with landscaping gigs he ran out of his pickup truck before eventually returning to school.

He came back to the classroom with a purpose, not only finishing high school but going on to earn multiple advanced degrees and, ultimately, a Ph.D. He’s now a professor of horticultural science and co-chair of agricultural science at Mt. San Antonio College.

But it’s his day job that draws clusters of Dodger fans willing to pay $52.25 each for his 90-minute botanic garden tour of the grounds. They explore “Agave Island” near the main entrance, a wedge of land planted with nine palm trees to match the number of players on a baseball field, and the planters outside the club-level entrance, where the crew grows chilies (jalapeños, serranos, habaneros), along with basil, mint, tomatoes, onions, and garlic. That garden spawned an annual salsa competition, in which club employees harvest their own ingredients from the planters, make salsa at home, and bring it back to be judged. Perea and his crew make handmade tortillas and quesadillas for the event.

Landscape manager Chaz Perea gives a tour of Dodger Stadium’s botanic gardens on Tuesday.

(Christina House/Los Angeles Times)

Two more planted islands are devoted entirely to tequila agave. It takes nearly a decade for the plant to mature, and about 110 pounds of its core to yield a single liter of tequila through processing. Perea and his crew hope to eventually try making some themselves, as an in-house project rather than a commercial one.

The landscape looked very different before Perea arrived. He describes the old look as Disneyland-esque: heavy on lawns and flowers, constantly in need of replacement, and thirsty for water. About two years into the job, he began swapping annual flower beds for drought-tolerant succulents. When one executive noticed and ordered the flowers put back in a particular spot, Perea complied there, then made the same swap a little farther down the hillside, out of view.

Turnover among executives and ownership gave him repeated openings to make wholesale changes, a shift that coincided with California’s drought crisis. Within a few years, he had planted 10,000 cuttings and stripped every flower bed from the property.

“A lot of people look at this as the last unpainted canvas in Los Angeles,” Perea said.

Chaz of Chavez Ravine, perpetually painting the corners.

For more than three decades, Liz Phair and Sleater-Kinney existed in parallel without ever quite meeting. They admired one another from afar, brushed shoulders only in passing, and, in some ways, represented opposing ways of challenging the limits placed on women in indie rock. Phair, who found novel and peerlessly smart ways to write about heterosexual skirmishes, used her ambitions to edge closer to the mainstream; Sleater-Kinney, one of the great duos of American rock, have succeeded in becoming the last band standing from the underground scene in which they emerged.

Both acts are about to share the stage for the first time, co-headlining a tour they’ve cheekily and earnestly named the Flannel and the Fury, with stops across the country, from El Cajon, Calif., to Ocean City, Md., and a night at Los Angeles’ Greek Theatre on Tuesday.

Yet, despite having spent more than 30 years orbiting the same world, they have had surprisingly little time together. This interview is one of a few substantial conversations they’ve ever had. It is, at first, slightly stilted. Carrie Brownstein and Corin Tucker (Sleater-Kinney) are in sync as always; Phair is clearly excited, but seemingly unsure of where to place herself in the dynamic. Now all in their 50s, the women have been asking similar questions of the same culture, and are only now getting the chance to compare answers.

“Sorry, I know you’re like, ‘Why aren’t you better friends?’ For me, that’s the point. I’m trying to be better friends,” says Brownstein. “Yeah, talk to us again when tour’s over,” Tucker adds.

Brownstein is sitting in a parking lot in Los Angeles, wearing a cardigan and glasses, people walking past her window, unaware of who’s inside. Tucker calls from her home, a blurred background behind her, wearing a white blouse and lipstick. Phair is at home too, makeup on and hair straightened, various musical instruments on the wall behind her. It’s a few weeks before their co-headlining tour, and Tucker has already loaded up all the equipment. She’s packed her suitcase too, full of socks she’ll throw away by the end of tour, and a wardrobe almost entirely of black.

“This is news to me,” says Brownstein. “I was thinking more of a chocolate brown. I will be all brown town.”

Phair is going for wine-like jewel tones. “A Cab Sav,” to be specific.

Phair, who’s had an on-and-off relationship with touring, is noticeably more nervous than Brownstein and Tucker. “It takes me two or three shows to get into it. At first I’m like, why are you all staring at me?”

Phair had been sitting on the idea of a co-headlining tour with Sleater-Kinney for a few years. She sheepishly says that she didn’t reach out herself, but got her manager to do it while she was working on the second half of her memoir. She’s been keen to share a bill with Sleater-Kinney ever since she heard their 1996 album “Call the Doctor.”

“By then, I’d started to pull back from indie rock,” says Phair. “I had gotten married, and I didn’t know I was pregnant at the time, but I was starting to drift out of this scene, and then they put out this kick-ass record, and I just remember thinking, I kind of want to be back in the game. It inspired me. It stuck with me.”

Phair felt she was atomized from the female coalitions of the ’90s, and that this co-bill might be a way to rectify that. “I’d love to be able to go back and sew it together again,” she says. “Here’s a band I was a fan of that meant something to me and now I can play with them.”

For Sleater-Kinney, Phair has long been more than a neighboring act. Tucker and Brownstein describe her as one of their “biggest inspirations.” Both have the same Phair favorite song: “Divorce Song.” “It’s a perfect song,” says Tucker. “I think I’ve put it on every mixtape I’ve ever made,” Brownstein adds.

By the time Phair released her debut album, “Exile in Guyville,” in 1993, she was the one of the two acts edging toward the mainstream. Within a year, she was on the cover of Rolling Stone.

“I still have a copy of the magazine,” says Brownstein. “We were all so excited. Like, an actual artist made the cover.”

Nirvana had made this small corporate alliance permissible a couple of years earlier, finding a loophole as Cobain wore a T-shirt that read “Corporate Magazines Still Suck” on their Rolling Stone cover. It was a time when an antiauthoritarian stance was the only artistically credible one. Before we started calling one another “performative,” Tucker, Brownstein and Phair came from a time when “poser” was the worst insult and sin. They came from a scene of ideological puritanism.

“You know when people die their life flashes before their eyes, sometimes, it’s like that when I do a deep dive, and I’m like, God, there were a lot of rules. There was a lot of fear. And I don’t think anyone who wasn’t there would be able to picture it,” says Brownstein. “It took us a long time to get over it.”

“OK, can I ask the question? Can I get right in here? Because I want to know,” Phair chimes. “Do you think that’s because there weren’t enough women? You think women would have brought the inclusivity to inclusivity?”

“Unfortunately, no,” replies Tucker.

“We had these all-female festivals in Olympia, and we had our own publicist, and they were like, how dare we?” says Brownstein. “You know, it was just gatekeeping, that now seems sort of repugnant. But it was also a way to establish yourself in opposition to what felt like the only way to be.”

It’s part of why Sleater-Kinney declined an invite to play Lilith Fair, the mainstream precedent for so-called female solidarity in music. One of history’s most famous traveling all-female festivals, Lilith Fair was considered by many in the Riot Grrrl movement to be an early symbol of the commodification of “girl power,” female solidarity aligned with corporate ideals.

Sleater Kinney

(Robin Laananen)

“It seems like they haven’t really given credit to women in an independent milieu who have organized a lot of female-only shows for years,” Brownstein told the Dallas Observer in 1998.

“I think at the time we thought we were too cool to play Lilith,” Tucker reflects.

“I’ll just leave your answer,” says Brownstein.

Then she changes her mind four seconds later.

“I saw the Lilith Fair documentary last year and got FOMO, I kind of regretted not playing” she says. “But at the same time we had a handicap from a small indie punk community that was kind of didactic, there was a real rigidity to what you were and weren’t allowed to do. Even us signing with Matador in the U.K. was considered too big.”

Selling out, they all conclude, is no longer a concern for anyone. Phair’s son, who is Gen Z, often says the phrase “it’s time to get the bag.”

“You know, every artist has the right to get their bag,” says Phair. “I always felt that way and I was especially vilified for it.”

That vilification reached its apex when she released her mainstream-aspiring self-titled album in 2003, an album Sleater-Kinney said they hated in an interview with Rolling Stone that year, and which Pitchfork gave a rare 0.0 score in one of its most notorious reviews.

“I’d be on tour doing 10 interviews a day back-to-back, and I almost had to give these interviewers therapy, because they were so sad about my turn from indie rock,” says Phair.

Phair is adamant she made her mark on “every one of those songs, except maybe ‘Favorite,’” she says, referencing the chintzy, awkwardly phrased track where she sings about her underwear. Maybe it’s a metaphor, but more likely, it is just a song about her underwear. Safe to say it won’t be on the show’s setlist: “I will never play it live.”

The old argument about selling out now sits inside a very different touring economy. Sleater-Kinney and Phair’s co-headlining tour happens to follow a flood of co-headlining tours this year, from indie acts like Waxahatchee and MJ Lenderman to big marquee names like Usher and Chris Brown. With higher ticket prices and more competition — not only with other touring bands but with the allures of home comforts — audiences need a bigger draw. Artists want an opportunity to play to big audiences, as well as a better chance of “getting the bag.”

All three artists insist they won’t necessarily bring home the bag, nor is that why they’re doing this.

“All our budget’s gone on to the lighting designer,” jokes Brownstein.

“When I do these interviews with you guys, I get kind of excited and nervous because I feel challenged in the best way,” says Phair. “I think co-headlining bills, it does let you go into bigger venues than you could by yourself. But it also, for me, gives me creative food, like nutrition. It makes me grow.”

Mike Trout was practically beaming. He dropped the phrase “fresh start” four times in an interview that barely lasted five minutes.

The burden of the Angels’ failures has been disproportionately his to bear. He has insisted that his path to Cooperstown would run through Anaheim and only Anaheim. He has played 16 seasons for an owner that blessed him with half a billion dollars, treated his family like royalty and stranded him in position to conclude a star-spangled career without ever winning a postseason game.

On Tuesday, Trout learned that the Angels would have a new owner: Stan Kroenke. Trout got off the call, looked up Kroenke and has not stopped smiling since.

“What a track record,” Trout said. “Wherever he buys, he wins.”

Rams owner Stan Kroenke has agreed to purchase a majority stake of the Angels on Tuesday. The deal is pending regulatory review and MLB approval.

(Kyusung Gong / Associated Press)

The Rams. The Colorado Avalanche. The Denver Nuggets. Arsenal.

So what if the Angels have baseball’s longest playoff drought? They now have baseball’s richest owner, with a net worth valued by Forbes at $24 billion.

Kroenke bought a controlling share of the Angels at a valuation of $4 billion, a record for a major league team, with current owner Arte Moreno retaining a small stake, a source with knowledge of the deal not authorized to discuss it publicly told The Times. The sale includes the team-owned television and radio outlets, ABTV and AM 830. The deal is subject to customary closing conditions and MLB approval.

In 2009, ESPN put Moreno on the cover of its magazine, proclaiming the Angels delivered the best value of the then-122 teams in the NFL, NBA, NHL and Major League Baseball. In this decade, the experience had been so devalued by 12 consecutive losing seasons that resale tickets for Tuesday’s game against the mighty New York Yankees were available for $5, amid a season of fans regularly chanting “Sell the Team!”

“He’s aware of the chants,” Angels president Molly Jolly said. “He knows about them. At the end of the day, this is about having the right next owner more than it is about anything else.”

Jolly wouldn’t say whether Kroenke or Moreno initiated the negotiations. She did say the sale was not conducted through a formal bidding process, but proceeded through face-to-face discussions between Kroenke and Moreno.

“He has a traditional sense about him,” Jolly said. “To be able to sit down with another gentleman and have a conversation and talk about baseball and the franchise, that resonates for how he thinks and looks at things, rather than it being a complex conversation.

“I think that’s what was the ‘Why now?’ It was the right person having the right conversation with him.”

As far as she knew, Jolly said, the conversations had not started when she assumed the team presidency in April, but the possibility of a sale had “always stayed out there” after Moreno invited bids in 2022 and then decided not to sell.

In July, after joining the Angels as interim general manager, John Mozeliak said he had spoken with Moreno for hours and the topic of whether the owner might sell the team “never came up.” On Tuesday, Mozeliak acknowledged that, when he started his position, Moreno “had mentioned that this was a possibility.”

Fans at Angel Stadium hold up signs during a game against the Yankees Tuesday marking Stan Kroenke’s agreement to purchase the Angels from Arte Moreno.

(Mark J. Terrill / Ap Photo/mark J. Terrill)

The sale is not expected to be finalized until early next year. Kroenke has not done the usual due diligence that would precede a sale — meeting with team management and touring the stadium — and has not introduced himself to officials from the city of Anaheim. The city owns the stadium and surrounding parking lots, a 150-acre site that city officials would love to see Kroenke develop.

In the meantime, it’s business as usual for the Angels. Mozeliak, who ran the St. Louis Cardinals when the Rams played in St. Louis, said he never has met Kroenke. He did recall speaking with Kevin Demoff, who oversees all of Kroenke’s teams.

Mozeliak has no idea whether Kroenke might invite him to stay, but for now the plan of rebuilding the team and reorganizing the front office remains on course, in the interest of serving fans weary and frustrated after 12 consecutive losing seasons.

“We’ve been preaching change all along,” Mozeliak said. “Now they’re going to see even more.”

And, he noted, the Padres and Angels had sold at successive record prices for MLB teams, despite the prospect of a lockout and owners’ hopes for a new collective bargaining agreement with a salary cap intended in part to raise franchise values.

“A lot of people thought teams wouldn’t sell until there was a new CBA,” Mozeliak said. “Clearly, that prediction was wrong.”

In the clubhouse, no one was talking about that. Neto was talking about the call Trout made to “some of the Rams guys” for a scouting report on Kroenke.

“I reached out to one Rams player,” Trout said, smiling. “He exaggerates a little bit.”

Still, given the national attention given last winter to the air conditioning not working properly in an Angel Stadium weight room, Neto said the evaluation from the Rams’ locker room was glowing.

“The most important thing they said is, he just wants what’s important for us,” Neto said. “That’s to make the clubhouse better, in the sense of whatever we need, we get, whether that’s amenity-wise, speakers, whatever it is, he’ll make sure we get those.”

Trout was so enthusiastic that, when a reporter asked if he was excited about what the new vision might be, he answered before the reporter could finish asking the question.

“No doubt,” Trout said. “Obviously, when you’re frustrated the last — I don’t know how many years it’s been, but to hear the news like this, I’m super excited to have this change.”

For his part, Neto sounded ready to pitch Tarik Skubal on pitching for the Angels — or, at least, pitching Kroenke on the possibility of recruiting him in free agency.

“Who doesn’t want to be in Southern California?” Neto said. “The weather is beautiful here. We have the best fans, in my opinion. We have a beautiful stadium.

“Who wouldn’t want to be here and play in this organization, in this market? It would be a no-brainer.”

Trout said the ownership change “was needed” and said there was “a good vibe around the clubhouse,” but both he and Neto expressed appreciation for Moreno.

“Arte was very supportive of us, whatever the outside noise was,” Neto said.

“I’ve seen a lot of hate, a lot of love, a lot more hate. But, as a player who has played under him, it was a lot of love. He treated us well, and that’s all you can ask for as a player.”