Like many foreigners, these Englishmen often seemed fascinated by L.A. without, apparently, being troubled by its inexplicable taste (as Americans often are). John Kosh – a designer I had worked closely with in London, who had designed Let It Be and War Is Over and who was now an Art Director at a Los Angeles design firm specializing in “record packaging” was not only not troubled but – to the contrary – had embarked upon a personal celebratory resurgence of the American Fifties. It was apparent in his designs and in the fifties cars he was buying. “Look at that,” he would say, slapping the side of his ’56 Buick. “Steel. Pure, solid steel.” And you had to admire his enthusiasm. I tried to attach myself to it, but it was difficult for me to forget the images that the fifties, with our lovely absolute nuclear superiority, spawned; Dr. Strangelove and Fail-Safe and, ultimately, Vietnam. It was a time when gas cost less than a quarter a gallon, and there was enough to power the ton or so of metal that was every American’s birthright. And gas would always be cheap and plentiful because, hey, who was gonna stop us? But if now it was the mid-seventies and people were burnt out on the sixties, well that was one thing, but what were we going to replace it with? The fifties? It was difficult for me. (FROM AN AMERICAN STORY)
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