In Which the announcer accomplishes some exposition

When last we saw Hot Face, he had but barely escaped from the crazed clutches of the diabolical Dr. DeMoto! What's this? He's heading for the docks, hands in pockets, caressing a scrap of advertisement plucked from the pages of a Tinseltown Tabloid. But not so fast, O Hot One! Do you think the boorish bureaucracy of these decrepit colonies keeps a stack of exit visas ready for peniless, parentless peons like you? And with dermatological conditions, no less? But wait! He's wavering, then wheeling like a homing pigeon toward the stark storefront beyond which his true love may wait. Turn back, young man, turn back! Her father would cut off your fingers for stealing from their store; what do you think he'd do for deflowering his dainty daughter?

Bedeviled by these dilemmas, Hot Face collapses on a curb. How will he find his way out of this mess? Torn between the love of a good woman and the siren song of Hollywood, will Hot Face remain in the capital, or seek freedom abroad? To find out, tune in to the next exciting installment of... The Daring Escapades of Hot Face! Same Hot time, same Hot address!


The DC Outsider, or, Breathless Gossip from the Scene

First off, I wanted to get this out of the way: The 25th Hour is the best movie of this year. Of course everyone hates Spike--you can come up with your own explanation for why. But as I stood before the gleaming rows of movies at the video store last night, stricken with the VHS Anxiety of one who's been burned too many times, I realized I just wanted to watch the 25th Hour over and over again, each time for the first time. And the sound editing in the nightclub scene... wow.

Anyway, I've long had this theory about the DC rock n' roll scene, and why it's kind of dead right now. I thought that if you took the total number of musicians who have been in Dischord- or Black Cat-related bands, and worked out all the possible combinations of duos, trios, quartets and quintets, you would realize that they've all happened already. There are no new possible combinations left, and little new blood in the scene, and therefore all that's left are solo projects, which, as anyone who followed Rod Stewart from the Faces into his crooner phase can tell you, are often ugly. Very ugly. As if to disprove my theory, two ex-NoU, ex-MakeUp officials have pretty good records out now. The first is Svenonious' "Scene Creamers" record, which he did with Michelle Mae and this guy Alex from the band Golden, who are no slouches themselves. I remember seeing the "Golden Apollo Dance Party" at the Cat a couple years ago, and being more impressed with Golden than with DJ Apollo, aka David Candy, aka Ian Svenonious. With all apologies to those who were born on the floor, I never thought the Make-Up was music to change your life by, although some live shows came close. That opinion holds for Scene Creamers, but it's still pretty delicious psychedelic shit.

My neighbors Jimmy Canty and Jerry Busher are now "French Toast," and are mashing up Money-Mark style funk and Cure-style pop and other ingredients in a thick, gooey batter. The lyrics are a little weak, but the music is rockin', and Jerry, who you may remember as the mysterious "5th member" of Fugazi, is an absolutely sick drummer with a Brendan-Cantyish style. Their BugMan EP is available on Arrest Records. The weirdest news, picked up at Lili's party on Sunday, is that the Toast is about to do a stint opening for the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I can't imagine how they're going to go over, even with the reputed addition of Steve Dore.

Also on Sunday, I met a guy named Al Bourgeois. That's his real name, not his punk rock name. Impressive.