Richman, taking the "dour" out of troubadour.

We highlighted the Saturday Dec. 1 appearance by the original Modern Lover Jonathan Richman at {open} in Long Beach in our Calendar this week, but somehow forgot to include that the charming 56-year-old troubadour (and one of punk's progenitors) will also be playing Detroit Bar Sunday Dec. 2. Richman is still a delightful entertainer, but he doesn't like to bring the noise anymore. My guess is your shouts for “Roadrunner” will go unheeded, though you might have better luck requesting “Don't Let Our Youth Go to Waste.”

A truly fearsome device.

OC Weekly freelancer Michael Coyle sent me this article ("How To Destroy A Profitable Industry In Just A Few Easy Steps"), which originally appeared on huffingtonpost.com and is winging its way 'round the blogosphere. It's a pathetic saga of how some major-label execs repeatedly made foolhardy decisions when dealing with emerging digital technologies.

You know the drill by now, but it never gets old reading about it. The short-sightedness, incompetence and sheer idiocy outlined in this piece by Howie Klein (the former Reprise Records prez who was one of the few industry bigwigs to understand the implications of the internet) are staggering. Crap really does rise to the top...

Read it and weep (or gloat, especially if you're into experiencing schadenfreude).

Ex-Nirvana bassist/current political activist Krist Novoselic hosts an exclusive live Flipper track in his column this week on our sister paper Seattle Weekly's blog. The song's recorded by Jack Endino, the studio wiz who produced Bleach about 18 years ago. Novoselic currently plays bass in Flipper, who reunited in 2005.

Flipper were my favorite American punk band because they wrote the funniest lyrics and they wittily bucked the conformist punk trend of loud/fast/stoopid rules (actually, slow/loud/smart rules; make a note of it). Check out Krist's column and the track (“Way of the World”) here.

And here's a clip of a much younger Flipper doing "In Life My Friends" in 1982.

How mind-blowingly off the hook is Snoop Dogg?

Bangin' you say? Supa dupa fly? Funktastically shalackin' even?

No no, my friends. He's even more groovy than that.

His new video for Sensual Seduction says it all:

Cavil at Rest: Love congas all. Photo: Adrienne

Los Feliz quintet Airborne Toxic Event play the kind of peppy, downcast rock I always seem to hear during my infrequent visits to Urban Outfitters. This sort of Strokes/Arctic Monkeys/Bloc Party steez goes in one ear and out the other without leaving much of an impact on your correspondent. I wish ATE well, but they're definitely not my bag, although the fine young things in the surprisingly large Monday night crowd, uh, ate it up. Within a year, ATE will be extremely popular and, I predict, laughing in my face over this dismissal. Just you watch...

Cavil at Rest, on the contrary, hark back to a time (early '70s) when pop groups would casually bust intricate progressive-rock moves, when melodies bore sophisticated arrangements and three-part vocal harmonies, when songs often contained surprising dynamics and tricky key changes. This Mission Viejo five-piece exhibit an effusive elegance, a potent sense of fun, an infectious camaraderie and an easy chemistry. Their positive energy somehow doesn't cloy. When Ryan Hahn (vocals/guitar/keys) gushes between songs, “We're so happy to be doing this,” he comes off as genuinely grateful rather than patronizing.

Cavil at Rest channel their instrumental fluency into catchy songs, not indulgent displays of technical proficiency. That and the fact that they're good-looking dudes with charming personalities (what a high percentage of hotties in the audience, damn) betoken a promising future for Cavil at Rest, who'll be spending much of December working on their debut album as they ponder a studio and producer for it.

DJ Robert Acosta almost spoiled the show for me, though, when he said, “That guy's voice [Taylor Rice's] reminds me of Christopher Cross. I mean that in a good way.” But seriously, check out Cavil at Rest next time they play out, dubious yacht-rock comparisons notwithstanding.

On Saturday November 24, Hawthorne Heights guitarist Casey Calvert was found dead inside the band's tour bus just hours before a show in Washington D.C.

The cause of death has yet to be determined.

This message was posted on the band's website:

“Today is probably the worst day ever. Its with our deepest regrets that we have to write this. Casey Calvert passed away in his sleep last night. We found out this afternoon before sound-check. We’ve spent the entire day trying to come to grips with this and figure out as much as possible. At this time we’re not sure what exactly happened. Just last night he was joking around with everyone before he went to bed. We can say with absolute certainty that he was not doing anything illegal. Please, out of respect to Casey and his family, don’t contribute or succumb to any gossip you may hear. We don’t want his memory to be tainted in the least. Casey was our best friend. He was quirky and awesome and there will truly be no others like him! His loss is unexplainable. As soon as we know more we will let you know.

Sincerely,

Hawthorne Heights

Eron, JT, Micah and Matt”

Sweet Jesus Juice!

The scandal-factory that is the Jackson family are rumored to be working on a reunion tour set for 2008. Basically, it will be the Jackson 5 plus Janet.

And Michael? Promoter Leonard Rowe says yes...maybe.

Rowe (who promoted Jackson’s Off The Wall tour in the late ‘70s/early ‘80s) stated:

“We wanted to go this year, but [Michael] said it would take a lot of preparation. He didn’t say no...His brothers are ready. Janet is ready. But the motor of that car that makes the car run isn’t just yet.”

Come on, Michael! You need the cash!

Saturn: Currently shopping demos to several labels.

With a sound that's been honed over billions of years, the planet Saturn has developed quite a beguiling musical signature. It's doubtful that many Earthlings will hum along to it, but I think it may be my favorite strain of music of the spheres. With enough promotional savvy, Saturn could be huge.

Tip: Chris Alfaro

Hellcat just got estrogenetically enhanced.

Long Beach vicious vixens Civet have inked a deal with LA-based Hellcat Records, which is run by Rancid front man Tim Armstrong. (Read our feature on Civet here.)

Press release after the jump; “Pay Up” (live) video before it.

Don't have anywhere to go on Thanksgiving? Or maybe your family eats at 3 o'clock in the afternoon and you need something to do at night since everyone usually passes out around nine. Either way, I recommend you head over to The Prospector in Long Beach for a special Thanksgiving night show with Crystal Antlers and DJ Frederick Phases.

Crystal Antlers just finished recording a new ep up in San Francisco last weekend with Ikey Owens (Mars Volta, Look Daggers, and sometimes second keyboardist in Crystal Antlers) that they plan on releasing on the 10" vinyl and 0's and 1's formats sometime next year.

Read Dave's review of their show at The Prospector from back in September.

Lootpack member Wildchild spits the contents of his active mind Saturday Nov. 24 at Detroit Bar for another installment of Abstract Workshop (this one's called "Ox City Getdown"). Straight outta Oxnard, California, Wildchild is supporting his new album, Jack of All Trades (FatBeats). From what I've been able to hear from it, the LP reps grown-folks' hip-hop, richly nourished with quality soul-funk elements supplied by Madlib, Oh No, Black Milk, Georgia Anne Muldrow, etc. and blessed by Wildchild's swift, authoritative flow.

Opening will be Faculty, Dee Jay Cocoe, Hyder and Steelman.

Learn something about Wildchild here:

Pretentious (but in a good way) purveyors of grandiose, prog-rock concept albums the Mars Volta return to the fray Jan. 29 with The Bedlam in Goliath. An online game based upon that album—called Goliath the Soothsayer—can be accessed at amazon.com/music from Jan. 2-29. You don't need to order the album in advance to play the game.

According to the press release, “The Bedlam In Goliath chronicles The Mars Volta's time with the 'Soothsayer' a/k/a the Ouija board owned by vocalist Cedric Bixler-Zavala, and its mutation from a source of amusement during the tour supporting the band's Amputechture album into a malevolent psycho-spiritual force that nearly tore the group apart, collectively and individually.”

Cue Twilight Zone theme...

Here's the trailer for the game, which I guarantee I will never play.

And below's a video of the Mars Volta performing “Day of the Baphomets Part 2” on Hank Rollins' show (note Ikey Owens on keyboards).

Last night at Spin City (held at Sutra, that place is sooo beautiful), another 2 hopeful DJs made it a little bit closer to the Winter Music Fest in Miami.

And I got just a little bit closer to destroying my liver.

The competition, which consisted of 20 minute sets, started off with Peter J spinning an enjoyable set sprinkled with Interpol and Jay Z. It was more enjoyable to watch the Tila Tequila wannabe on stage gyrating tragically off beat.

Second was DJ Dizzy whose fans showed support by sporting his name on t-shirts. His own shirt resembled the vertical bars representing levels on a stereo (I’m sure there’s an actual name for them but whatever) and it lit up. He was un-fucking-believable. Dizzy started with some reggae then wound it up to a heavy house beat, holding out a note just long enough then boom! back to the sexy. He even threw in some Jefferson Airplane, some Outfield and some Daft Punk.

Now here’s where the unprofessional journalism comes in: yours truly had a little too much wine.

OK, a lot too much.

It’s a hazard of the job, sometimes the Clubs Editor gets smashed. I’m going to blame Jonathan, our Marketing Coordinator, because... well, he’s just good to blame stuff on.

It was especially apparent judging by the chicken scratch that my notes became. And the fact I no longer was able to distinguish melodies, but wrote about nearly every contestant: Greatest fucking DJ EVER!

The night ended with DJ Dizzy and DJ Sonic as the winners, and my designated driver telling me I was making an ass of myself and that we needed to leave.

Check out the slideshow, thankfully I’m not in it.

Soup of the Day program host Gorgeous Jeff graciously asked me to join him in the KUCI studio tonight at around 7; he'll be interviewing me about my job and having me spin a few tunes for all the good, discerning folks who listen to his outstanding show. I'll be playing tracks off some of my favorite releases of 2007. I hope you can tune in.

KUCI is located at 88.9FM and www.kuci.org. Gorgeous Jeff's on the air Mondays 6-8 p.m. The station's number: (949) 824-5824.

The Friday night weekly party Mute (at Proof Bar in Santa Ana) happening this evening is a special edition that's sprung out of the Weekly's current cover story on DJ formats. Check the flyer below for all the info. Should be a night of stimulating debate and ass-kicking choons, featuring many of the county's finest selectors.

Just a reminder: Free Blood (ex-!!! percussionist John Pugh, singer Madeline Davy and !!! keyboardist/trumpeter/percussionist Dan Gorman) play Detroit Bar in Costa Mesa. Read what I said about them here. Also on the bill are some of OC's most discerning DJs, including Scotty Coats and DJ Spun of the excellent Rong label, the Dirty Money spinners (Tea-Long, BB Gunz, Jay $) and Ryan Esca. The actions runs 9 p.m.-2 a.m., $5, 21+.

Below check these videos of Free Blood performing “Quick and Painful” live in Brooklyn and another track at Knitting Factory.

Usher is rather fond of Dat Girl Right There.

I never thought the day would come that I'd gush over an Usher track. But “Dat Girl Right There” (who hasn't had similar complex thoughts?) featuring Ludacris and produced by Rich Harrison is amazing—sonically anyway. The electronic backing is ominous and strident, something you're more likely to encounter on a Conrad Schnitzler LP than in a chart-bound R&B tune. It's a coming attraction for Usher's next album, which is due out in 2008.

I was hoping to post the video to the song, but Zomba Records yanked it off YouTube.

Usher appears at Macy's in Lakewood Friday Nov. 16 at 6:30 p.m. I'm not sure if he's performing or just going shopping.

Just announced—tickets go on sale Nov. 17 at 10 a.m.

Baby-boomer critics (of whom I'm one, I guess) are hyperventilating over how great Springsteen's new album, Magic, is. I struggled to get through it once. He sounds tired and uninspired. But I was never a fan, even when Bruce was in his prime. Nevertheless, expect this show to sell out fast. You can get tix at www.livenation.com and www.nederlanderconcerts.com.

PowerSolo: Nordixie Danes show us Americans how to rock, white-trash-roots style.

There's something terribly sad about seeing Jon Spencer playing with his latest band, Heavy Trash, before a crowd in the two figures on a Sunday night. Spencer once led his Blues Explosion trio to glorious heights of critical respect, artistic achievement and respectable commercial showing. They recorded at least three excellent albums (Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, Extra Width and Orange) and were one of the most dynamic, thrilling live bands on the planet for the first half of the '90s. What made JSBX special were the trio's subversion of trad rock (and its blues roots) through outrageous exaggeration and mutation of its base elements (including cult of personality/ego boosting/Elvis vocal mannerisms), whirlwind/shift-on-a-dime dynamics and sheer amphetamine-freak energy. A show by them at CBGB in 1990 remains one of the most brain-blasting rock spectacles I've ever witnessed (and I've witnessed many).

Before JSBX, Spencer led Pussy Galore, a controversial band of mostly Ivy League graduates playing at being stoopid, feminist-baiting, LES scum rockers. Pussy Galore were the best band on the planet for one week in 1988, right after Sugarshit Sharp came out. Them were the days...

By contrast, Heavy Trash (who include Speedball Baby/Madder Rose's Matt Verta-Ray) are a disappointing retrograde pantomime. Both Spencer and Verta-Ray have done much more challenging work in their previous outfits. On this tour, the guitarists (Matt on electric, Jon on acoustic) are backed by the bill's opening group, PowerSolo (standup bass, tabletop guitar, drums). They competently run through rockabilly numbers that are essentially roots-music museum pieces. Heavy Trash show too much reverence for the past, approaching it from all-too-familiar, rote angles. Their music comes off as a pointless, listless exercise in nostalgia.

PowerSolo, on the other hand, played the same sort of meatloaf-and-mashed-potatoes Americana rock, but somehow imbued it with freshness, partly due to a wickedly funky drummer and a feral, redneck energy. So imagine my surprise when I found out they're not from Alabama, but rather Aarhus, Denmark. Led by two guitarist brothers (Kim Kix and Atomic Child) who must weigh 250 pounds between them, PowerSolo spirited out a series of tightly constructed songs that were instantly memorable and danceable. As reinventions of the good-time rock-and-roll wheel go, PowerSolo's was delightful. Let's hope they make Heavy Trash step up their game.

Martin Brown, producer of the Orange County Music Awards, gives us the news that Lance Romance, lead singer of longtime OC band the Attraction, died of a heart attack in his Huntington Beach home on Saturday, November 10th. He was only 36. Writes Martin:

"Lance (real last name: Faulk) was living on borrowed time, having had heart problems for many years. Known for his crazy antics and incredible energy, both on and off stage, Lance believed in living life to the full. In Orange County, where even musicians blend in easily with the standard crowd at generic restaurants and bars, Lance stood out. His preference for makeup and hats (a la Clockwork Orange) made him noticeable in a positive way. He was having fun at the world’s expense!

As the lead singer and main songwriter of his band, Lance will be irreplaceable. But, more than this, he will be missed by his young son Wylan, who was such an important part of Lance’s life. Why these things have to happen is completely beyond my comprehension, and I just count myself as lucky to have had the pleasure of working with Lance on many different musical projects. Lance Romance may have died, but his two-foot silver sparkling penis will live on forever."

Last night's Tiger Mask "Trash Au Go-Go" show at Anaheim's The Juke Joint was a blast, the perfect example of a great bar show with blazing bands, distracting girls insisting on conversing even though they were standing 10 feet from a guitar amp, and a, oh let's just call them "not attractive", drunk couple grinding each other, that like a car crash, you can't help but stare at.

Kicking things off were Long Beach's own The Vooduo, a 2-piece drum and guitar duo that pound out some raw floor stompin' horror-tinged garage rock. Neidi Night in her Wednesday Adams outift and using nothing more than a floor tom and snare was lost in the tribal beat of her own pummeling, while Eerie Powers fingers bled on the guitar and sang until the lining of his throat could take no more. I couldn't help but think while watching them that they would make the perfect soundtrack to a Tarantino movie.

After what looked like some confusion as to who was supposed to play next, Woolly Bandits took the stage for a high energy tension filled set. Boasting the inclusion of a couple of members who played in and recorded with the "new" Sly Saxon and The Seeds a couple years back, and forming Woolly Bandits during the The Seeds 2004 Red Planet sessions, these guys and gal rock like no one's business. Highlights of their set for me were the songs I recognized from their debut album, Say Hello To My Little Friend, including the hip shakers "Don’t Want You Around" and "Bomp Shu Bomp".

The night's main event were The Love Me Nots, the Phoenix, AZ band who caught my attention almost a year ago when I stumbled upon them while perusing a Tucson club's website, which led me to first seeing them at the now extinct Lava Lounge in Los Angeles. Nicole Laurenne (vocals, farfisa), Michael Johnny Walker (vocals, guitar), Christina Nunez (vocals, bass), Jay Lien (drums) have only been a band for less than two years, originally intending it to just be a side project as each were already in other prominent Phoenix area garage rock acts (The White Demons, The Sonic Thrills, and The Madcaps), but things thankfully clicked so well (songs, recording, touring, press), that each have made The Love Me Nots their full time gig.

The Love Me Nots are led by Laurenne who completely manhandles the farfisa and belts it out in a range that can go from the croon of a sultry lounge singer to the urgent wail of Janis Joplin in only the matter of the change from verse to chorus. She is backed by the penetrating force that is Walker's buzzsaw guitar work, Nunez's thumping bass and Lein's ferocious drumming (the dude hits hard). With a set that consisted of half songs from their debut release, In Black & White, and half songs from next year's forthcoming sophomore release (again to be recorded by Jim Diamond), every song came off better than anything on that other Black & White album that people are sure to be wasting their time talking about next week.

The Love Me Nots play again tonight in Hollywood at Safari Sams with Throw Rag, The Joneses, Lords of Altamont, Deadbeat Sinatra, and Sons & Lovers.

Want a pair of FREE tickets to Hellogoodbye & Say Anything at the Grove of Anaheim on Tuesday, Nov 20 at 7:30pm?

Be the first 15 to e-mail ocpromotions@ocweekly.com with your name, address and a phone number. Happy Friday!

Details here.

Jamphat dissects some crucial issues in the often enigmatic world of hip-hop.

Any questions?

Tip: Skye in Seattle.

Free the Robots, about to drop some next ish.

From noon till 2 p.m. Pacific Time, Santa Ana's Free the Robots/DJ Urthworm (Chris Alfaro) “will be DJing, possibly doing some live shit, and leaking some new cuts” on the LA-based Dublab, one of the webwide world's finest sources of beat-centric music.

Alfaro is also one-third owner of The Crosby, which will be opening any day/week now... just don't ask him exactly when. (The anticipation is killing us, though.)

Seattle's The Girls and Das Llamas hit the Avalon Bar in Costa Mesa last night, the furthest stop South on their short West Coast tour, for two high energy sets in the tiny shoe box of a bar. Set up in the back corner booth area and part of the walkway to the bathrooms, both bands performed in almost complete darkness to a small yet eager crowd who usually don't get treated to live performances at this local watering hole.

The Girls, who I was eager see based on the recommendations of the former Catheter and current Tall Bird, Davey Brozowski, did not let me down with their early-Cars meets Richard Hell and The Voidoids synthed-up garage punk that any fan of The Briefs, The Spits, or The Lost Sounds (R.I.P.) would gravitate to.

Das Llamas are currently supporting their debut full length, World War, which was released earlier this year on the Seattle label, Aviation Records, and The Girls who haven't put anything new out in US since their 2004 self-titled release on Dirtnap, are apparently working on a new album, if that's what you take "making the final moves on" to mean.

I've just discovered a new recording artist named Britney Spears, and I'm dying to tell y'all about her. Spears' new song, “Freakshow,” displays a lot of promise. I predict very big things for her.

The production—by Timbaland protégé Danja—is off the hook: very sparse and bass-heavy, revealing the influence of that hot new London-centric electronic-music genre dubstep and Timbo's exotic/skeletal funk techniques. Brit's voice is a bit thin and rent-a-diva, but with enough marketing muscle, I think she could become a minor dance-pop star—nowhere near as big as M.I.A., understand, but she should sell a respectable amount of records, if her label believes strongly enough in her to pressure all the right media outlets.

Breaking new artists: it's all in a day's work here at OC Weekly.

A Daft Punk and DJ Legit make a bunch of grown-ups in get-ups sweat.

As promised in my review of the last Busywork, Will Tee Yang's pictorial handiwork of this ludicrously fun gala event can be found here. Better late than never, and now you have almost a year to plan next year's costume, playas.

Going out on Sunday is pretty hard, and combined with the time change yesterday, I almost didn't make it to see The Parson Red Heads cap off their West Coast tour at The Prospector in Long Beach. Thankfully, the thought of regret was too strong for me to give in to my internal clock telling me to stay home and watch Family Guy.

For those of you unfamiliar with The Prospector, watch this clip from the Blues Brothers and you'll get a pretty good idea of the decor of the place.

Best described as sounding like '60s-era Laurel Canyon bands, The Byrds and Crosby Stills and Nash, The Parson Red Heads went on somewhere around 1am (2am internal clock time), and stuck mostly to material from their current release, King Giraffe, with highlights coming in the form of the sunny pop anthems of "Days Of Our Youth" and "Punctual As Usual," and the dark, slightly cranked-up "Full Moon".

Also on the bill last night were Francisco The Man, who gave a scrappy but highly tuned performance, and definitely lived up to level of quality set on their four-song demo that has been getting some heavy play in my car to and from work lately.

Last night I ventured to Anaheim’s famous Doll Hut to see Seattle-based rock band The Blakes.

I was worried I had missed them, showing up at 10 when the show started at 9.

Nope. Doll Hut owner Juan Reynoso, who was working the door (gotta love that!) told me they had yet to go on. I was in luck. . .or so I thought.

The next band to take the leopard print stage were The Ziggens. Ever heard of them?

Apparently they’ve been around for 20 years but left their sound somewhere in the early ‘90s. The band made us suffer through several cheesy rock songs and more bad jokes than Uncle Wally tells after a bottle of Makers Mark at Thanksgiving dinner.
Like this one: “So I bought a new snowblower, but I didn’t know how to turn it on. My dad told me, ‘just tell the snowblower you love it’.”

Commence eye-rolling.

Whatever, the four people wearing Ziggens T-shirts seemed to enjoy it.

The Pabst tallboys helped. Helped even more that they were served by an exquisitely surly blonde bartender with a cigarette dangling from her lips. You can't say the Doll Hut doesn't have character.

So The Ziggens finally ended their set. I perked up, thinking my band was on next.
Nope, not them. Ah hell, what’s one more tallboy.

This band was called the Go-Sheilas; mid-90’s pop and power-chord mania fronted by two female vocalists. At least they weren’t trying their hand at stand-up comedy. The closest thing to funny were the drummer’s blinky light up spectacles.

Dammit! Where the hell were The Blakes?! Some of had to work the next morning (and by morning I mean 11-ish)

Finally, at 12:30 a.-fuckin-m. The Blakes came on and rocked the twelve of us still remaining with a hard smack of swaggering ‘60s lo-fi awesomeness. Raspy screaming vocals over crisp, snake-like melodies a la garage padded with cheap amplifiers. Imagine The Stokes but so so sooo much cooler.

Even the toothless guy in the corner was enjoying himself.

Click here for the Weekly’s Cd review of The Blakes by Tony Ware (who doesn't like them as much as I do).

La Boheme is everything an opera should be. It makes you laugh, it makes you cry - it makes you squirm around in your seat because your neck hurts trying to read the subtitles blazoned above the stage.
It is also a great way to discover a new scent of "old lady" perfume and provides an excuse to inquire politely, "Wow, I couldn't help but notice how lovely your perfume smells! What is it?" And just for a few hours you know what it's like to mingle with the elderly elite of Orange County. My mind couldn't help but wander before the lights grew dim, "How many of these folks might have actually seen Maria Callas in concert?" One woman named Connie - whom I had the pleasure of sitting next to, said she hadn't but, "Oh my dear, if you're ever in New York - go see the Metropolitan! It's magnificent!" Add to this, the fact that your seats are so perfectly located that you can almost see pores in the performers' faces - thank you Ms. Loesch.

La Boheme is the perfect mix of hilarious comedy (sprinkled with slap-stick) but deeply marinated in the kind of love that is nothing short of rapturous and all consuming.

A struggling poet falls in love with a seamstress who is looking for a light. Her candle has gone out - it's cold and dark - they fall in love but there's a problem: the poor girl is sick and hasn't long to live. Puccini makes you fall for these characters because they are just like us. They fall in love; they feel heartache, jealousy and fear. Yet they can laugh it all off with a dance and an overflowing cup of wine.

I don't think Kelly Kaduce (Mimi) could've delivered a more impeccable performance - her voice was crystal clear, unwavering and her interpretation of "Si. Mi chiamano Mimi" had me choking back some serious emotions. Perhaps it was Puccini's vision of love as something so profound, so "meant to be", so naive and trusting (bathed in moonlight) that had me frantically reaching for my Grandma's packet of Kleenex.

Whatever it was, each performer owned every ounce of their character's soul and emotion; and unlike the other operas I have had the pleasure of attending - the romance between Mimi ( gorgeous Kelly Kaduce) and Rodolfo ( Arturo Chacón-Cruz - you're soo adorable! ) was very convincing and electric.

Overall, I feel the opera's success rests in Puccini's keen ability to reveal the depth of each characters personality. In the beginning we might have seen Musetta ( Megan Monaghan ) as nothing more than a shameless seductress, throwing plates around at the high scale establishment of Cafe Momus - yet, in the end, her heart is humbled as she sells off her prized jewelry in the hopes that a doctor will be able to save Mimi, who is on her death bead. Puccini draws the viewer inside the character's private sphere - we danced, we laughed, we poured the wine, we laughed some more. Now, as Mimi struggles with her last breath- a part of us dies with her.

Too deep?

Fine. Maybe I am just a romantic sap.
Regardless, you still have one more night left to experience this masterpiece of an opera.

La Bohéme by Giacomo Puccini at the Orange County Performing Artscenter (Segerstrom Hall) 3 November @ 7:30 p.m.
Ticket Services: 714.556.2787

Muscles from Melbourne: kinda weak.

Halloween: It's really more for adults than for kids, isn't it? It astounds me how much effort grownups put into their costumes, simply to have ridiculous amounts of fun getting wasted as they take mini-vacations from their own personae. The overflow gathering at Detroit Bar last night proved this conclusively—and reminded me that I need to get a camera, damn it. (I hope to get some shots by OC paparazzo Will Tee Yang later.)

Sure, you had your share of sexy nurses, throwback jocks, fake afros and faux mullets (mullets = instant and eternal comedy), the Daft Punk-looking guy, the “Dick in a Box” dudes, the S&M brigade (some were still working the kinks out of their getups...), A Clock Orange droog, gangs of masked wrestlers, wizened wizards, battalions of hoochie mamas and the viking motherfucker who almost poked out my right eye with his horned helmet. I saw the spittin' image of Amy Winehouse and a white boy dressed in the red warmups, Adidas kicks and Kangol hat of LL Cool J circa 1985. I spotted a guy wearing a box boasting the logo and silk screen of some kind beverage with an Italian name (Franzini, maybe?). I asked him how he was going to piss; he chuckled and said, “I haven't thought of that.” D'oh! But the winner for most absurd costume was the young man who came encircled in a shower curtain, complete with a rod halo. Every time I peered through the curtain, he looked sad.

What about the music? Eh. Busywork honcho Dan Sena's set hit many hand-raising heights apropos for the celebratory mood (stompin' remix of Pink Floyd's “Another Brick in the Wall,” Federico Franchi's unstoppable 2007 anthem “Cream,” Underworld's “Born Slippy” and... the Cult's “She Sells Sanctuary”). In the back room, I heard Matthew Dear's “Put Your Hands Up for Detroit,” which surprised and pleased the hell out of this Motown native. And it's always a pleasure to hear Jaydee's deathless rave stealth bomb “Plastic Dreams.” But I also heard Ready for the World's “Oh Sheila” segued roughly into New Order's “Blue Monday,” both of which have been played to death over the years (we need a moratorium) and the hugely overrated “Don't You Want Me” by Human League. I could also do without hearing Daft Punk's “Technologic” for about a year, too.

The night's biggest letdown, however, was Australian producer Muscles. His live set consisted of inane, rudimentary electro-disco, topped by his own aggravating, hoarse bellow. He drove me out of the club and over to Avalon Bar, where I had the good fortune to see some wiseguy sporting a massive fake afro and an inflatable cock-and-balls set that must've measured six feet long. Very realistic.

Halloween—it never gets old, even if its celebrants do...