Street Action

The venue does double duty most weeks. On Fridays and Saturdays it's a gay bar that targets the Latino demographic and plays host to mariachi bands and drag queens. A succession of indie up-and-comers and the occasional alt-rock star fill the place (or don't) during the week. But Richman's set allowed you to imagine a club that could unify the two scenes, creating an ideal Tijuana of the mind -- a TJ where the donkeys aren't spray-painted like zebras so frat boys can take their pictures next to them, and where the whores would be loved, truly loved, by fragile Johns named Jonathan. Preceding "El Joven Se Estremece" ("The Youth Trembles"), a song about a young man's fears upon his first visit to a bordello, an audience member asked Richman if he knew the Spanish term for prostitute. "Puta," he replied. "But I'm not going to need that word."

The 18-song, hourlong set was filled with the eccentric staples that have earned Richman his intense cult following: the songs sung in Spanish and Hebrew as a kind of sideways tribute to French chanson singers such as Charles Aznavour and Edith Piaf; the ballads about affections lived through the body of an adult, but viewed with the glee of a kindergartner; the ragtag collection of idols (Pablo Picasso, Velvet Underground, Harpo Marx) to whom he dedicates his songs; amplification levels set so low that he'll be able to rock & roll tinnitus-free into his latter years. "Just because we're getting older doesn't mean we have to close up shop," he sang in the evening's first song. Richman's between-song banter highlighted his precious, Luddite world-view. Early in his set, he relayed a message from one of the 50 people lined up outside the club, hoping to get in. "Nate, your friend Dan tried to make it, but he couldn't come," Richman told the audience member. "He's gonna send you a note tomorrow. Some kind of mail." (E-mail, Jonathan. It's called e-mail.)

The Silverlake Lounge was the perfect home for Richman's music. You could get close enough to see his sad, Margaret Keane­ meets­van Gogh eyes, and the sordid yet virtuous vibe made crowd-pleasers like "I Was Dancing at the Lesbian Bar" extra vivid. "In the first bar, things were stop and stare," sang Jonathan, his adenoidal croon overpowering drummer Tommy Larkins' disco beat, "but in this bar, things were laissez faire." Right then Richman unslung his acoustic, unleashing a hip-grinding dance solo. (Alec Hanley Bemis)