The doorman at CLUB CHERRY proved to have one of the toughest jobs in town last Friday as gobs of gussied-up glamour pusses tried to get into the club’s super sixth-anniversary shindig and kept Cherry papa BRYAN RABIN on the go. (Busy Bryan was the event director for the recent Hollywood Sunset Free Clinic benefit, a blast of a bash that raised more than $60,000 and featured Beck, Aimee Mann and Rufus Wainwright. “I wept at the end, I was so moved,” he said, adding that the clinic still needs help: Check out www.hsfreeclinic.org for more info.) Makeup band dudes XANDER and PAUL ILL and Goldfinger’s CHARLIE rocked ’n’ riffed while singin’ sirens MONIQUE, of Save Ferris, and a big-wigged JACKIE BEAT (who later humbly announced, “I was the highlight of the night”) warmed up the stage for a surprise appearance by the Runaways’ crooner CHERIE CURRIE (pictured) and drummer SANDY WEST. A few clueless fem-boy snobs were overheard asking, “Who are those old biker dykes?” But even they were wowed by the ballistic blond duo’s “Cherry Bomb,” which proved that age can’t ch-ch-ch-change a real wild girl. Taking it all in were fabbies and foxies such as Lo-Ball’s PAULEY P, DAVE NAVARRO with CARMEN ELECTRA in tow, Love and Rockets’ KEVIN HASKINS, chanteuse CONSTANCE (who’s putting on an every-third-Sunday club at the Bar Marmont), jewelry designer MICHAEL SCHMIDT, actress LISA EDELSTEIN (who currently plays a pre-op tranny on Ally McBeal) and writer STEPHEN SABIN (both coming from Ron Meyers’ b-day blowout) and Will & Grace’s SEAN HAYES. Un-dragged queen CANDY ASS declared, “Tonight was all about the power of the pussy,” but there were plenty of chicks with dicks to be had.
Strutting and Fretting
The EDGE OF THE WORLD THEATER FESTIVAL kickoff party was a smashing success, right down to the bloody two-man brawl outside THE VILLAGE at Ed Gould Plaza, just as the festivities were winding down. At the height of the party, hungry post-strike thespians gobbled free food and drinks, with the reasonably priced Festival “passports” (entitling the holder to discounts at the citywide event) selling faster than Lion King tickets. Tinkling the ivories was DAVID BICKFORD, who’s doing double Edge Fest duty in Marat/Sade and Monstrosity. “It’s not that kind of theater,” stagily huffed Bickford when asked to play show tunes. The party’s highlight was a drum-and-bagpipe rendition of “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” by the marvelously off-kilter WICKED TINKERS. (The T-shirt-and-kilt-clad Tinkers were a little less conspicuous when members of the Thursday Transgender Chat Group arrived for their regularly schedule event.) What weren’t people wearing? The well-appointed crowd included performer-about-town CHRIS WELLS in a red James Dean jacket, the Evidence Room’s BART DELORENZO and the Village’s SUE HAMILTON, who both looked chic in all black. Fresh from a NYC directorial gig, JON LAWRENCE RIVERA was sharply turned out in Hugo Boss as he hurried off to a rehearsal of Sleepwalk. ANDREA BERLOFF and MONA MANSOUR donned short green skirts to plug their ribald Girl Scouts of America, one of the Village’s several festival entries. And in this season of drab political sound-alikes/look-alikes, dapper mayoral candidate FRANCIS DELLAVECCHIA (who’s also been excluded from official forums and debates like another candidate we won’t mention) gets our vote for best-looking politico. Break a leg!
Never Can Say Goodbye
The final UNCABARET at LUNA PARK was like a family get-together — not the sort where your in-breds make you laugh to keep from crying, but the kind where everyone’s truly funny and expressing their warmth for each other. Okay, so it was nothing like a family get-together, but MARGARET CHO shared why the 7-year-old UnCabaret was so important for comedians who wanted to experiment outside the constraints of the shtick comedy clubs; she also talked quite a lot about fisting (just like old Aunt Virginia used to do). MICHAEL PATRICK KING, top dog for Sex and the City, apologized for giving MOOMBA — the NYC restaurant that’s taking over the space — a plug on the hit HBO show, and talked only a little bit about fisting. And ANDY KINDLER, whom we missed — hey, The Simpsons was on! — was no doubt as wise and hilarious as always. The mistress of smart comedy herself, BETH LAPIDES, gave a tipsy, weepy (actually, quite like our family get-togethers) thank-you speech worthy of Sally Field. As for the club’s big fromage himself, JEAN-PIERRE BOCCARA says he’s “accomplished what I set out to do” and will move on to working as a consultant for clubs, resorts, hotels, and may also get back to filmmaking and painting. Then, in his very next sentence, added, “I’d like to take over the Hollywood Athletic Club.” A bientôt.
The Hollywood party-arty crowd circa 1980 pitched camp at FAIS DO-DO a couple of Sundays ago for a fond remembrance of DAVID X. HARRIGAN, a.k.a. SCREAMERS vocalist and artist TOMATA DU PLENTY, who died of cancer in August. Not only did Tomata front the most electrifying proto-punk outfit in L.A. from 1977 to 1981, but mourners cherished him as an untypically all-embracing life force in his rebel-trash community. Among those raising a glass were microtonalist KRAIG GRADY, song conceptualist WEBA GARRETSON, Catasoniac MARK WHEATON, Theoretician JACK MARQUETTE, Svengalette TEQUILA MOCKINGBIRD, painter MICHAEL NORTON, Monitor sentry MICHAEL UHLENKOTT, Human Hand JUAN GOMEZ, Satan spawn DON BOLLES, Gun Club/Pontiac Brothers guitarist WARD DOTSON, Saccharine Trust/Universal Congress Of axman JOE BAIZA and The Last singer MIKE NOLTE. Onstage sparks were thrown by JANE CANTILLON’s Lotte Lenya impression, BRIAN GRILLO’s spirited folkways, GEZA X’s self-hating Hungarian lament, SHOOFLY’s Americana, GROOVY REDNECKS’ cowboy corn, ELLA & THE BLACKS’ Masque-raid, MINK STOLE’s Erma Bombeck tribute, VAMPIRA’s cryptic recitation, HAL NEGRO & THE SATINTONES’ lounge grease, and a mighty revival of “Punish or Be Damned” by Screamers’ drummer K.K. BARRETT and keyboardist PAUL ROESSLER, with apt period wax laid down by DJ and Masque founder BRENDAN MULLEN, plus performance videos and film shorts featuring the dear departed. And that’s just to name a few. The list of Tomata’s friends stretches a lot longer.
Edited by Kateri Butler