Photo by Michael Smith

Thanks for That Self-Esteem Boost. “There are no losers tonight, only pathetic sisters who’ve failed to win,” noted larger-than-life hostess JACKIE BEAT, when announcing the winner of the first Queen of Silver Lake Pageant, which, surprisingly, was won by a real girl — despite the fab faux-femme competition.

Stop the Press, Part 1. Warbling warrior COURTNEY LOVE took off her top and got down to some dirty dancing at the after-party for FISCHERSPOONER’s opening-night performance at the still-under-construction Standard Hotel downtown.

Stop the Press, Part 2. When scream queen TEXAS TERRI’s bra came off near the end of her set at the Sunset Junction Street Fair, for once it wasn’t her doing: An overzealous fan had managed to grab it, prompting Ms. T to yell midsong: “Are you trying to get me fucking arrested?”

The Hanged Man(son). At The . . . Gallery, MARILYN MANSON — whose photo collaborations with P.R. BROWN were on display — meekly apologized for being “a little too drunk” at his Universal Amphitheater spectacle, which he’d capped off by stumbling offstage buck naked.

High Times. Every fast-food drive-thru from San Berdoo to L.A. was mobbed after CYPRESS HILL’s fourth annual Smokeout — complete with pungent clouds wafting from the stage, where Cypress’ percussionist, BOBO, toked some big hits from a bong fired up by B-REAL — at Blockbuster Pavilion.

At Least You Don’t Have To Worry About the Smell. Chronic Candy, a new confection advertised with the slogan “Every lick is like taking a hit,” was spotted at the Bob Marley Day Celebration/Ragga Muffins Festival.

Motor City Madness. “You’re going to get your fucking spine ripped out through your fucking asshole if you don’t shut the fuck up,” remarked Detroit Cobras singer RACHAEL NAGY to a heckler at Spaceland.

Everyone’s a Critic. Conversation overheard outside The Fold at the Silverlake Lounge critiquing performance artist JODY HUGHES SUPERSTAR: She: “I think he sucks ’cause he has a weak chin.” He: “Yeah, I think the weak chin is one of the critical components of the whole thing. At the same time he’s doing these songs that are hypersexualized, but they’re comin’ out of a guy that looks like Bill Gates’ illegitimate child. You know, the techno-geek thing.” She: “But as a woman, having to watch that guy swivel his hips while he’s singing? I’m like, ugh, the techno-geek has a dick!”

A Musician’s Life Is a Hard, Hard Life. C.C. DEVILLE wrapped up a performance at Club Makeup with a dramatic stage dive — unfortunately, nobody caught him.

Jimmy, We Hardly Knew Ya. “Get drunk and be somebody!” is how TOP JIMMY addressed his audiences, so it’s not surprising that his wake at the Zero One Gallery was Irish-style, a drunken memorial that lasted almost 15 hours, celebrating the blues rocker who died in May at age 46 from liver complications after a lifetime of unrepentant hard living.

The Sweet Beerafter. “The more you drink, the better we sound,” joked guitarist MIKE MARTT as TEX & THE HORSEHEADS launched into their three-sheets-to-the-wind anthem, “I’ll Quit Tomorrow,” at the Knitting Factory, where the infamous ’80s cowpunk pioneers wrapped up a miniature reunion tour that brought them together for the first time since 1994.

We Got the Point. A conspicuously exuberant JANE WIEDLIN’s lips were anything but sealed during JACKIE BEAT’s cabaret show I’m Proud of My Gay Audience at the Gardenia. When Ms. Beat segued into a song about bad one-night stands, Wiedlin loudly volunteered that she’d had a few lousy whistle stops of her own, with both boys and girls. Evidently in a mood to share, she further noted that she had a preference for fat girls, prompting a wag in the audience to shout: Had she ever slept with BELINDA CARLISLE? The slimmed-down Go-Go’s lead singer doesn’t turn her on — “now,” Wiedlin added after a pause.

The Comeback Club. CHERRY seemed down for the count after being burned out of the Playroom late last year (it never quite caught on at 1650), but lines around the block at the recent reopening at the old space, now called A.D., prove that the mix-it-up, rock & glam & roll, straight/gay juicy jamboree is still the champ.

Spiral Architects. It took more than two and a half hours to drive the last couple of miles to OZZFEST; evidently no one informed the good bureaucrats of San Bernardino County that a really big concert was taking place and that it might be helpful to have a cop or two to direct traffic. At least there was plenty to look at, perhaps even more than intended, as idling concertgoers had to relieve bladders on the hill next to the highway.õ

Urine Trouble Now. Apparently, loo lines meant nothing to RACHAEL HUNTER, who evidently really had to go as she attempted to waltz her way to the front of the queue at a party for Vespa. But supermodelness meant nothing to the bladder-bursting posse of waiting party animals, who directed Rachael to do the potty dance at the end of the line. When it comes to the need to pee, there is no A-list.

Midnight — and Daybreak and Late Afternoon — at the Oasis. The PLATINUM OASIS, curated by RON ATHEY and DR. VAGINAL DAVIS at the Coral Sands Motel, was a spectacularly ambitious debut that featured 40 rooms of multimedia art, installations and poolside performances, with a whoop-it-up licentiousness that would have done Caligula proud. In fact, the Oasis brought together an assortment of art tarts, ex-cons, leather daddies, college students, ravers, bohos, and even a tourist or two who normally don’t rub shoulders, never mind other body parts.

The Ugly Side of Performance Art. There was a little too much crowd participation required when performance artist CURT LeMIEUX, sweaty and clad only in a jockstrap, repeatedly hurled himself at audience members while pleading to be spanked during Fairy, a two-night-
durational art event at Side Street Live.

The Day of the Geriatric Locusts. The Cinema Arts Gallery resembled a mosh pit, with elbowing seniors packed toupee-to-bad-toupee, trying to grab the hors d’oeuvres, on the opening night of the CLARK GABLE CENTURY photography exhibit.

Altered Pates. No baseball hats, no scraggly ponytails, just a lot of Hair Club for Men candidates at the opening of a photo show that featured work by YUL BRYNNER.

Worst Judy Garland Impression by a Non-Relative. BRUCE VILANCH, in his show Bruce! A Month of Mondays at the Canon Theater.

Contributors: Greg Burk, Pleasant Gehman, Falling James, Lina Lecaro, Derrick Mathis, J.V. McAuley, Brendan Mullen, Sandra Ross.

Advertising disclosure: We may receive compensation for some of the links in our stories. Thank you for supporting LA Weekly and our advertisers.

LA Weekly