According to the rumor mill (ie. promoters, liquor vendors), the Japanese-inspired Tokio is shutting down at the end of March for a major makeover. According to Jamie Barren, who promotes “Sexy Thursdays” at the lounge, owners Dave and Danny B plan to transform the venue into Revolver, a sleek club with an all-black interior. The best part? It’ll be twice as big as Tokio—just the way we like a gun.
 
But here’s the weird thing. When digging around to find info on Revolver I learned that: 

Tokio was originally owned by Eric Weitzman, who you might remember passed away in a tragic motorcycle accident while in South Africa. Eric had also owned Ivar (now Façade) with the dudes from SGM (now Choice Hospitality Group), who also own Holly’s and Nacional. After some off-the-record drama, SGM "restructured." Next thing we knew, former partner Anton Posniak had started the Mor Project, a nightlife and restaurant company in Orange County, which—wait for it—is also gearing up to open a venue called Revolver. Apparently there’s no connection between the Hollywood and OC locations.

Hmmm... 

I know there’s more gossip to be had on this. If only D & D would call me back. Stay tuned.

—Alexandra Le Tellier

When celebrities want to make headlines with their love lives, they do things like get matching haircuts (see: Ashlee Simpson and Pete Wentz) or play games of cat-and-mouse with the press by checking into the Westwood W Hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Smith (see: Brangelina). They do not sneak into a dark dive like Ye Coach & Horses. So Christina Applegate and Zachary Levi (AKA Chuck from “Chuck”) might be bummed out to learn that I spotted them there last night canoodling among a group of friends, she in a black dress and knee-high boots, he in an army green jacket. The couple may have gone unnoticed had it not been for a drunk dude—he was there celebrating his 21st birthday and had puked in the alley just seconds before the couple’s arrival—trying to covertly take a picture of them. Christina responded by giving him a glass of water and a pat on the back.  

—Alexandra Le Tellier

The restaurant scene in L.A. is fast and furious. Blink, and before you know it, one Japanese-fusion joint turns into...another Japanese-fusion joint.

Tengu Santa Monica is no longer under the auspices of the Choice Hospitality Group which still runs, amongst other locations, the first Tengu in Westwood Village. About a year after it opened in the spot formerly occupied by Ivy at the Shore, the trendier-than-thou restaurant is now being "run by its investors" and is soon to shed its birthname for the more generic "1541 Ocean"—that's also the address which helps, I guess, if any of the waitstaff ever gets lost.

The transition already happened back in "mid-December" with a clear but not so distant departure from Tengu's original menu: It's Japanese/Asian-fusion with gussied-up sushi rolls. And I mean, really gussied up. The new "Canary Diamond" roll packs in lobster, seared toro, uni, caviar, black truffles and gold flakes—for a C-note. *Gulp* There. You just blew $100.

Expect to see new uniforms and a more conscious attention to drawing in a late crowd—the space in back is now dedicated to (say it with me, folks) a "lounge." 

—Jiyeon Yoo

Yes, yes, I know: 2.7 events. That's the number that your friendly Metromixian Events editor claims to attend per night. Not this weekend. People: I must have been slipped some PCP.

I went to so many art galleries that my vision crossed. I passed by innumerable coolers of free canned Tecate, picked up so many art show fliers that my fingers bled, spotted untold numbers of foxy people bravely macking on each other under the glare of gallery lighting, and got so many stamps on my hands that I might have a rare form of ink poisoning that only afflicts Events editors. 

But because this is a blog, and not an epic novel, I can relay only by snapshots the flashes and glimpes of the weekend. Feast your eyes. Warning: you may need a nap afterward. 

Friday- 9 total events/locations

Friday night: My trusted comrade Georgia and I attend the Chinatown art walk. 12 galleries/installations visited, some wax octopi spotted:

We next scarfed a ridiculously good dinner at Via Cafe in Chinatown:

 

(God bless dim lighting.)

 

...then headed next door to the Mountain Bar for some informal Art LA mingling, after which we hit Charlie O's bar downtown to catch a glimpse of Fat Halen's set, and hang with our new friend/sound guy Tenniel, who hooked up a pitcher of beer:

Cheers:

Our 4th stop Friday night was the Bagavagabonds loft party, featuring cheap arts and more people packed into a loft than might be legal:

From there, we headed to 7 Grand, then the Broadway Bar, then back to Charlie O's, then off to the best bar ever by 1 a.m. (Note: It's a testament to my comrades that I can visit 6 bars in one night without drinking and still have a giggly good time.)

Saturday was equally impressive, in part because there was a torrential downpour that would have hobbled most people's will and caused grown adults to hide beneath a fort made of couch cushions. Not Ward on the Street. Frizzy hair and the lack of an umbrella did not stop me from poking into:
 
The Bourgeois Pig for David Klein's/Billygoat's installation (he sold a 4-piece panel of paintings to Grey's Anatomy heartthrob and Pig frequenter Justin Chambers before he was even done hanging them up.  Nice work! )

Comrade Isobel (below) and I braved the rain to hit the Showcave opening of Dame Darcy and Brigette Reed's cartoon art and knitted sea creatures, respectively.

(Isobel dodges raindrops.)

(Showcave Gallery, at capacity.)

 

(Dame Darcy spills champagne on herself and sings about dead children.)

(Yarn octopus, anyone?)

(Don't freak out...it's just a knitted squid. ) 

From Showcave, I headed to the Cannibal Flower opening:

"Tracy Rose," by Mariko mixed media, $300

 

 

"Army of Hope," Macsorro, acrylic, $250 

 

...And this portrait of Cannibal Flower co-founder L. Croskey: "The 45 King," by Jeremy Szuder, mixed media, $175 

After a particularly manic weekend, a guy next to me in line at the grocery store pointed at my numerous smudgy hand stamps and leftover wristbands. He looked to me and asked with equal parts wonder and horror: "Where did you GO?"

Where didn't I go, my comrade? Where didn't I go.


High five peeps,

Miss Alie Ward

Ward on the Street

It’s been another hazy, crazy and particularly rainy week in music here in “sunny” California. “Lil’” Wayne got busted in Arizona with enough pot, blow and E to start his own Hollywood nightclub. After a couple of false starts, Amy Winehouse finally said “yes, yes, yes” to putting her skinny butt into rehab. Here’s hoping she gets it together in time to still perform at the Grammys next month with MMX good buddy Mark Ronson, who’s among the artists we’re most excited about seeing at Coachella this year. I know, most of y’all are still crying in your soy lattes over the line-up, but it’s actually pretty damn good. I mean, they had me at Portishead and the Verve. But dig even deeper, and the bill is loaded with hotness. I’ll even spot you one: UK DJ Erol Alkan.

Forget about the tired turntable antics of the usual superclub suspects. Alkan is the real deal on the decks. I would go on about him, but I have a sneaking suspicion he’ll be getting a lot more attention between now and that fateful weekend in the desert.

And while I’m didn’t have the good fortune of partying in Park City for Sundance, I did get to catch an advance screening of Michel Gondry’s “Be Kind Rewind” at the Arclight this week. Despite the pouring rain outside and a stress level somewhere in the range of nuclear meltdown (don't ask), this sweet little film made me laugh out loud. Mos Def, Jack Black and this year's "queen of Sundance," Melonie Diaz (pictured) are hilarious as accidental filmmakers in Passaic, New Jersey. Gondry fills the screen with his customary feel-good fuzziness, and Danny Glover and Mia Farrow(!) round out the stellar cast. You'll never look at "Ghostbusters" or "Driving Miss Daisy" the same way again. 

Hardcore music nerds will recognize August Darnell (of Kid Creole and the Coconuts fame) in a supporting role.

Interesting note: leaving the screening, I spied Le Tigre member JD Samson arm in arm with a petite blonde, who turned out to be none other than Zero 7 vocalist and budding solo star Sia. Hmmm….

—Scott T. Sterling

Despite all the hype around the Downtown nightlife scene, there’s still a shortage of foot traffic after dark, which is when you need it most. Even armed with liquid courage, it's sketchy enough to detract the "destination" crowd from other neighborhoods—and it seems bar owners have noticed. Take Dana Hollister, mistress of cool. She co-owns Downtown spots Royal Claytons and Bordello, but has held off from opening Bridge Tavern to the public, even though it’s ready to go. She says:

I've kind of put it in mothballs a little bit because I think that people haven't really moved Downtown and I kind of feel like our businesses down there could perform better. Obviously, we're involved with Royal Claytons and we also have Bordello and we haven't really seen the kinds of activity that were hoping to see there. So I think opening another venture, maybe pull back a little bit and wait until we see a little more people out and about. There's a little bit of a pull back in downtown.

Yikes! I can think of dozen places that are supposed to open around here in the next year. Watch—In another three years, Downtown will be just like Hollywood: oversaturated, high-class hoochies and not enough parking.


Dana pondering the state of Downtown. (Photo: Lisa Romerein)

So the question that has been plaguing the Metromix office was finally answered in the frigid, snow-less tundra of Lambeau Field. The give-me Patriots are meeting the G-men in Super Bowl XLII—and all I have to say is, meh. Haven't we seen this game before? I think it went something like this:

I hope I'm proven wrong, but with two North Atlantic teams in which I have no interest in whatsoever (yeah, I'm a hater, whaddup!), this Super Bowl is going to blow.

Except I may just end up having the best spread ever. Right around this time every year, my sis and I start strategizing our menu for Super Bowl, and yes I mean 'strategizing.' Seriously, it's a meticulously-choreographed schedule. The brats come off the grill and are dunked into beer jus during the pre-game show, the wings come out of the oven as the teams are announced, the pizza is sliced and set out as the anthem is being sung. And we allot for making second batches during halftime, especially since the shows have tended to suck after JT metaphorically raped Janet—and got away with it. 

But this year, we can dedicate all our attention to the food. Here's what I have planned so far: my sister just got us a pizza stone...for our grill. Yeah, it's pretty dope. Grilled cheese fresh off my Villaware panini press. Maybe even with pulled short rib, the way Oprah likes it. Nachos, naturally, with chipotle dip. Sticky, fusion-style hot wings that have been a Super Bowl staple for the last five years. And, I want to fry my own potato chips this year to break in my mandoline.

While we've rarely ventured dessert beyond cookies or sundaes, I'm in the mood for cupcakes. In homage to the teams, I'll bake two kinds: a Boston cream pie cupcake and the famous vanilla recipe from NYC's Magnolia bakery. Which one will prevail this cupcake-off? Well, this one, at least, looks too close to call.

—Jiyeon Yoo

 

Ah... getting dumped really sucks. There's nothing that saddens me more than to hear of a friend's fractured heart.

That being said, I'll confess that there's no shame in enjoying the efforts to cheer them up. Case in point: a good ladypal of mine recently suffered a disappointment from a beau. We all voiced our newfound hate for him, rallied any troop with a tolerance for tequila, and set a date for Friday night at La Cita. Complication: the broken hearted girlfriend? Ended up having to go out of town. We were left with the ethical decision, "Should we get redonk in her absence?"

The answer was yes.

So Friday night was a blur of locations and comrades including but not limited to the ever-loyal Georgia, K. Kutasy (hitherto known affectionately as Whorepants) and Making-the-Chain Micah, who was dressed curiously "as a douchebag"—which meant that he was wearing a blazer of some sort due to a laundry crisis.

We piled into cars, pockets heavy with filled-up flasks, and headed downtown to meet up with the rest of the cadre. La Cita's Punky Reggae Party was packed and sweaty, and the throngs fighting for beers proved too much to bear. After a while we globbed together like a gang of pirates and stumbled over to Charlie O's, whereupon we discovered that Everyone We'd Ever Met happened to be there. Handy! Charlie O's morphed into a Silverlake house party featuring:

1. Room temperature Tecate,

2. Sitting on a rapidly deflating air mattress,

3. Hanging out outside, in front a motion-sensor light that had to be periodically danced-in-front-of in order to keep darkness at bay

Before we knew it, we were destroying a plate of pancakes at Fred 62 at 5 am.

So I hope it cheers up my broken-hearted ladyfriend to know that the party staged in her honor perked the rest of us up quite considerably. And yes, this Ward accepts rainchecks. 

High five peeps,

-Miss Alie Ward
Ward on the Street

 

Sure, she might have one of the surliest reputations in Hollywood (I love the story about her handing a powerful movie producer a piece of chewed gum from her mouth saying, "Could you do something with this?" Allegedly!). But it's hard not to fall under the spell of Scarlett Johansson's undeniable...heat. But do we really want to hear her sing? Tom Waits covers, no less?

Either way, that's exactly what will happen on May 20, when the recently-revived Atco label (thanks to Rhino  Records) drops "Anywhere I Lay My Head," a collection of Waits covers as trilled by the "Lost in Translation" star/sheer panty advocate. Don't laugh quite yet, though. It's being produced by sonic mastermind David Sitek of TV on the Radio fame.

Music fans might remember when Lady Scarlett sang back-up vocals for the Jesus & Mary Chain last year at Coachella beneath that fetching fedora (pictured).

And of course, Scarlett is the inspiration for the song "Starlett Johansson," from pop-culture-obsessed French hipster band the Teenagers, playing two shows in L.A. next week. Be there or read about it on a snarky blog later!

—Scott T. Sterling

 

In the four years I've covered nightlife scene in L.A., I've gotten one consistent question from readers: How do I get past the velvet rope? Of course, as anyone who reads this site knows, it's not always easy—even for me. In July, I told this horror story from my experience at Opera, where my glammed-out friends and I got the stink eye from the marketing director who'd personally invited me to come, and, last month, my cohort Amir Kenan had to wait three full hours before getting into Goa as girls in pink Uggs trotted in before him.

So, I asked Jen Rosero, the infamous doorwoman behind SBE's most excusive venues Hyde and Area, what she suggests for people desperate to get in. She said, "By coming around. They just keep coming. A lot of times they get in the first time [because it was the] right night, right time. They came super early, they were really cool, they didn’t act like a spoiled person outside going 'I need to get in.' They just were cool about it." But what if they didn't get in the first time, I asked. Are their egos too bruised to try again? Apparently not. She went on, "When Apple has a new computer out or the new iPod comes out or the new Blackberry comes out—just because people didn’t get it the first time around doesn’t mean they just forget about it. They come back for it because it’s a good product."

Here's my question for you guys: What are your tales from the velvet rope? Comment below and I'll choose the best answers to run in our first print issue of Metromix, out February 13.

—Alexandra Le Tellier

Though there was just a fatal shooting at Crash Mansion a few weeks ago, that’s not stopping the dudes behind the new-ish club from throwing their grand opening bash on February 2. The Bravery are headlining, and bravery is just what you’ll need to muster up the courage to come out.

 
—Alexandra Le Tellier

I swear, I haven't eaten this much tart frozen yogurt in, well, three years. Contrary to my recent outings, I'm not a Pinkberry fanatic. Actually, I'm a total Pinkberry 'tard. I haven't committed any of the sizes or toppings to memory, so I end up being that girl, holding up the line with her lame questions (yeah, sorry folks!).

But Pinkberry launched its much-speculated new flavor today and sure, I was willing to a take a coffee break. It was a media event at the original West Hollywood location, and co-founder Shelly Hwang was swirling. So, yes, this sampling was free (disclaimer, present and accounted for).

First off, chestnuts have been added as a topping to correspond to the new flavor.

The texture and slightly wan flavor made me think of those packaged chestnuts that are popular as Asian snacks. I was assured that they are not the bagged kind. (In case you have no clue what I'm talking about, I happened to have one in my fridge.)

Ms. Shelly recommended a combination of mochi nuggets, coconut and chestnuts to top the coffee yogurt.

While I admit the first taste was a bit off-putting, especially to a habitual coffee drinker, I imagine that the reflexive furrow and pucker that crossed my face were similar to my reaction two-and-a-half years ago when I first attempted both the original and green tea. I thought, "Yep, it tastes like coffee!," then "oh, and it's sour."

The coffee part of it mellowed after the fourth or fifth bite, especially with all that stuff mixed in there. Overall, the coffee flavor isn't that assertive, and that's probably a good thing. I think my palette would have gotten really confused otherwise. But is it groundbreaking? Groundbreaking enough for another round of parking tickets? Heh, not even Pinkberry can outdo Pinkberry in that case.

—Jiyeon Yoo

 

A juggernaut like Pinkberry announces that it will reveal a brand new flavor to commemorate its third year on this smog-laden pied-de-terre of God's green earth, and the blogosphere goes off in kind: What's the new flavor? How will it taste? Why this? Why that? Why now?

It looks like the answer to the first question, my froyo friends, has been right under our noses all along. Snapped this over the weekend—before the froshling attendent stuck his head into view to let me know there are no photos inside Pinkberry (Really? Pfft, that's a whole other blog).

Obviously the specially-printed menus didn't get the memo that the new swirl is supposed to be "se-cret" but there you have it, in a mocha-toned backdrop to match. Ta-da, Coffee is the new Pink.

Now I love me my coffee, as video and photographic evidence bears witness, but I just want to say that this?

Just never worked.

—Jiyeon Yoo

 

 

A few years ago, I stopped into a very muggy and humid Downbeat Cafe, which was stuffed beyond capacity as the comedy venue of the Fuck Yeah Fest. I wanted a peanut butter cookie, and an oxygen tank.

However, I settled for a bagel, breathing in the atmosphere of excess humans, and a comedy set by Anthony Jeselnik. I had no regrets.

Jeselnik specializes in dry, darkly wicked jokes and the occasional ruthless Dane Cook mockery, and has been making a steady ascent in the comedy scene. An anonymous male here at Metromix recently confessed in writing: "I think he's effin hysterical. And kind of hot in a man-crush way." The ladies of Metromix concede: Yes, he is both hysterical and classically foxy. 

After a cancellation a week or two ago, Jeselnik just announced that he'll be making his debut on Conan O'Brian tomorrow night. Set those TiVos, comrades.

And if you want to crow in a year or two "Yeah, I used to see that kid in these dingy little clubs...", get thee to the Ice house in Pasadena on Thursday when he stops in for a guest spot. But don't tell him that we're hot for him. Can you blame us?

  
Anthony Jeselnik, the Gay-Maker

High five peeps,

-Miss Alie Ward
Ward on the Street

It's become something of a tradition: Every January, Photoshop-happy music geeks hit the interweb with faux Coachella flyers loaded with their particular dream line-up. A couple of notable ones hit the blogosphere this week:

 

I'm all over this one. Portishead, Aphex Twin, Radiohead and hello, the long-awaited My Bloody Valentine reunion! Plus L.A. band we heart very much, Airborne Toxic Event, gets a slot. Hot soup. I love how Third Eye Blind is just kind of slipped in there on Saturday. But I bet Dwight Yoakam would kick a** and take names on Sunday.  

Now check this one out:

The Verve opening for David Bowie? I would just die from pure joy. Aphex Twin and the Knife need to be way higher on the bill for Saturday, though. But then Sunday with MBV, Portishead and stop the presses Lauryn Hill?! Well played.

Still, neither can hold a candle to this baby that circulated last year:

Stop fronting—you know you'd be there!

—Scott T. Sterling

 
2008 hasn't been kind to the nightlife scene so far. In the last week alone, there's been a death at Crash Mansion and a fire at Bank Heist. Might I remind you we're not even two weeks into the year!

Apparently, too, dance clubs are over—or so declares Chris Paul, a main promoter at the French-inspired lounge Green Door.  

Thankfully, there are also a few things to get psyched on.

I. StoneRokk’s DJ protégé Marshall Barnes is going to be huge in 2008.

II. Little Radio is going to debut a biodiesel fuel bus that will provide complimentary nighttime shuttle service from 7 p.m. to 2:30 a.m. between downtown spots including lofts, bars, galleries and, of course, Ralph’s.

III. And, the best for last: this insane club night.

How sick is this? Does the doorman actually measure a girl’s heels with a ruler? Does he have a fetish? I don’t care if Coda is in the Valley. You should all check out this night, if only for a laugh. That should get everyone in a good mood again.  

—Alexandra Le Tellier

 
To know Boardner's owner Tricia La Belle is to know she’s a ball buster who doesn’t mess around—and I’m not just saying that because she hosts Bar Sinister on Saturdays, a club night best known S&M lair. Not only is she a founding member of the Hollywood Hospitality Association, which is helping to revitalize Hollywood, but she also plays by the rules. “The ABC liquor license is a privilege!” she says.

That said, she’d like to tear TMZ a new one for its coverage on underage drinking at the Hollywood clubs.

 
She says, "I don’t TMZ really gives a good perspective on the reality of what’s really going. [To come] to the defense of operators—even poor operators. You can’t always blame the operator for what’s     going on and I think that when you reach a certain age—18 you have the right to vote, 21 you     have the right to drink—we’re certainly adults now and we know when we have to be responsible, when not to get into a car, when not to engage in raping a girl. These are things you know as an adult and to blame an operator who can’t be by every bartender and every server’s side 24/7 is a problem to me. I find it to be a big problem. I have five bars in my locations. On a full-capacity night, I can have upwards of eight bartenders in one night. I can have upwards of three servers on that. So that would be 11 people in a 7,000-square-foot location with a capacity of 500. There is absolutely no physical way that I can monitor all of those people at one time to make sure that those bartenders and servers are not over-serving an individual and allowing that person to get in a vehicle, go out and possibly kill themselves or somebody else. [...] Nightclub owners get a bad deal, yeah. [And] a lot of them have caused that to happen for us, there’s no doubt."

 
You want Tricia to set you straight? Try coming to the club without an ID. God, I love this woman! 

—Alexandra Le Tellier

Happy January 8th, voters. In honor of the first primary of the 2008 presidential election—kudos to New Hampshire for keeping that distinction—and to get you in the polling mood, I feel it's befitting to let you know that Comedy Central wants you to vote for your favorite stand-up. Which would have nothing to do with food if it weren't for the greatness of Jim Gaffigan.

It's hard not to love the very pale force that is Gaffigan—he talks incessantly about two things that are very dear to my heart: Koreans and bacon. If NBC lets this video stay up on YouTube, you can see his hilarious opus to the Great Cured Belly here:

To sway your vote, Jim has vowed to eat a strip of bacon for each vote to his name. He MySpaces:

I know you're busy or just lazy like me but I have a proposal. Every time you vote for me on this comedy central stand up showdown, I will eat a piece of bacon. How is that good for you? How do I prove I'm eating all this bacon? Why should you care? What if you are a vegetarian? Why am I listing all these questions? What is the point of the contest? Really why have I slipped into question mode? I dont know....or do I?

Gotta admit, that's effin'-brilliant. It's like handing out cookies when running for student body president, but you get to keep every treat for yourself. Perhaps Obama can borrow a page from Gaffigan's ruse: Tell the constituents that a vote for him is a vote for bacon and the red states are sure to be his.

—Jiyeon Yoo

 

Really, the audacity of some weather systems.

  

Despite the terribly rude precipitation, many, many LA-based human beings ventured out on Friday night.

I myself rushed out of work at 5:45 pm (unheard of!) to scoot over to the Natural History Museum's first of the '08 First Fridays, which gloriously pair museum tours and lectures with really hot hipsters and good indie music. The lecture on how the human mind works was sadly muffled and fraught with sound issues, and the Afternoons and Sea Wolf were popular to the point of reaching fire marshall-enforced capacity in the mammal hall, but I watched their sets via a video feed under a dinosaur in the lobby and caught up with folks I hadn't seen in eons. Ok, since before Christmas.

 

 

I was actually pretty shocked to see so many people out and about. The next day, on the phone with my sister in San Francisco, I mentioned how many people I knew who had stayed in over the weekend because of their hair.

 

My sister: "What do you mean?"

 

Me: "Oh, you know, their hair gets frizzy since it's raining, so they just stayed in. Didn't go out."

 

My sister: (Pause) "You know some really shallow people."

 

Me: "Hmnn... Eh, it's just L.A."

 

It looks like we're safe from frizz this week, folks, so get your booty out there. I myself am giddy about the Warhol wig-assisted opening and Jophen Stein's solo show, but peruse the Platter and see what strikes you.

 
High five peeps,

-Miss Alie Ward
Ward on the Street/Ward in the Rain 

 

 

Has it really come to this? Whatever happened to that precocious, fresh-faced teen we used to know and love for her thinly-veiled double entendres and infectious pop tunes? I mean, sure, this will all be great fodder for the best "Behind the Music" this side of Motley Crue, but still. Crazy is crazy, and that's no way to enjoy being an international pop star. Sigh. Pull it together, sister. We'll leave the light on for you.

—Scott T. Sterling

As the music industry continues its painful metamorphosis into who knows what, there's little I lament more than the loss of good, classic teen-pop. I really miss those fun, snappy songs about being young, reckless, and in love. Now when I turn on KIIS-FM, it’s this murky mess of “urban” bravado and studio nymphomaniacs. The things we endure for the occasional gem like Rhianna’s “Umbrella” or pretty much anything from Justin Timberlake (yeah, I said it).

So color me giddy like a little schoolgirl at the announcement that Swedish teen-pop powerhouse Robyn is finally coming to America. Not familiar? You should be. Give this girl an opening slot on the next Hannah Montana (or Fergie, or Nelly Furtado, or...) tour and it's over. Her latest batch of tunes is kind of what I wanted from the last Gwen Stafani CD. Check out the mega-fresh video for Miss R's single “Konichiwa B*tches.”

Robyn is playing the Troubadour on Feb. 9. Tickets will fly, so make haste!

Don’t get it twisted, y'all: Robyn has got it going on...

—Scott T. Sterling

Before the Christmas holiday, I was told on the DL that the owners of The Spotlight—one of L.A.'s oldest gay bars—had been persuaded to sell their Cahuenga Corridor spot. There was supposed to be a demolition party last night, but the man who just answered the phone seemed very confused when I asked him about it. Woops. I hope he didn't find out from me that he might be out of a job soon. (Head in hands.) If the rumor I heard is true, get ready for an intimate ultra lounge owned and named after someone in the jewelry business. 

Speaking of jewelry: how hot is this bottle-opener-and-ring-in-one that my friend found? Only thing is, you can't actually use it when it's on your finger, which he learned the hard way!

—Alexandra Le Tellier