Sass, Sleaze and Lots of Glitter--It’s 2000

New Year’s Eve “eve” was a regular ol’ hillbilly parade. Everywhere I looked, hillbillies, hillbillies, hillbillies, stocking up on double Ds, battening down the hatches, lining up for gas like it was the last dang tank they’d ever fill. . . . Wishful thinking. We’re still here--as if batteries and gasoline are gonna save you from da Big-un. . . . With all those extry supplies on hand, however, house parties were the order of the day Dec. 31, with some folks paying $150 to hang out in a rented mansion above the Sunset Strip. . . . Further east near Griffith Park, scene-maker John Roekker invited the ladies of L7 to christen his new home with a live midnight performance. We hear the group didn’t disappoint, playing “Auld Lang Syne” with extra sass. . . .

Over the hill in Toluca Lake, North chef Monica May and hubby, designer Ricki Kline, opened their home to family and friends with a feast fit for a queen (good thing we brought our tiara!) and a lively midnight conga line backed by bagpipes. We hated to leave but were beckoned by Freeks. Freeks--a verbal blending of “freedom” and “freak”--is my latest word, which I dedicate to those rare birds who live life without frontin’.

First freeky stop, the El Rey Theatre’s Big Top 2000, where the fetish-nistas and furious rock ‘n’ roll accompanied a live old-time carny show. (Part of the excitement was witnessing co-promoter Jason Lavitt break up a fight outside of the club. We all know, he’s a lover not a fighter.) At any other club, it would be hard to compete with a snake charmer, a bullwhipper and a gorgeous aerialist, but this crowd was really sleazy on the eyes. The crowd kicked off 2000 to the melodic nihilism of Blur’s “Song 2.” We predict more leather, more glam and more glitter as 2000 progresses.

Many spent the end of the gay ‘90s at Vibrator (held at the 7969 Club on Thursdays), and it was such a scorcher last week that the club burned down. Actually, an electrical fire tore up the front room after closing, and if its owners have any sense they’ll do a remodel. It’s already a hot club, why not make it hotter? . . . O.G. she-devil Angelyne rarely performs in public these days, and if she agrees, promoter beware: Her handwritten rider is the stuff of legends. At Cherry, where she appeared New Year’s Eve, she required a leopard love seat and cupcakes, among other girlie necessities. Something’s working in her favor though. Plastic surgery aside, she’s got a bod that would make most 19-year-old scene-queen wannabes head for the hills. . . . Speaking of hot-bod scene queens, Rose MacGowan is among the freakwenters of the Bigfoot Lodge, the new Atwater Village bar gussied up like a wee log cabin (sorry, wee can’t get enough of that phrase). New Year’s Eve was a smash, as owner Bob Green opened his kitschy club for a modest sum (10 bucks at the door), which paid for a group of mariachis he hired for the night. How we love envisioning a mariachi band serenading hipsters (“Mr. Show’s” David Cross, among them), seated by a Sasquatch National Forest sign and life-size Smokey the Bear. The wee log lodge’s next art auction is scheduled for May. . . . B-b-b-b-ack in town, across from the old Ambassador Hotel, people were holed up at the HMS Bounty bar and restaurant, as two private parties played fast and furious. . . .

Another private shindig took place at Las Palmas, a not-yet-open but already sizzling hot spot. More than 300 N.Y.E. revelers turned up the heat at the Mexican bar and restaurant, which is scheduled to make its official debut Jan. 21. Remember that old Mexican dive next to Bar Deluxe? Well, that’s where Las Palmas is located, but it’s gotten a dramatic face lift (and 150-gallon jellyfish tank). Owner Sky Reiss (whose well-connected past includes jobs at Swingers, the Opium Den and the Garden of Eden) scored the spot by walking in one day, noticing duct tape on the carpet and making an offer the previous owner couldn’t refuse. Reiss, who is planning a late-night appetizer menu, promises to keep things “kinda greasy.” . . . Speaking of grease, the Gaslight’s making a comeback. Dayle Gloria, who is making a go of it with Scream 2000 at the Playroom on Mondays, is now reviving Gaslight, another underground late-’80s club. But get this--it’ll be on Sundays at the Opium Den, which formerly was Gaslight (thus the confusion). It’s gonna cost three bucks for three bands, and is where she hopes to cultivate younger bands for bigger shows at the bigger Playroom. You go, girl.

Me, I got cosmic at the beach on New Year’s Day, but about 400 electronica-thirsting souls showed up for the all-day marathon version of Bliss. Normally held each Saturday night at Club Voodoo--which we hear is lovely--Bliss is throwing a big birthday bash for co-promoter Lynn Hasty on Jan. 15. She even got her man, John Tejada (who toured Australia, Germany, Vienna and Austria in ‘99), to man the decks for her on the 15th. . . . B-b-b-beauty Bar (say it aloud, and it’s sounds so rock ‘n’ roll) is gearing up for an end o’ January opening. Didn’t know this before, but the original New York bar got its name because owners took over an old beauty parlor, and the fixtures were so lovely, they simply left them in place when it reopened as a bar. Since this city is built on the talent of stylists (remember, kids, it’s all an illusion), we gotta feeling our local Beauty Bar will be off-da-hook.

Finally, those scenesters who played hooky by driving to Joshua Tree for New Year’s were among the happiest revelers around. Treated to a fantastic lightning storm on the way, the couple hundred guests at the Rancho de la Luna recording studio then celebrated the beginning of the new beginning in fine cosmic style. While Goatsnake and Queens of the Stone Age performed, kids got downright groovy. I’m a telling ya, there’s a neo-hippie-ism in the air. And it’s a good thing, ‘cause I’ve got just the thing to wear.