Reports from the scene

Locals Only

While Grand Ole Party fans will have to wait and see whether the band has split up, music website Brooklynvegan.com has reported that GOP frontwoman Kristin Gundred is behind the supposedly L.A.-based Dum Dum Girls. CityBeat has learned that the fuzz-pop project has signed to Sup Pop Records, which, according to the label’s blog, is hoping to release the Girls’ debut album in early 2010. With Gundred working under the alias “Dee Dee” for more than a year, Dum Dum Girls (www.myspace.com/dumdumgirls) have released several 7-inch singles and recently made an appearance at the Woodsist & Captured Tracks Festival in Brooklyn on July 4. The band that backed Dee Dee at Woodsist consisted of Brandon Welchez (Gundred’s husband and frontman for Crocodiles) on guitar, Mike Sniper (Blank Dogs) on bass and Frankie Rose (Crystal Stilts, Vivian Girls) on drums. It’s unknown whether this is the band’s permanent lineup. Gundred would not comment about the project to CityBeat.

In what could be called a hardcore super-group, new band Rats Eyes have booked their first show at The Radio Room on Wednesday, July 29. With Gabe Serbian (The Locust) on vocals, Jason “Blackie” Blackmore (Sirhan Sirhan) on guitar, Jimmy Armbrust (The Bloodflowers, Louis XIV) on bass and John Cota (Hostile Comb-Over, City of Whores) on drums, the band is already billing itself as “the best hardcore band ever.” Blackmore says the band (www.myspace.com/ratseyesratseyes) will record material in the next week and plans to release “at least a five-song EP” by the end of the year.

“It’s a pretty rad lineup, if I can say so myself,” Blackmore tells CityBeat. “It’s strictly fun—total ’80s-style influenced. Straight-up Black Flag, Circle Jerks kind of hardcore punk-rock shit. It’s a blast.”

Frontman Grant Reinero has confirmed to CityBeat that The Focus Group has split. The band released a self-titled debut album earlier this year, but Reinero says he’s interested in moving on to other projects.

The Enrique Experience

The term “new dive” might be an oxymoron, but two years into its run, Imperial Beach’s Crystal Cove Cocktails (995 Palm Ave.)—with its daily drink specials, staff of friendly tatted-up “intoxicologists” and not one but two stripper poles set-up in the back—has proven to be I.B.’s ultimate rule breaker, though it strictly enforces one rule that’s posted by the door: “Absolutely no whole peanuts. You will be asked to leave.”

Formerly known as The Silver Sands, “an old fogies place,” says regular Jane, a 50-something tax specialist who serves as the Cove’s self-appointed “principal,” the watering hole is now huge with the rockabilly and rockachola pompadour-loving set and has served as the backdrop for all sorts of celebrations, ranging from birthday parties to wedding receptions.

The inside is an amalgam of icicle Christmas lights, bicolor nautical stars, Bettie Page posters and gangster-flick paraphernalia, along with a set of mounted plastic boobs that sing and jiggle when activated, a countdown ticker to St. Patrick’s Day and, rounding out the festive holiday motif, an inflatable Bud Light-logo-emblazoned bat leftover from last year’s Halloween celebration.

“What can I say? I like weird shit,” owner and namesake Crystal Cervantes told me. Perhaps a nod to Martin Luther King Day should follow, because like the civil-rights leader, Cervantes has a dream. Around the bar area rests a bevy of Sharpied-over dollar bills stapled in place there by customers, displaying messages like “Slayer Rocks!” and the less subtle “Fuck Texas.”

“I hope that one day the bills expand all the way to the ceiling,” the 27-year-old proprietor said of her painted-over George Washington-wallpaper vision.

As for the stripper poles, turns out they were a Christmas gift from Cervantes’ 77-year-old dad. “I told him I wanted one. An awkward silence followed, and then he surprised me by saying, ‘How about two?’”

Bettie would approve.

Speak-not-so-easy

I had high hopes as we approached the nondescript door marked “Law Office” and the button just to the right. Our destination was a relatively new bar in the Gaslamp Quarter known as Prohibition, which hides behind a concept or gimmick that’s either clever or cheesy, depending on who’s commenting on it. The explicit theme, obviously, is prohibition-era speakeasy.

My optimism was buoyed by the admittance restrictions: Not only do you have to know where the place is; you also have to give the password to the doorman who answers the bell. The e-mail that reveals the password instructs:

“Dress like you care.” What all that said to me was that there would be no typical Gaslamp stumble-in traffic—anyone inside had to plan to be there—and that sophistication would be in the air. I even brought a blazer but left it in the car because of the heat. Turns out I didn’t need it. And that’s a shame.

We pushed the button and, after 45 seconds or so, a guy in a black shirt and tie opened the door and asked for the password. We descended a staircase into a narrow, dark room with a small bar in the middle and a handful of booth tables on one end. A mirror at the other end gave an illusion of a larger space.

Live music is sometimes offered, but not this night. In lieu, we got what could best be described as recorded urban-chill music that was two clicks too loud for comfortable conversation. And while I’d hoped to see patrons dressed to impress, there were guys wearing T-shirts, shorts and flip-flops who looked like they’d gotten lost on the way to Mission Beach. On the plus side, the cocktails were well-made.

The owners of Prohibition should fully commit to the concept; otherwise, it’s an empty gimmick and just another Gaslamp bar. They should provide an escape from the frenetic energy at the street level and point the dudes in the flip-flops to Whiskey Girl or Double Deuce.