Molly Bergen

Awash in a sea of plaid on Monday night, an epiphany struck: folk was chic again. It is currently hip and groovy to wear plaid shirts, headbands, feathers in your hair, and beads around your neck. We're back in the 1960s, baby. But more interesting than the fashion, because fashions come and go, was the music. The opening act was a young man from Los Angeles named Frank Fairfield. He looked and sounded like he...

"I gave away my Metallica tickets to see these guys!" a blonde woman confided to me in the ladies room last Wednesday night at the Viper Room. I looked at her incredulously. A young man in tiny short shorts, a leather belt, bow tie, and nothing else, held the answer to my unasked question. When Joe Hurley takes the stage, everyone notices. Like a sprightly mix of Hugh Laurie and Iggy Pop, Mr. Hurley is mesmerizing to behold. Not even the half naked women who bounced on stage could eclipse his performance; they might as well have been wooden posts for all the fanboy attention they didn't get.

Don't be fooled. Just because, Dios(Malos) formerly Dios, soon to be We Are Dios, change their name more often than Prince, it doesn't mean they are flaky about this music stuff. These guys are in it for the long-haul, calling themselves "lifers." Veterans as it were of the Los Angeles music scene which is as beautiful, quick burning, and potentially dangerous as a homemade bottle rocket.