It just so happened that the three events I had planned to attend last night were positioned in a nearly straight line heading from Beverly Hills to West Hollywood. And so, in one of those oddly un-Los Angeles moments, I actually was able to attend all three events.

My brother and I started off the night heading down the 405 to Beverly Hills, listening to Lions Basketball on KXLU along the way (we won). Our first stop was Gibson, makers of fine guitars and other instruments, for the Global Battle of the Bands. GBOB takes place tonight and, as one of the judges, I was invited to the pre-party.

We didn't know a soul in there and since half the conversations we overheard were regarding guitars, we stuck to ourselves. We walked back and forth through the venue trying to figure out from where each band hailed. The group that played, The Waking Hours, had to be an L.A. band because one of the guys was wearing a vintage Western shirt and all of the members had Silver Lake shaggy hair. Our best guess was that the guy who looked like Jesus and the girl with the poncho, knit cap and flip-flops were from up north, probably Chico. All of the dudes who looked like Axl Rose as he emerged from the Indiana bus on the Sunset Strip had to be from either Indiana or somwhere else that isn't Los Angeles. The emo kids, I thought, were either from the Midwest or Orange County.

We left after The Waking Hours set and drove across Santa Monica and up Doheny to The Strip, where we parked in the last available lot minutes before they changed the rate from $8 to $10. We stood outside The Roxy for almost an hour, groaning as the gaggle of 15-year-old girls with oversized Gucci and Chanel handbags pushed through the crowd. That is never a good sign.

When we finally made our way inside the completely sold-out club, a guy in a zebra striped Mexican wrestling mask was exiting the stage. Obviously, The Hairbrain Scheme had something going that we should have witnessed.

Whitestarr followed. My friend, the one who suggested that I start playing Muse in my club sets back in 2001, had told me that Whitestarr ranks as the worst opening band he has seen. Once again, my friend was right. The minute they hit the stage to a roomful of screams and shouted something about "Motherfuckers" ready to "fuckin' rock," we knew that it was going to be a long, excrutiating set.

I'm not sure that mere words can capture the myriad ways in which Whitestarr sucks. It is as if every horrific aspect of The Sunset Strip (rock for the sake of rock without any attempt to carry a tune, people who actually idolize Motley Crue for its debauchery) is rolled up in this band. I am not sure what Spin was thinking when it decided to actually listed this crapfest as Artist of the Day. Oh, I know, half the band is entertainment spawn and singer Cisco Adler is Mischa Barton's boyfriend! Now it makes perfect sense.

My brother said that Barton's character on The O.C. was known for her bad taste. He is now convinced that Barton is a method actress and dating Adler is just helping to keep her in character. You know, I think sometimes method actors can't shake their roles even when they are killed off the show.

Without question, this was the worst band I had ever seen live. I'm not sure how someone who grew up in Malibu can have such a poor command of the English language that he cannot complete a sentence, let alone a song lyric, without dropping an F-bomb. The band played without any reference to such conventions as hooks or rhythm sections. And they played for eons, extending nearly every song past the seven-minute mark, even though seven seconds would have been sufficient. The closest thing this band has to a redeeming quality is a go go dancer who looks like Ron Jeremy as Lawrence of Arabia. I thought of the name for the potential film as well, but my brother said that it sounded like something that was probably used before (i.e., it was that perfect of a porn title). When Adler started talking to the crowd about how the band was going on tour and he wasn't going to have sex for a while (I presume that Barton was in the audience) and the whole crowd needed to engage in an orgy, I yelled "Shut up!" I have never, ever heckled anyone in my life before this night. Ask any of my friends. We have seen so many bands over the years ranging from mediocre to awful and, still, I have always managed to maintain my composure. This time I couldn't help it. I had to walk out of the club right after that. Then I walked back inside. I made a remark to my brother and one of my friends that I don't understand how people can scream for a band this awful. The girl in front of me, who was with a photographer, turned her head and nodded in agreement. We left the club again and stood outside, where I warned my friends of the dangers of Whitestarr via text messages and we waited to hear something that didn't sound live.

Ima Robot made up for Whitestarr. Although the set seemed a tad too long, the band was unnervingly energetic. Midway through the performance, they invited the crowd onstage. We spotted a Rockit writer dancing alongside Alex Ebert. After the song, they kicked the band off the stage and, naturally, it took about five minutes for the band to regain control of the mics and find the clothing that was swiped off their backs. Towards the end, they asked the crowd to throw money onto the stage and pennies fell like a windblown deluge pushing the rain flat against the face.

After the show, we drove back up to Santa Monica and across the boulevard down to Underground. Annie was working the door and Dave was just leaving as we entered the club. We met this guy Robert, who directed the Mates of State video for "Like U Crazy," which features a cameo appearance by Dave. Here's the video. You will enjoy it.



We stayed at the club for about a half-hour, maybe longer, then hopped on the 101 and headed back to the Valley, cruising around the freeway curves as "Sit Down" by James played on 103.1. It was a great evening.