Education of the Modern Doctor: Marcus Welby vs. House 
Ah, the trucker hat. Is it really time for a comeback? Back in 2002, nothing said “I’m trying very hard to be trendy, you know, like Ashton Kutcher” quite like a trucker hat. These days, you rarely see them outside of Santee. On a trucker. Fashion faux pas aside, most of the folks at U-31 were Von Dutch-less Saturday night for London-based, fidget-house DJ Kelevra. Bartender Nicole Novak has been serving up more than drinks lately, booking over-the-pond acts like Kelevra that would otherwise skip San Diego. For that, I salute her. Hold on, let me turn my tucker hat sideways. —Seth Combs
- Photo by Jeff Turbo Corrigan
Erica Putis, of The Mashtis and Recordable Colors, has confirmed that she’s started a new electro project called Under Pine Skies with Donnie Valdez (aka EshOne) of Argyle. Putis is on vocals and “backseat studio driving,” and Valdez processes beats and plays guitar and bass. They’re currently finishing up an album, which they expect to release by the end of summer or in early fall.
Pop-rockers Radio Racer are calling it quits. “We’re great friends, and we still hang out and play music together—it’s just that was about as far as we could bring our band,” says singer Nick Dillinger. “There were indie labels that wanted to sign us, but that wasn’t going to be enough. We were just trying to go big or go home, and I guess we took it as far as we could take it.” Dillinger and his brother, Troy Dillinger, are working on a new, sofar-unnamed electro-rock project.
The band formerly known as Arrows and subsequently known as Arrowws announced this week that they’ve changed their name to Lesands. Keyboardist / vocalist Austin Taylor Tirado tells City- Beat that their U.K.-based attorney recommended a name change to avoid legal troubles with other bands called Arrows.
Anti Citizens, Ash Foster, Blame One and 17 other MCs and DJs will perform at an all-day fundraiser for online radio station Earthbound Radio at U-31 on Saturday, June 26.
Artwork by Mike Maxwell, Rebecca Johnson, Niko Burke and five others will be auctioned at a fundraiser for the National Wildlife Federation’s Oil Spill Restoration Fund at El Dorado on Tuesday, June 29. DJ Wild Cat will spin dance music.
Riddle the Roar will mark the release of their self-titled debut album at Sushi Performance and Visual Art on Friday, June 25. Brian Bangerter and Megan Maples will also perform.
—Peter Holslin
The Enrique Experience
Patrons were sauced and bloodthirsty, some wearing costumes and holding up signs. We were all gathered around a regulation-size ring smack in the middle of 4th & B last Friday night, singing along to Mtley Cre, Warrant, Ratt and their ilk, in expectation of the symbol of all things civilized: Midget Wrestling (their term, not mine).
“Do not hit, kick or throw anything at the midgets, or you’re outta here!” said Blixx, one of the night’s contenders, dubbed “74 pounds of pure muscle and steel.” The last guy who tried it, he said, got carried out on a stretcher.
A zebra-print, pimp-suit-wearing Huggie Cub then appeared and kicked the mini daylights out of Meatball, who, according to the announcer, at 4-foot-7 is “as tall as he is wide.”
The crowd—a mix of folks you’d find at a Skynyrd tailgate party, or at an East County needle exchange— reached a state of pandemonium just as Micro Championship Wrestling President Johnny G promised “half the size and twice the violence.”
A departure from the Lollipop Guild days, little people are still quite the draw. “Size don’t matter,” Meatball, wearing a “Midget Gone Metal”-emblazoned T-shirt, told CityBeat during intermission. “Basically, this is a rock show, and we’re the stars.”
He said the job comes with perks, including a loyal stable of groupies. “Chicks are like, ‘I wonder what he’s packing?’” Meatball said.
In a way, that question got answered in the night’s third bout. Meatball knocked his opponent semi-unconscious, propped him against the ropes and lowered his toddler-sized unitard, leaving his meaty, USDA Choice buttocks exposed, and then, with the aim of an FBI sniper, proceeded to rub his butt all over his adversary’s face.
The mob, having witnessed the “Meatball stink face” lost it in a frantic scene that put the Thunderdome to shame.
In a move as inexplicable as Amanda Bynes’ retirement from acting, not one, not two, but three female attendees then volunteered to experience a runtish rimming, giving truth to the itty-bitty brawler’s earlier claims.
André the Giant, wherever you may be, eat your heart out.
—Enrique Limón
