Bang-up job

IT WAS ENOUGH to make you want to run away to Paris with a Russian artist, against all sense and laws of chemistry and commonality. – –That was the feeling that washed over me one recent evening while I was having dinner with a friend, Jewel, who has a nice, relatively lucrative tenure-track position at a local university. We were on a complaining tip – lousy with money woes and the news of a major family split. It was a veritable night without armor. And it didn't stop till we hit the prospect of last week's Sex and the City finale. Jewel immediately perked up: there's nothing like dishing about imaginary girlfriends' troubles to get your mind off your own.

But even that otherwise snappy, neat and tidy show had a case of the blues, as Carrie Bradshaw bummed out alone and neglected in Paris, suffered from Lost in Translation-style ennui (word to the globe-traveling working dudes: never, ever leave your tagalong spouse/partner alone in a foreign country to contemplate all the ways they want to change their life – starting with leaving you), and Big came to his senses, realized Carrie was his true love, and rushed back to his Apple from ... Napa? Sex and the Wine Train isn't quite the same.

"Hey, how does Carrie do it?" Jewel innocently asked. "She writes a column too, and she seems to do fine."

I think I nearly choked on my bengan bharta. Maybe Carrie and I have a few things in common – I like to shop and eat too – but I don't do ballerina getups, I'm not blond, and I don't write a sex column (despite the occasional references to Zeigenbock Kopf shows).

So I told Jewel, as one columnist scoping out another and judging by Carrie's nonfreebie designer wardrobe and pricey restaurant habit, I'd guess Carrie is some sort of trustafarian, has a very special deal with her paper, or has secret sources of cash. Maybe all of the above. All that bling doesn't come out of thin air and regular trips to Thrift Town. The fantasy appeal of Carrie, perhaps, hinges on her bourgie update on the writer-in-a-garret scenario, in which the garret is far from ghetto. And in this humble scribe's opinion, Sex's little cha-cha theme and glammy ensembles shouldn't have been the only bling-a-ding-ding things on the show. Why would Jay-Z and Beyoncé bother mentioning the show in "'03 Bonnie and Clyde" and never bother to make a guest appearance?

And why wasn't Sean Combs ever paired with Samantha Jones? Shouldn't Mary J. Blige have been cooing some unsolicited advice, namely, "No More Drama," to Carrie as she wrung her hands over Aleksandr Petrovsky? Considering Sex's popularity with that platinum crew, I'd think the show would take advantage. And find new lucrative tie-ins à la the Queer Eye for the Straight Guy CD. These days – with rain morphing into ice and teaming up to come down like little chilly bullets, guy-who-does-everything-but-windows Combs toying with Broadway, and singers like Gwen Stefani crossing over into fashion design – synergy is in the air, promoting the urge to merge despite the cultural wars raging outside.

Me, I'm just working on a jigsaw puzzle called my finances. Pondering the way leather-clad, lost-X Man Britney Spears reminds me of similarly decked-out Janet Jackson (sans the vulnerability, a.k.a. bared breast), and why Snoop Dogg as Huggy Bear so totally outshines and outjokes the Stiller and Wilson show, completely running away with Starsky and Hutch (though Har Mar Superstar doesn't do badly in the dance-off scene, either).

Scandalized Bummed out this winter? It's the economy, stoopid. Case in point – the odd jobs we pick up here and there. For instance, Oakland singer-songwriter Odessa Chen recently told me she's been doing freelance graphic design and consulting since she was laid off seven months ago. Her latest job: working for graphic design colleague Ashley Benton, who, as luck would have it for Chen, is married to Zack Smith, former guitarist and founder of '80s rock band Scandal. "It's kind of funny because I used to love that song 'I Am the Warrior' when I was 12. I was such a big fan. It used to come on the radio, and I used to sing to it all the time. So it was pretty funny to get to meet him." Meanwhile fellow East Bay singer-songwriter Bart Davenport reports that he's going on tour with the Cuts in March, not as a performer but as a roadie and "merch dude." All to get him to his 20-minute solo acoustic set at South by Southwest in Austin, Tex. Call it a day job of convenience.... Rogue Wave keep on rolling: after being sighted months ago making a video at Recycled Records on Haight Street, Zach Schwartz and company have signed with Sub Pop.... Lessick's Charles Gonzalez (Matt's bro) and Liz Ross are said to be starting a new band, Sun of Mercury, with ex-Sister Double Happiness player Miles Montalbano, Forrest Allen, and Leather and the Suedes footloose figure Pat Elliott. Their first show at Studio Z.tv May 1 toasts Mesh magazine.

High on fire Folks said Fleshies vocalist John Geek almost ate it while playing with fire at Thee Parkside opening for the Evaporators Jan. 28. So I had to get in touch with Geek. Turns out he was staging a one-man tribute to the Clash (calling himself, um, the Clash) featuring possibly their worst song, "Overpowered by Funk," by rapping to the terrorizing tape loop of questionable early-'90s thrash-funk bands like Limbomaniacs and Psychefunkapus. Word has it he sketched the title of the song on a rubber pad, with rubbing alcohol, set it on fire, and then rolled around on top of it while clad in a non-flame retardant polyester tracksuit.

"The thing is, if you're wearing jeans and a heavy coat, you can bat it out, but when you're wearing nylon clothes, then you realize why napalm is analogous to plastic," Geek told me. "I had to rip off all my clothes completely so I wouldn't completely immolate myself."

Apparently Geek burned his booty something fierce, and the alleged second-degree burns are a high price to pay for art. So don't light yourself on fire at home, kids, no matter how keen it looks on Jackass or Viva la Bam. I don't want to have to tell you twice. As for Geek, next time, he promises to sidestep a flameout in favor of a Fight Club-style rendition of Combat Rock or a 15th and Broadway lunchtime take on Clash on Broadway.

See you in the throng:

Deerhoof My favorite noise-/cute-rock combo go further out with Milkman (5 Rue Christine), dousing Greg Saunier's always punchy, martial beats with a smattering of keyboards and vibes. Delicate numbers like "Dream-Wanderer's Tune" collapse into a cuckoo-clock fantasia of dissonant guitars, bell tones, vibes, and hoots, while others such as "Song of Sorn" snap to attention in chugging rock-outs. Sat/6, 8 p.m., with Numbers, Bobby Conn, Triangle, Da Hawnay Troof, X-27, and Arctic Universe, Liminal Arts' Altamont No. 2, 1919 Market, Oakl. $8. liminalarts@hotmail.com. Sun/7, 9 p.m., with Why? and Moore Brothers, Bottom of the Hill, 1233 17th St., S.F. $8. (415) 474-0365.

Aveo The Seattle trio bring back buttery smooth memories of Britpop melancholy merchants. Can we all name-check the Smiths? It was accomplished with the help of Phil Ek on their upcoming second album, Battery (Barsuk), and will be consolidated with a tour opening for labelmates Death Cab for Cutie. March 10, 8:15 p.m., with the Velvet Teen, Rescue, and Highjack the Disco, Bear's Lair, UC Berkeley, Bancroft at Telegraph, Berk. $8, $6 students. www.ocf.berkeley.edu/~superb/concerts.html.

Sushirobo There's nothing fishy about the allusions to Wire, Dismemberment Plan, and Pere Ubu that waft around this Seattle four-piece, which includes ex-Posies bassist Rick Roberts. Twangy sashimi western guitars play off the squiggly electronics and dry, scientific vocals. PINE*am also perform. March 21, 10 p.m., Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk, S.F. $6. (415) 923-0923.

Zentertainment Tour USA 2004 And Zen, there were five. Ninja Tune beat warriors – Amon Tobin, Kid Koala, Bonobo, Blockhead, and Diplo – leave home, drop the formalities, get stinky, and give fans a workout on their own turf. Here new Ninja Blockhead leaves his production duties for Aesop Rock, Slug, and Mike Ladd behind and turns out his sophisticated instrumentals, soon to be found on his debut, Music by Cavelight. North Philly DJ Diplo krunks up with tough snare 'n' bass sounds before smoothing it all out with bare hints of jazz and blues samples. March 26, Mezzanine, 444 Jessie, S.F. Call for time and price. (415) 820-9669.

Liars Trust Liars to upend a few staid rock expectations. Led by vocalist and Karen O loverboy Angus Andrew, the crew ditched the Williamsburg scene, left the guitar bounce behind, and pitched into the darkness, recording in Andrew's New Jersey basement and transforming their second full-length, They Were Wrong, So We Drowned (Mute), into a haunted house teeming with creepy, inexorable drone, glassy electronics that eerily phase in and out, and guitars that circle like carrion crows. Young People and Get Hussle also perform. March 30, 9 p.m., Bottom of the Hill, 1233 17th St., S.F. $10. (415) 474-0365. March 31, 8 p.m., Slim's, 333 11th St., S.F. $13-$15. (415) 522-0333.

Gimme some truth.