Let it ROQ

I'D NEVER HAD a formal audience with the "Mayor of the Sunset Strip," Rodney Bingenheimer – he of the Rodney on the ROQ radio show on KROQ-FM in Los Angeles.

There was just a random phone encounter through an unnervingly intense fan of my Honolulu college radio show and all-girl band, Ben Wa and the Ballbreakers – Ronald Vaughan – who told me Bingenheimer was a close personal friend and proved it one day by getting the DJ on the horn.

And there had just been chance sightings, including a recent one at my favorite deli down south, Cantor's. A friend first spotted him from behind. "Look at that woman's great hair," she said, delirious from hunger and the wait for her half-sour pickles. Sure enough, it was Bingenheimer, with a great, poufed-up 10-miles-high bob. A small crowd of well-wishers and fans were chatting him up, and when they were gone, he finally sat down all by his lonesome, an odd mod engulfed by a mammoth, saffron-yellow vinyl booth. So much style, yet alone. So alone.

At the time I couldn't help but think of Andy Warhol without his attendants, his Factory. Petite, elfin, and stylized, Bingenheimer seemed to have that same extraspecial, otherworldly rock 'n' roll Spider from Mars quality. There was no mistaking him for, say, a corporate chair jock – here was the strange kind of star who sometimes emerges from the L.A. music industry, one with a unique "look" and charisma that had probably rubbed off from all the celebs he'd met over the years.

So it was high time I faced the man, and there he was late last week, sitting across from me at a long table of Live 105 DJs and staffers, at a Denny's, his favorite restaurant. It wasn't the "Beatles Denny's" in Palo Alto, which Bingenheimer fondly recalled camping out at when the Fab Four were bunked nearby for their final concert at Candlestick Park. But this occasion was special, and the spotlight was solely his – he was in town to promote the documentary of his life, Mayor of the Sunset Strip, which opens in the Bay Area this week.

"I'm in the movies now. Pretty good for a boy coming from Mountain View," Bingenheimer said, as loud as a whisper and as neutral as a blank slate. His peninsula hometown gets a distinctive verbal spin, as does his noontime breakfast – he takes his oatmeal with milk, raisins, and butter. "I always go back to Mountain View, where I was raised. My mom's house is in Mountain View, and I take care of it and look after her Nova."

Bingenheimer's return to Mountain View after his mother's death and his lonely scattering of her ashes in the English sea frame Mayor of the Sunset Strip, a strong, star-studded documentary by director George Hickenlooper. There's a fairy-tale quality to the story – from Bingenehimer's mantralike repetition of his hometown to the small-town-boy-makes-it-big aspects of his life. And then there's the fact that so many artists – from Brian Wilson and Nancy Sinatra to Joan Jett, Brooke Shields, Coldplay's Chris Martin, and Gwen Stefani – are happy to sit down and chat on film about the man who knew them way back when or gave them their songs' breakthrough airplay. He discovered David Bowie when the space oddity was simply mailing out demo tapes from England. He's been stalked by Courtney Love. Mick Jagger calls him a "groupie."

"He's living in the '70s. That's a '70s term," Bingenheimer muttered of Mick, his general good will briefly dissipating. But just as quickly, it's back – like all your favorite hits. "Everyone said such nice things – it's amazing. When I left Mountain View, I remember seeing Sonny and Cher at the San Carlos Circle Star Theater, and Cher said, 'If you ever come to L.A., look us up,' and I did."

Mayor catches Cher majestically dispensing praise to Bingenheimer like a queen of pop throwing bonbons to her favorite courtier. And that's part of Bingenheimer's appeal – he crossed over generations, always capering along the edge of pop with chameleonlike skill. In a riotous montage, the filmmaker's arrow points out Bingenheimer in the crowd of assorted '60s live music shows. Photographed next to Elton John, he wears big sunglasses; pictured beside Rod Stewart, he has a cock-of-the-walk do.

In the '60s he stood in for the Monkees' Davy Jones, even appearing in a Prince and the Pauper episode, while getting his share of attention and groupie action, according to Mayor. He whiled away the '70s glitter rock period at his English Disco nightclub – his many snapshots with partying, topless club babes tell the story; Bingenheimer refuses to kiss and tell. In the '80s he renounced his "disco" background and shined a little starlight on punk and new wave bands from the United States and abroad, giving everyone from Blondie and the Go-Go's to X and the Ramones to Duran Duran and No Doubt their first exposure on the radio.

"I remember the Offspring first came to my show. They gave me a cassette, and by the time they got into their car to drive off, I'm already playing their song on the radio," he said. The songs that get played have the riffs and the lyrics, and the ones that have it these days, he said, are by the Glitterati and 13 Seasons and, as far as Bay Area artists go, the Pleased and the Donnas. The ultimate stamp approval is "godhead," although the man is as likely to come out with a pithy comment ("Now the music of the '80s is the new disco. You go to any club – you're going to dance to '80s music") as he is a banal "hmm-mhh."

Of course, the documentary has its sad moments, being the product of the director's "dark" mind, the generally positive Bingenheimer said. There's the moment his lady companion reveals her true feelings – and additional boyfriend – on camera, and the time Hickenlooper catches Bingenheimer yelling at his former radio partner and Mayor producer Chris Carter for leaving to start his own show at a rival station. Vaughn even reappears as the obsessive fan to whom Bingenheimer shows uncommon friendship and kindness. And at times it's easy to read Bingenheimer as simply some kind of melancholy ripe vessel for a celebrity-fixated culture, a former stand-in for Davy Jones who is himself a stand-in for Paul McCartney – a self-described "designated driver between the famous and the not so famous." Perhaps Mayor is simply the latest incarnation of Behind the Music – a nostalgic fan letter to the golden age of the music industry in a time of deflated expectations.

Back at Denny's, the talk turned to surfing and then syndication. Why hasn't that happened for Bingeheimer, who has appeared in so many films as himself and is even scheduled to pop up in Spongebob Squarepants as DJ Fish? Why hasn't he cashed in – where is Rodney Bingenheimer Enterprises?

"I don't know," he muttered, until Live 105's Spud threw in that the station would seriously talk about syndicating him in the Bay Area. "But we'd have to do it at night," the eternal night owl piped up.

Perhaps that's Bingenheimer's real secret, apart from his "just say no" policy and sleep schedule – he has been able to ride with the pop moment like a veteran long-boarder. After all – he said it himself – there's nothing wrong with being a fan. "Fans keep you cool!" he quipped. For more on Bingenheimer, see "Celebrity Skim," page 38.

No secret Sympathy for the Synthis? Bay Area band Secret Synthi are losing their El Cerrito keyboardist Melinda Lacy to Colorado, where she'll be finishing a college degree. Her last show with the band will be at the "surf vs. synth extravaganza" April 7 at Thee Parkside.... And speaking of radio, Live 105, and syndication: Bay Area DJ Mo Mellady's 60-second "green" news spot, "Planet Check," is spreading like, um, a biodiesel spill. Her speedy, proudly MTV-like productions have already highlighted Bush's lousy environmental record, soy dogs at ballparks, and NOFX's Fat Mike's Punk Voter on her former station, Live 105. "There are a few environmental minutes out there, but they're pretty drab," Mellady told me. " 'Planet Check' is quick, edgy and hard-hitting. And I'm a rocker chick so ..." So that means the feature regularly incorporates musical activists like Michael Franti and Five for Fighting's John Ondrasik. Now the spots will be heard on lefty talk-radio network Air America, which launched last week (although as of yet not in this proggy bastion – it's still said to be in talks with several local stations). Hear, hear, to clean air.

Now that the Final Four is over, let the real tip-offs begin –
e-mail Kimberly Chun

See you at these shows

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, with Rapture and Starlite Desperation, April 29, 7 p.m., Grand Ballroom, 1300 Van Ness, S.F. $22.50. (415) 421-TIXS.

Electric Six, with Hiss, April 30, 9 p.m., Slim's, 333 11th St., S.F. $14. (415) 522-0333.

International Noise Conspiracy, with Offspring and Start, April 15, 8 p.m., Warfield, 982 Market, S.F. $27.75. (415) 775-7722.

Mae Shi, with Shaffer the Darklord and Compassion in Action, April 16, 9:30 p.m., Edinburgh Castle Pub, 950 Geary, S.F. $5. (415) 885-4074.

Method Man April 26, 8 p.m., Fillmore, 1805 Geary, S.F. $28.50. (415) 421-TIXS or (415) 346-6000.

Peels Tues/13 and April 20 and 27, 9 p.m., Parkside, 1600 17th St., S.F. Call for price. (415) 503-0393.

Pinback, with Enon, April 26, 8 p.m., Bimbo's 365 Club, 1025 Columbus, S.F. $16. (415) 474-0365.

Sultans, with Beehive and the Barracudas, the Husbands, and Dan Sartain, Fri/9, 9 p.m., Cafe du Nord, 2170 Market, S.F. $10. (415) 861-5016.

Tracy and the Plastics, with King Cobra and Paradise Island, April 15, 9 p.m., Bottom of the Hill, 1233 17th St., S.F. $10. (415) 474-0365.

USA Is a Monster, with Wives and Koonda Holla, April 15, 10 p.m., Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk, S.F. $6. (415) 923-0923.

Veronica Lipgloss and the Evil Eye, with Condor, Mr. & Mr. & Mr. & Mr. & Mr. Evil, and Boy Explodes, Wed/7, 8 p.m., Elbo Room, 647 Valencia, S.F. $6. (415) 552-7788.