Super Ego

'IS THERE ANYWHERE in the city to dance to some good hip-hop and not, you know, get beat up or something?" my gay pal Noel asked me the other week. Noel is a six-foot-one, heavily tattooed tank of raw manhood, so even though his question is a common one among the hipper homosexuals, it was especially surprising coming from one who could more than capably squash any haters with a well-aimed thumb.

Me, I'm a fearless motherfucking faggot from the Motor City, and I don't give a fuck. I was fierce-ruling the Shelter when Eminem was still trying to get a ride. I mean, I wouldn't exactly blow the D.L. bros down at a 550 Barneveld hoodster one-off (even straight folk get into trouble at those), but the few exclusively hip-hop parties in San Francisco are more like wink-wink, nudge-nudge retro hipster experiments than South Side gangsta throwdowns, and they're mostly all good with the fairies and such.

The outside hip-hop world is pretty scary to the gay these days, however, what with the booty-thrilling yet hair-raising rise of its current flavor, Jamaican dancehall. Those wacky patois lyrics may raise your roof, but they mask exhortations to "boom bye bye in a batty boy head," " burn chi-chi man and then we burn sodomite and everybody bawl out, say 'Dat right!,' " and my personal favorite, "Hang chi-chi gal wid a long piece of rope."

Guess who those chi-chis and battys are? That's right, Mary. Word up.

This kind of bullshit fag bash is especially ironic considering commercial hip-hop wouldn't even exist without some razor-sharp dykes in accounting and a disco queen in the sound booth sampling her favorite Chic record. Not to mention the white-bread homos so cowed by the big black onslaught of rap's macho "authenticity" that they let American hip-hop get away with trashing faggots for years. And hey, I love a good bruising now and then by the right man, honey, so bring it on!

But I digress. I'll forgo listing the recent stabbings and beatings of prominent gay activists in Jamaica and Britain by mobs chanting hit dancehall lyrics. Suffice it to drop that Jamaica's influence is soon scheduled to give way to Puerto Rico's, whose reggaeton movement is far more technically complex and interesting – especially given the fact that Puerto Rico's other main cultural export is amazingly hot drag queens.

Here in Cali we have a strong tradition of genderqueer hip-hop heroes – Oaktown's Deep Dickollective and East Los Angeles gangsta heartthrob Deadlee, among them – and S.F.'s clubs always spit back in the face of expectations. Whether it's the watered-down hip-pop dance-floor pretense of the fuzzy pink backpackers at the Cafe or Club Six's occasional rave-flavored one-offs, queers is always up in the joint, y'all.

My own faves for queer-friendly ho-downs include DJ Wisdom and Motion Potion's fun, knowledgeable Friday weekly the Real; Toph One and Big Booty's explicitly subversive dancehall payback, the monthly Strawberry; the Crib's cute weekly hip-hop room (and by cute, I mean 18 and over, so look out, baby daddies); and, especially for the vinyl archeologists, Extra Classic's biweekly rap extravaganza, which fronts some of the best concept and DJ material in the city. Anything thrown for dykes is 10-1 hip-hop heavy. And rumor has it that the lost, lamented Blackout, S.F.'s fabulous underground hip-hop monthly for people of color, may pop up again soon.

So go hit the skids, my queer ninjas: ain't no need to be perpetratin'.

The Real takes place Fridays, 9 p.m.-2 a.m., Nickie's BBQ, 460 Haight. S.F. $5. (415) 621-6508, www.nickies.com.

Strawberry takes place second Saturdays, 10 p.m.-4 a.m., Endup, 401 Sixth St., S.F. $10. (415) 332-5800, www.theendup.com.

The Crib takes place Thursdays, 715 Harrison, S.F. $10. (415) 979-8686, www.thecribsf.com.

Extra Classic takes place second and fourth Saturdays, 26 Mix, 3024 Mission, S.F. $5-$10. (415) 826-7378, www.extra-classic.com.

E-mail Marke B.