'SO, UH , where's the 'yoni-cam'?" I ask. Now that's a question for the sex-positive ages. "Oh, right in here," says the sports reporter/wine writer in the 49ers T-shirt with two holes strategically cut out to reveal his pendulous man-boobs. He hustles into the anteroom between the "snuggle zone" and "Sex Magick zone" at this Mendocino County witches' ball and throws open a door. My personal intuitive counselor and all-around-psychic friend, Angelique (a pseudonym), and I peer into the darkness.

Hello, is Yoni home?

No. Because this is a broom closet.

"Hey! Someone wants to do the yoni-cam!" Sporty Spice helpfully bellows to a blond in a black vinyl corset and panties.

Damn, we thought we were going to be able to take party pictures of our vulvas – in private. But guess what – nothing's private at this event, a book party for local writer LaSara Firefox's Sexy Witch (Llewellyn). Still, I am curious (yellow), drawn to this posh, stucco-and-beige mansion sprawling on the edge of a lake by, among other whipped-cream delights, "rules of engagement" that include "no using the snuggle zone as a pickup spot for the Sex Magick zone."

Nonetheless, we keep coming back to check in on the action in the Sex Magick room, which has a nice little voyeuristic fishbowl effect going. The minor 49er lures us in briefly to share his homemade chocolate truffle "stash" beside the big bowl of condoms and rubber gloves. "I'd be happy to lick your fingers for you," he announces cheerily.

But you know things are going south big time, in a bad way, when you're bored at a would-be witches' orgy. Personally, I think the trouble is that the party is very small – only 60 willing victims need apply – and the partygoers seem oriented around Firefox's Ukiah-area pals, random ravers who got lost on their way to Burning Man, graying swingers from Marin's prime hot-tub years, and the occasional Don Knotts figure in a full-body fishnet leotard, strap-on, and thong.

The evening's entertainments include a ritual led by the Neko Case look-alike Firefox, a Harlem Shake burlesque dancer, and the ritualistic pinning of feather-tipped clothespins to a contorting, bare-chested blond.

Glow sticks and water bottles are all that's missing to really conjure '90s house nostalgia. And that's part of the problem, Angelique remarks: There's too much random, sexy party energy swirling and not enough full-tilt Wiccan magic going down. "It's enough to make celibacy look good," she quips.

We depart as an octogenarian resembling Gabby Hayes and a bespectacled soccer-mom type break in the hot tub with the first obvious humpity-hump of the night. Don't forget to change the water, kids!

Last night the DJ ... Another beef about the witch's ball was that the early-evening DJ was just plain lame – at best, there was Peaches; at worst, "Who's That Lady?" Mood musick is essential for these hoedowns, no?

Not a problem with DJ Kool Herc (né Clive Campbell), who was profiled in Berkeley writer (and Bay Guardian contributor) Jeff Chang's recent book, Can't Stop, Won't Stop (St. Martin's Press). Hip-hop's real OG performs Sept. 2 at the DNA Lounge in celebration of Chang's recent American Book Award win.

Working his father's souped-up, extra loud sound system, Herc became the world's first breakbeat DJ, boiling down dancehall and funk records like Incredible Bongo Band's "Apache," James Brown's live "Give It Up Turn It Loose," and Dennis Coffey's "Scorpio" to an infectious groove at his early-'70s all-night party in the Bronx. Toasting over the tunes, the Jamaican native would personalize and localize the transformed sounds by calling out the names of the dancers he'd recognize. "I'd use all the sayings that came about throughout the year," he tells me on the phone from NYC. " 'That's the joint. Never heard it like this before. Be back for more and more. Our story can be told. A bull can't be stopped. And this car can rock.' Whatever was the slang word at the time coming into the neighborhood – we'd amplify it, that's all."

Doesn't he ever regret not making his own "Rapper's Delight"? "Never made a record and never tossed my hat into that," he scoffs. "I was just doing my music. It was about me having fun, people liking what I put out, and I got paid for that and I put that money back into my records and my sound system. It was never about me running out and buying a big chain and big car."

Meanwhile the man who suffered a stabbing at one of his own parties, yet kept on spinning, continues to testify to the communal power of a dance floor. "My thing is to see the dance floor popping," says Herc, who describes himself as "the Dick Clark at this game – I'm on the other half of 50s." "At a good party you communicate with the people – you dance behind the turntable. Most people are too damn stiff. You playing for people to dance and you don't dance? Bullshit. I come from the dancer's perspective."

You can't always get what you want But sometimes you get what you need, and what Unauthorized Rolling Stones' front person Rudy Columbini believes this city – and Polk Gulch, in particular – needs is his Bay Area Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame. His Music City plans for a recording studio, live music venue, school, rehearsal space, living quarters, and hall of fame in the old Plant Warehouse space have been in the works for a while. But these days, Columbini says – pulling his plans out of his car, parked beside racks of "Mick" costumes – he's facing opposition from the Board of Supervisors, as well as neighbors fretting about possible noise, after passing through Planning Commission with flying colors.

"This isn't a dead museum – it's a living museum," he tells me, walking me through the gutted warehouse space. "In the studios bands are playing – you can't hear the bands because we're lead-lined. But all this shit is happening. Then we have a school – thinking of possibly bringing in Blue Bear [School of Music]. People could come here, they can live, they can rehearse." He's dreaming big and drops Herbie Hancock's name as a possible in-house producer.

So why the guff from the 'hood, McDuff? "Wanna know the truth?" he blurts. "It's the musicians! The idea of musicians coming into this neighborhood! And I wanna tell you, people sleep in this door, and the back alley is full of syringes." He says he's owned the 18-room basement rehearsal space (called Fern Alley or Marvelous Show, depending on whom you talk to) for 13 years, and he's "never had a police incident there. E-ver. So we're not bringing in trash! This is an economic injection in the neighborhood."

The 51-year-old musician and developer ("I guess I wouldn't call myself a developer, but I am a developer. You call it the pudding when you taste it") of the Fitzgerald Hotel and Nob Hill Hotel hopes music fans, musicians, and supporters will represent when he appears before the board Sept. 13, and he wants to complete the project by spring or summer 2006.

And in case you were wondering, Columbini has no favorite Stones song, but when it comes to a favorite Stone, he has to pick the guitar slinger over the man he plays onstage. ("A tribute band, c'mon, you know, but it works. I never had a $7,000 show before this") "Keith got the heart!" he cries with palpable enthusiasm. "Mick looks out at you and he looks straight through you. Keith loves you. No doubt about it." And naturally, Columbini loves the new album: " 'Rough Justice,' omigod. Great quote: 'I used to be a little red rooster, now I'm just one of your cocks.' Very incorrigible." A bit like another never-say-die player himself.

DJ Kool Herc plays the Can't Stop, Won't Stop award celebration with DJs Pam the Funkstress, Teeko, Deuce Ace, and Sake 1 Fri/2, 10 p.m.-4 a.m., DNA Lounge, 375 11th St., SF. $10 advance. (415) 626-1409.

Quitters can't be cheesy; e-mail kimberly@sfbg.com.

Don't stop

Axton Kincaid The country duo Kate Howser and Jen Daunt out-rusticate Hoyt. Wed/31, 9 p.m., Argus Lounge, 3187 Mission, SF. $3-$5. (415) 824-1447.

The Juan Maclean DFA forced him out on the dance floor, waving funky 12-inches – now the Six Finger Satellite star gets even more robotic and Moroder-ific with Less Than Human (Astralwerks) and this subsequent tour. Fri/2, 9 p.m., Slim's, 333 11th St., SF. $13-$15. (415) 522-0333.

New England Roses Le Tigre's JD Samson jump-starts her dog-and-pony sideshow with Barr's Brendan Fowler and Sarah Shapiro. Fri/2, 10 p.m., Bottom of the Hill, 1233 17th St., SF. $8. (415) 474-0365.

Juan-Carlos Formell His pop leads Los Van Van and his granddad conducted the Havana Philharmonic – the solo Cuban singer-songwriter and guitarist shows off his prowess on acoustic guitar and his grasp of son and changui. Tues/6, 8 and 10 p.m., Yoshi's, 510 Embarcadero West, Oakl. $10-$14. (510) 238-9200.

OK Go and the Redwalls It's a battle of Chicago bands with the former's glammy strut getting its freak on with the latter's pop-tarted-up harmonies. Tues/6, Cafe du Nord, 2170 Market, SF. Call for time and price. (415) 861-5016.

Retribution Gospel Choir Do you come in praise of Low's Alan Sparhawk and Red House Painter's Mark Kozelek? Tues/6, 9 p.m., Bottom of the Hill, 1233 17th St., SF. $8. (415) 474-0365.

Contact Kimberly Chun at kimberly@sfbg.com.