JINGLE-JANGLE , Love.Angel – the holidays are in full schwing, and the only thing more dizzying is the Grammy nominations. When the parties get a-toasty and the shops are a-bilking and your wallet – and liver – begins a-hemorrhaging, just think of noms like those for Best New Artist and all the other puzzle pieces out there begin to seem so much saner in contrast to ... Fall Out Boy and SugarLand? Keane make sweet Beach Boys-like pop, but let's just call this a battle between Ciara and John Legend, with the latter the likely winner. Expect lots of little end zone-style victory dances for him and mentor Kanye West, my personal musical stalker material. The two have eight noms a piece, along with the emancipated-from-the-ice-cream-truck-with-a-vengeance Mariah Carey. The flip side can be so sweet.

But why get angry at Grammy – and its eternal attempts to update the entrenched (Best Polka Album is actually still a category – and I'll be clogged if any of the punkier SF proponents have ever been there)? Better to just fix the mind on the present: the way the sky, all pale blue and silver, melted into a pearly surf last weekend; late-night lamb curry at Shalimar in the 'Loin; cucumber-laced Pimm's cups at the Orbit Room; and silver shoes, half off (like those darn boys' pants) at Nordstrom Rack. And focus on the past – of SF bohemian bonhomie – as it manifests in Visitacion Valley, where former Factrix founder and Master Moth man Cole Palme hosted a mighty fun show Dec. 3 for Dutchboy-ed, sailor-suited, and heavily rouged and hiccupping Dutchman Harry Merry (supported by Sic Alps and Wealthy Whore Entertainment) at "An Undisclosed Location."

Full disclosure regarding Undisclosed: You have to be willing to get lost, you must have wheels, you have to brave the web of narrow streets – but damn if it ain't worth the jaunt. We got hopelessly muddled on Bayshore, on the way there, but were glad when we finally traipsed through the twisted metal gates of homeowner and artist John Whitehead's studio, lined from floor to ceiling with paintings (the bathroom likewise papered with '70s SF punk posters), and headed down the narrow stairs to what resembles a small Japanese rock club or thoroughly righteous rec room. The cavelike spot is outfitted with a small stage, a bar, benches, and a wee dance floor crammed with folks, who that night were – shocking – actually dancing to WWE's trashed-up, cello-enriched glam. 'Twas more a house party for a trusted few on Palme's e-mail list than a standard show – "An Undisclosed Location" is the kind of locale you want to look out for, in all senses (especially after the shutdowns of the warehouse spaces like French Fry Factory, in Oakland). Strangers chat each other up, and familiar faces from T.I.T.S., Erase Errata, and Fuckwolf make themselves at home.

That's just the way Whitehead wanted it when he decided to re-create '80s East Village bohemia in the house he bought back in 1978 while he was attending the SF Art Institute. Wanting to foster a new scene, he pulled out the old ovens in the basement of the former bakery, despite memories of SFAI punk parties back in the day: The artist, for instance, remembers going downstairs at four in the morning at one point to find someone playing one of his guitars with a nail. "I saw various peaks and valleys in bohemian life, so I thought it would be a good thing to create another peak, wallow around in the trough," he later says good-naturedly, over the phone.

Palme recalls the joint as maintaining an identity as a "punk rock/art house" (members of the Mutants, the Sleepers, and Frightwig have been residents) since Whitehead moved in: "There was always an interesting mix of older and younger bohemian-type artists, writers, musicians, little kids, and dogs running around. So yeah, raw basement jams, potluck smoke-out barbecues, kids' birthday parties, after-hours magic tea parties – good times!" Impressed that newer bands like Wolf Eyes have paid their respect to Factrix, and inspired by an event at the Weegs-Curse of Birthmark house, Palme started to put on shows about a year and a half ago at "AUL," which, he writes in an e-mail, "brings out the best raw essence in all who perform there." Black Ice, Cold War, Death by Doll, and Death Sentence: Panda! have bunkered down at "AUL," and its LA "sister club" – Club Screwball, organized by Don Bolles of the Germs and burlesque performer Miss Darcey Leonard – has brought its party up twice. To get in the act (Whitehead also hopes to host nights featuring non-rock/punk music and performance), visit anundisclosedlocation-sf.com.

"I do feel obligated to keep the freakadelic 'lectric candlelight lit," Palme writes. So shine on, you crazy hosts with the most.

No gruesome twosome Earlier this year, Mecca Normal's David Lester told me he was going on the road with bandmate Jean Smith this summer. So where were they? Nonetheless, it's never too late to check out Lester's handy little volume of big ideas, The Gruesome Acts of Capitalism (Arbeiter Ring, www.arbeiterring.com), a "Harper's Index of the havoc to humanity and the environment caused by global economic inequality." The gift book was released this spring to benefit Canada's Centre for the Victims of Torture. Sample factoids: "Amount spent annually subsidizing power stations that worsen global warming: $100 billion. Number of billionaires who have greater wealth than the combined annual incomes of countries with 45 percent of the world's people: 360."

Speaking from his home in Vancouver, BC, Lester said he did the first version of the volume in 1999 because "I was always reading the Guardian weekly newspaper in England, and it was always full of incredible statistics that I never saw anyplace else. They don't tell you much in regular dailies." He sold the chapbook at Mecca Normal merch tables, and it received so much attention that he decided to update it as a full-fledged book. "It does involve a certain amount of obsessive looking," he said. Still, "I wanted to keep it brief – you realize there's so much stuff that's overwhelming, and it can get depressing."

It's a change from the other holiday gift products perched by the register. "I was hoping it was subversive in that way," he said. "I wanted it to be a shot in the arm when you're inundated by all this crap." Tip generously; e-mail kimberly@sfbg.com.

Ho-ho hoo-ha's

Cuts O-town rock cuts loose at the Birdman Records holiday bash with Time Flys and Paula Fraser. Wed/14, 9 p.m., 12 Galaxies, 2565 Mission, SF. $6. (415) 970-9777. Also Fri/16, 9 p.m., Knockout, 3223 Mission, SF. $5. (415) 550-6994.

Charlie Hunter The eight-string savant returns for his seasonal Bay stay. Wed/14-Sat/17, 8 and 10 p.m.; Sun/18, 2 and 8 p.m., Yoshi's, 510 Embarcadero West, Oakl. $5-$22. (510) 238-9200.

Tussle Contrary to rumor mill musings, they're not moving to NYC; instead they're moving into glitched-up dub on their next release. Fri/16, 9 p.m., Hotel Utah, 500 Fourth St., SF. $7. (415) 546-6300.