Wannabe hotty talks trash.

The Gnome opens his mail this week, and guess what he finds? The second issue of Hotty magazine, local playa Julianne Andersen's tribute to the men of Seattle's music scene. Running my gnarled fingers over the pages, I couldn't help but notice a glaring absence among the photos and "What's on your bedside table?" inquiries. Namely, no Gnome! Let me tell ya, the Gnome's turn-ons include fungus, mildew, and long walks in the murky rainforest. So who made the Hotty cut? The Catheters' youthful cover boy Brian Standeford forwards the currently fashionable "I'm not a biker but I play one on TV" look, while the inner pages tout Shinola's smiley brothers TJ and Kyle Martin, One Reel's Chris Porter, and others. But Hotty's good deed for the day is to include a photo of the cuddliest club staff in town, the Crocodile crew, amid a spread spotlighting sharp-dressed doorman Stacey King. Oooh la la, sayeth the Gnome.

Too bad the Croc kids didn't step in to stop the whining that plagued the show there last Thursday. During an otherwise charming set, Mekon-gone-solo Sally Timms bitched about her voice, her backing band, just about anything she could think of. Then came Giant Sand, whose Howe Gelb dripped with bitterness about getting dropped by V2 before releasing an already recorded album. Hey, it's the rock biz! Tough luck, chico.

Thank the Troll above for the Old 97's, a more well-adjusted group of fellas who entertained the troops at the Showbox Friday night—where, by the by, a helpful barkeep informed the Gnome that Seattle's entire supply of Maker's Mark has dried up. Hey, Washington Liquor Board: If you can't keep the whiskey coming, get out of the business! Anyway, Old 97's frontman and potential Hotty subject Rhett Miller doesn't have much to complain about, what with the ladies swarming 'round him like bees to a picnic (including one buxom lass who pleaded with a Showbox employee because she just had to meet Rhett so she could get a copy of the set list for her Web site. Sho' 'nuff!).

Saturday, feeling the damp weather in his creaky legs, the Gnome put on a brave face and hit the Breakroom to see Sub Pop rockers the Go. On their first trip outside Detroit, they were sporting the decidedly non-hotty look of a band at the end of its tour: Elmer's glue complexions and fast food-sculpted bodies. The fivesome were powerin' along in a ragged but endearing fashion until they launched into the histrionics of "Gloria," encouraged by some fist-pumping idiots in the audience. Gosh, boys, "Wild Thing" or "Louie Louie" would've been this tired old guy's choice for a tired old cover. You betcha!

You can reach the Metro Gnome at metrognome@seattleweekly.com

 
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