icepack

Can I tell you how proud I am of you boys and girls for braving rains to make last week the bestest first one in October, ever? We could point to when The Doors played Electric Factory in '68 and hung around noshing all the good brown acid, or that time Grace Jones hit Second Story and tried to fingerbang all the pretty Quiana-clad lasses from Eighth and Shunk in '76, or that one Whistle rave in '99 I didn't get back from for days (I still have your woolly hat, Wink!). But this was one — Rich Medina's record jam at Agent 725/Britt's Sister Gertrude Orchestra at Painted Bride/Amy Morrissey and Brian McTear's prayer-y Novenas at Manhattan Room. Prettyprettypretty good. Saturday's whole South Philly Musicians Mural dedication with Messers Checker, Blavat, Martino and Avalon at the axis of the world that is Anastasi Cafe/Geno's? Priceless. Even though we can't figure what happened to Fabian. Not that we care. He's a prick. But if Frankie Avalon — who got feted along with Charlie Gracie and Fabian at da Wildwood Pacific Avenue Walk of Fame that morning — got limo'd down, howzacome Fab couldn't? And art? Not only did ex-Union 237-ite Andrew Chew lite-brite his own new gallery, Drizzle (162 N. Third), with some molto multimedia futurism, Candy Karch and Rachel Braun's Bambi (Frankford and Berks) did art the old-fashion way: They hung it. … Jim McGuinn isn't just for breakfast anymore. The program director tossed from the burning bridge of Y100 FM, not only helped turn Y100Rocks.com formidable 'n' shit with hosts other than himself on the mic-and-transmitter site that just went podcast, he's busy at Drexel University, teaching radio classes (R.E.M.: The Fuck-Up of the WB Years, Breeders 101) and acting as advisor for Drexel's punk-funking WKDU. On the nonschoolhouse rock tip? "I'm helping to find James Brown some new producers," says McGuinn en route to Manhattan to interview the Beasties (at their request) for the DVD portion of their upcoming greatest hits. It seems as if McGuinn got a call from "Super Frank" Copsidas Jr. from Intrigue Music Management to shoot the shit about new Dutch bands like Voicst and Braille. "Next thing you know, Frank slips in that he manages James and that they're looking to update his image. Will McGuinn call McTear (placid, white) or Pink Skulls (creepy, funky)? … While ex-boss Stephen Starr frets over new digs along Rittenhouse (a custom home, buying and tying together Bleu and the former Potcheen to create Parc), Jose Garces finally got his own: Amada. "It's festive and warm, my whole career gone full circle," says the 33-year-old Ecuadorian-American from El Vez and Alma de Cuba who takes over 217 Chestnut starting Oct. 14 with an avant-Spanish flair in his 60-item menu (madre y hijo: truffle poached hen; rape con tocino: monkfish wrapped in bacon) and Amada's ambience (flamenco dancing, moody Euro atmosphere). "This is the first of a few Latin concepts I wanna do," says Garces. Can't anyone open just one restaurant?! … When Clap Your Hands and Say Yeah play the Factory's TLA Hurricane Katrina Benefit Oct. 26, ask them how much they made to sign to the Witchita UK label. … WHOWHATWHERE: When not busy messing up the lyrics of "Satisfaction" and hanging 'round his Rittenhouse hotel, Mick Jagger and son were noshing at Rouge. "He walked verrrry gingerly," said an eyewitness. Mary J. Blige singing for the American Dental Association at the Convention Center. Too much drama. And plaque. Heartless Beanie Sigel (dumping Damon Dash for Jay-Z on the label tip after all Dame's prison visits!) was spied at Buddakan after his step-pop was found all murdered. Dag-ats cold. Here's a really good one: Jeffery Wright, after a night's filming of M. Night Shyamalan's Lady in the Water, stopped at Bar Noir's Monday Night Club. We bought him some Heinekens, played compare-and-contrast versions of "Hallelujah" (Jeff Buckley's, the John Cale one from Wright's Basquiat film debut) and let him chat up our ladies, Needles Jones included. Then Wright closed his eyes, and sang "Hallelujah" as Classic Mark and others joined in. How depressing an evening's end is that?! "I prefer the Buckley version," said Wright, in response to my Cale preference. "It's just more intense." Everybody's either a critic or a Tony winner around here anymore. Hey, Marky Mark, we hardly knew ye: the nights at Denim, the early mornings down by the Naval Yard. How 'bout I buy you a beer before you leave town this week? You're shooting on the 600 block of Sears. You were down the street eating crab cake, halibut, New York strip and all that Kobe (OK, you had pals with you) at the Barclay Prime anniversary. Ya'aint far. … Philthy DJs Just Jess and The Baraness, spin very dirty house at O'Neals (?!) Oct. 13 and The Dive Oct. 22. … Welcome home Joe Annaruma, my big mean ole South Street Diner Hungry Lady munching bud, who after leading GWAR and Throttle on the hard-metal tip, moved to N'Orleans then came back to Philly last week since … uhmm … you know … there's no more fucking N'Orleans.