Devil Music Black metal fanatic and "Lucifer's Hammer" club promoter John Cobbett calls metal and its subgenres -- black metal, death metal, true metal, thrash, doom metal, and dark ambient -- "the only real dangerous form of music left except for rap." Both to promote his Tuesday-night club night and recognize the book Lords of Chaos and the black metal that it covers, Cobbett is putting on a world-class underground event. On Tuesday, May 26, the black-metal bands Weakling (featuring members of the Champs) and Unholy Cadaver (featuring members of Lost Goat, Gwar, and ThunderChimp) join DJ Elden M. (who also runs a distribution company called Extreme Subterranea) and Lords author Michael Moynihan at the CW Saloon. "This kind of event doesn't happen in the U.S.," says Cobbett. "This happens in Norway and Scandinavia, when the cops let it happen. I can't wait to see what kind of critters show up for this." (J.S.)

Hey You Big Contest Watchers We're, um, tallying the ballots of our Big Name That Dumb Quote Contest, and we'll be back with the winners and the answer key next week. (J.S.)

Dragon Inn Whether you knew it once as Lipp's, Cocktails, the Pit, Phillip's Speakeasy, the Underground, or the French Quarter, 201 Ninth St. has always been notorious for seeping walls, plugged-up toilets, and lascivious clientele. It's rumored that in its early days, sailors were frequently shanghaied at the bar, then hidden in the basement until they could be transported to ships in need of crew. Upstairs, in what is now a hotel, folks of loose morals could visit illegal abortion clinics or whorehouses. Times have changed. The two-level corner bar recently underwent a metamorphosis that is nothing short of miraculous. Last year, Larry Hashbarger and Skip Young -- producers of the popular Friday night gay "Club Asia" held at King Street -- bought the venue and began slowly, quietly transforming it into Asia SF. Now, instead of being surrounded by crusty, bug-splattered street-front windows, bar patrons are encircled by fiber-optic shoji screens that change color -- pale yellow, blue, purple, pale pink, red -- as they watch. The once-crumbling rear wall is now a peaceful wash of forest green and bamboo. The closet-size toilets where junkies were regularly revived (or not) have been ripped out and replaced with cavernous amenities. Downstairs, in the subterranean nightclub where DJs will be spinning everything from soul to Latin to house, a brand-new floor has been laid over cracked, beer-soaked concrete and mirrors have been placed in the dark alcoves where patrons used to engage in spontaneous carnal acts. The old DJ booth, where -- well, you can guess what used to happen there -- is now one of two huge coat checks. The club's interior design is the product of John Lum's fanciful imagination and predilection for elegance. If you know what to look for you realize the whole place subliminally represents a dragon -- the walls are iridescent scales, the coat checks are eyes, the tail is a metal sculpture that zigzags across the ceiling, the dance floor is a belly, and the enormous new DJ booth is a heart that pulses with green fiber optics. But that's not the best part. There is still a kitchen upstairs, but instead of a drunken skate punk grilling greasy hamburgers, Asia SF offers former Stars chef Matt Metcalf and former Bizou chef Jen Solomon serving up butter-lettuce cups filled with spicy chicken, basil, mint, asparagus tips, candied peanuts, and lime. And the waitresses, instead of being speed whores who nearly vomit at the sight of sausage, are lovely Asian "gender illusionists" (especially the fair-haired, big-booted Coco) who will begin lip-syncing between orders sometime in late summer. Riff Raff -- always in favor of the disgusting and the debaucherous -- would be mightily disappointed with the new 201 Ninth if it weren't so undeniably lovely. As of this week, you can check out "Jet Set" on Wednesdays, "Pan Dulce" on Thursdays, "Dragon Fly" on the second and fourth Friday of the month, and "Club Asia" on the first and third Friday. (S.T.)

Fire! Heh Heh! Fire! The atmosphere was sweltering and zoolike three Sunday afternoons ago when Incredibly Strange Wrestling, a film crew from Blacklight Productions, and a cast of extras gamely piled into the Transmission Theater to help local band Ain't shoot a music video for their song "Drag You Down." The already warm day had turned the theater into a warehouse-size sauna. The masked wrestlers, including chicken suit-wearing El Pollo Diablo and tutu-clad El Homo Loco, were sweating like, uh, wrestlers as they staged and restaged spectacularly theatrical fight scenes. Between the shuffling of extras and the coordinating of bouts, in which masked grapplers jumped, pinned, pummeled, and hurled the band members and each other around the ring, the shoot had already posed its share of logistical concerns. A planned late-afternoon flaming guitar segment would be even more difficult to pull off. The band, which had been at the theater since 7:30 a.m., cheerfully resigned themselves to the task. Turns out it's pretty tricky to sustain simultaneously flaming instruments. "Was that a big enough fire? Or was it too weenie?" asked guitarist Sluggo, peering out into the dark for director Jeni Empson. "Either light it or play it," joked singer Laurian Rhodes, as bassist Misha Avrushenko struggled with a sparking lighter. "When we say light 'em, light 'em," Empson instructed Sluggo and Avrushenko before striding back out of the ring. Eventually Avrushenko and Sluggo synchronized their fire, producing a glow that would have warmed Jimi Hendrix's heart. More cheers erupted and everyone broke for bottled water and snacks, and braced themselves for another complicated shot with fire-breathing wrestler Chango Loco. (H.W.)

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