It's insane that some asshole arsonist would randomly hit a house on a quiet suburban cul-de-sac, and it's even crazier to know that the people who lived there are good friends to many in the music community across the country. Last Friday morning, August 6, around 1:00 a.m., an arsonist is believed to have set fire to the front steps of the Lake Forest Park home belonging to Scott and Ali Giampino and their 3-and-a-half-year-old son, Max. The blaze quickly spread, but luckily Ali woke up when she heard glass shattering and helped get the family out of the house (Scott had to exit out of a window) physically unharmed. Their home and their possessions were destroyed and their two cats were killed in the blaze, though. The Giampinos have also unfortunately become the 15th victims in a string of Seattle-area arsons that started the last week in July and are coming under investigation from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (according to the Seattle Times, there is a $38,000 reward for information that helps lead to a conviction in this case. Call 800-55ARSON if you have anything that could help the authorities).

Since Friday, though, the outpouring of support for the Giampinos has shown, once again, that even though many in the music community have notoriously shallow pockets, their capacity for support is bottomless. Due to their many personal and professional connections in the industry (Scott worked as a publicist for years at Touch & Go, played in a band called Cash Audio, and since moving to Seattle, worked at the Showbox before getting hired on recently at the Triple Door; Ali books a number of big-name bands--such as the New Pornographers and Calexico--for an agency called Billions), talk of benefits has already started in places like New York, Athens, Atlanta, and, obviously, Seattle. I've gotten e-mails from publicists as far away as Baltimore offering their assistance and wanting to set up shows. The details of what the Giampinos will need and when are still being worked out, as they're currently figuring out their housing situation, but those looking to help immediately should send checks to US Bank (c/o Misty Budworth/Giampino Fund, 1525 First Ave, Suite 4, Seattle, WA 98101) or donate funds through PayPal (direct payment to dmopbox-giampinofund@yahoo.com ). Their insurance should cover some of the damage done, but having known someone who went through a fire like this, I can attest that it never covers as much as the victims end up losing--and supporting good people who've worked in the industry as long as these two is always the way to go (Lord knows I owe Scott just for the times he helped me recover lost wallets, purses, and minds during his Showbox days).

Speaking of lost minds, last weekend's eighth annual Dead Baby Bike Race turned a particularly industrial stretch of Spokane Street into what one friend coined the Northwest's version of Escape from New York. (Other valid reference points: Mad Max, The Decline of Western Civilization, other cult films depicting a very punk-rock-looking apocalypse where visibility is low and crowd density is high.) With man-powered "carnival rides" made out of bike parts spinning participants every which way in the parking lot, kamikaze competitions where riders on hand-constructed bikes attempted to top a precarious metal hurdle, and the purchase of one $5 water bottle providing all-you-could-drink beer, the after-race party was one of the most well-behaved fits of chaos I'd attended all week. As for the race itself, the Dead Baby heads called it a tie, with TK and TK taking home trophies made of--what else?--soldered bike parts. (On other after-party reports, turns out the Hives hung out late night during their recent Seattle stop. The smartly dressed Swedes stayed in uniform even into the wee hours, acting very proper--at a space owned by two local bands--and actually taking the shtick down a notch to interact with excited fans, according to one report.)

Two show plugs this week, both unfortunately on Saturday, August 14. Those looking for the eccentric might want to check out the Bran Flakes, who turn ancient dollar-bin records into art, spinning odd fragments of spoken samples, surreal melodies, and sappy kiddie tunes into an alternate universe of sound. The Seattle-based act just returned from playing the Ideal festival in France and they promise "a dancing gorilla and chicken, confetti cannons, papier-mâchÊ, and lots of audience participation" orbiting their live/electronically programmed music (CHAC Lower Level, doors at 8 pm).

And down the street at the Comet, Portland's the Hunches are back, on the heels of an excellent new record called Hobo Sunrise (In the Red). Their Pussy Galore take on garage sounds like the noisy wreckage after a particularly nasty bender--guitar melodies snaking around shards of broken rhythms, shrill feedback, and frontman Hart Gledhill's nihilistic spoken-singing style. It's rock 'n' roll abandonment at its best.

jennifer@thestranger.com