More than any other year, the Cavalcade of Drunken Jehus running loose November 26-30 managed to shock even me when it came to sheer nards. Say what you will (please) about the Cha Cha's insufferable weekend crowd--made up of folks there largely in hopes of spotting a rock star or two while asking stupid drink questions of the bartenders and ordering pints of "RUH-neer"--but there's nothing like the satisfaction of having an all-star cast of employees come from every corner of the room to eject the guy who manages to step over the bar's faintly drawn lines. Friday night as he made his way to the restroom, a roaring, 6'10," 240-lb. drunk guy came up to the booth my friend Kim and I were sitting in and asked her to sign his stupid white-mesh ball cap, which he had just slammed down on the table. Two sets of eyebrows saluted the club's kitschy, crap-strewn ceiling as once again both Kim and I silently marveled at the diversity of Fastbacks fans. Only he probably never even heard of the beloved Seattle band because the longer he slurred and slobbered the clearer it became that he thought he was in the presence of none other than one Chrissie Hynde, snappish singer of the Pretenders. Though we had done our best with coats, backpacks, and purses to make it look like the booth was already full to bursting, King Kong managed to further ingratiate himself by sitting down to complain to his now unhappy audience of two (which he still thought included Chrissie Hynde) about how he'd come to the bar to get laid but there was nothing but bitches there that night. Really? In a bar on the hipster-laden Capitol Hill? You don't say. It was at this point that I told him to please get out of our booth, and of course he sat stubbornly while becoming increasingly belligerent at my impudence. Lo and behold, a posse of local rock stars/employees assembled, swooped down, and succeeded in throwing the jerk out onto the street. And let me tell you, that guy didn't go easy. After all, he thought he had a chance to get laid with Chrissie Hynde! Thankfully and just in the nick of time, two more local rock stars--well, one of them is from out of town but drums for a local band, so in my book he's local--sat down at the booth, thus making it less of a swing-by location for those kindsa guys who had been drunk since Wednesday night. My guess is that they probably drank clear through Sunday.

But! The Cha Cha offered more than target practice that night, because I got to hear a couple of tracks off of Jenn Ghetto's eagerly awaited second S album. If you're expecting something along the lines of Sadstyle, Ghetto's excellent first record, get ready for a surprise. The tracks I heard featured the singer's sweet soprano over electronic loops, electric guitar, and the unmistakable anchor of New Mexicans drummer Creighton Barrett. I CANNOT WAIT to hear the finished record. Also that night the new EP from the Peels was played on the stereo, and I'm betting that Robyn Miller and her boys will soon have the major labels in hot pursuit. (In fact, rumor has it that Capitol is already in total drool mode.) Go see the Peels live when they play the Sunset on Saturday, December 6, opening for the Makers.

Some more local plugs: Bullet Train, self-released by the Revolving Jugglers, is an aptly named album given the band's rapid-fire signature changes and smarty-pants lyrics. If you like the diversity of Firewater or the complexity of the Dog Faced Hermans, give Revolving Jugglers some of your time. You'll have fun, I promise. And then there's the new album by the Jimmystuarts, who chapped my hide a while back by threatening to look to "the competition" for attention if I didn't write about their last album, Ma-Ma San. Their latest, Oscuro, is impressively heavy and features a really great cover of "(I'm Not Your) Stepping Stone," followed by another good track with a name so smeary I can't make it out. Not entirely my cup of tea, but not bad either, and I think I need to see them live before I commit to an opinion. I liked Ma-Ma San better. Happy now?

kathleen@thestranger.com