17

MONDAY

I’ll listen to just about anything. Counting Crows? Sure. The “Grease Megamix”? Why not? But when I took on the assignment to preview tonight’s Space escapade, I didn’t realize I would be unable to deliver a critical judgment of these British twits’ debut, Spiders, more literate than “It’s bloody, fucking awful!” I offer Space’s press release for confirmation: “If Frank Sinatra, Black Grape, Ray Davies, and Cypress Hill were to have an orgy, the bastard love child might be Space….When he’s not crooning like Sinatra, Tommy is trying his best to sound like cartoon Mexican mouse Speedy Gonzalez (‘Arriba! arriba! andale! andale!’)….Tommy announces that he has just written a song about Elvis Presley. ‘It’s about a couple who believe Elvis is looking after them, that he’s their guardian angel, but he ends up killing them by mistake.’” That Tommy. With Dismemberment Plan at 7:30 p.m. at the 9:30 Club, 816 V St. NW. $5. (202) 393-0930. (CP)