Moving The Units Of Doom

The security guards at Universal Music are chummy enough to discuss the recent court testimony of folks attending the Ol' Dirty Bastard listening party. That's a homey touch while waiting to enter the boardrooms of Island/Def Jam/Damon Dash Music Group. Still, it adds to the mystery of why Damon Dash can't understand how a drug-addled legend like ODB didn't survive to see the summer release of A Son Unique.

That's an actual quote. "I still don't really understand," says Dash on the accompanying promotional video-and he's one of the smartest men in the music industry. Dash deserves a lot of credit just for ODB being his first posthumous project. At least Beanie Sigel can still handle jailhouse interviews.

I probably shouldn't say too much about the album before its June release date, so let's just note that ODB will have the best garage-rock single of the summer. That's a needed legacy, too. The RZA, the Neptunes and other producers really stepped up to guarantee that ODB would be remembered for more than just being the worst lyricist since Wesley Willis. Judging from the press kit handed out at the event, ODB mainly built his rep on idiot journalists who'd never heard of Blowfly.

The good guys also get the last laugh a few hours later at Rothko, where they're celebrating the two-disc deluxe DVD of Dig! Actually, adding a second disc to an already fine documentary may not be such a great idea. It's tragic enough watching Anton Newcombe screw up the career of his bandmates in the once-promising Brian Jonestown Massacre. The documentary remains notable for what nobody seems to want to admit-Anton has the most boring meltdown in the history of rock music, as can now be appreciated with over two hours of bonus footage.

Anton hacks out a drool-by-numbers meltdown worthy of Tommy Chong. There's a happy ending, though, as the movie contrasts Anton's fall to the semi-rise of the Dandy Warhols, represented tonight by Courtney Taylor and Brent DeBoer. The duo performs a gorgeous acoustic set of rare flower-power takes on the Warhols' poppish tunes. They do so while the audience chatters away and catches up on their text messaging.

Courtney and Brent don't have a tantrum or anything. They're relentlessly upbeat-just as they were while earlier politely trying to make it inside the crowded club. Brent was equally gracious while trying to work with a harried gal to arrange things so that his invited guests could skip dealing with the outside doormen.

That was a polite gesture, too, since the doormen were getting dangerously close to a velvet-rope vibe. As it turns out, of course, all the proper douchebags managed to make it inside. Which brings us to the real sad ending of Dig!, since nobody ever seems to get the audience they deserve.