Old Time Rock 'n' Rollers

I'M ON Washington Street in Hoboken, and the guy in the ECW t-shirt is walking past while talking to a friend. "Back in the '60s," he's saying, "when rock 'n' roll began?"

I only hear enough to know that he's dead earnest. I'm certainly not surprised to see the same guy an hour later at Maxwell's. He's rocking out to Visqueen, naturally enough. Kitty Carlisle Hart recently convinced me that Cole Porter invented rock 'n' roll, so let's estimate that Visqueen is about the 19th generation of a dying sound. They seem to be some kind of mother/daughter act, throwing out all the clichéd rock riffs that supposedly create punky pop. Their drummer is particularly inept, slamming away at cymbals in some misguided notion that he's driving this model-T Ford. "I thought the drummer was a chick," notes my bride, "because he sucks!"

Visqueen wisely informs the crowd that they're playing without benefit of a sound check. It's still apparent by the fifth song that those wispy femme vocals are totally inadequate for the job. Fortunately, the lyrics are so predictable that we're not missing out on anything-except a really great UK band called Eggplant who nailed Visqueen's attempted sound back in 1993.

No use living in the past, I guess-even if I am here to see the Muffs. Judging from the crowd, they're an oldies act now. There are plenty of guys in their fifties in attendance. The bride and I don't stand out like at Kitty Carlisle Hart's show, but I'm dragging the median age down for a change.

The crowd isn't that large, either. The Muffs have only gotten better after making the best major-label punk of the mid-90s, but not many people have been paying attention. Really Really Happy is a great new album, and the power trio of Kim Shattuck, Ronnie Barnett and Roy McDonald look perfectly natural creating crazed bubblegum for grown-ups.

"We're the Muffs," announces Barnett, "and we're here to make up for last time." I can't remember what happened last time. I'm surprised they can keep track-as noted when the band mulls over their long history at Maxwell's. "This carpet was installed, the first time that Bauhaus played here," notes Barnett.

Kim's not ashamed of her older crowd, either. She's happy to inform us that we all look pretty clean to her. She probably got tired of dirty skatekids after enduring a short stint on Fat Records label. Really Really Happy is about aging gracefully, anyway. Roy McDonald-whom I first saw playing with Redd Kross back in 1987-is looking particularly ageless. He's probably the most vital drummer in any existing band, too. Kim's fairly stunning in a sundress, and Barnett looks perfectly legit as a rocker who's probably got a tweed jacket hanging backstage.

I'm so inspired that I stop by the Muffs merchandise table and buy a custom Kim lighter for a friend. He's in Atlanta, though, so it's likely he'll soon be seeing them there in concert. After all, he's 53 years old. On the way out, we pass a flyer from an all-femme band looking for a bassist influenced by "Kim Gordon, Kim Deal, Tina Weymouth." I write in the name of Vicki Blue, but you'd only get that joke if you were around when rock 'n' roll began back in the 70s.

Then it isn't long before I'm back boosting the median age at Feinstein's at the Regency. I'm overdue for a Feinstein's moratorium, but it's nice to go out in a suit without feeling like a member of Interpol's fan club. Besides, Robert Klein is the only celebrity who's ever done me anything even resembling a favor. Not that he'd remember, of course-although Klein does a pretty convincing job of thinking that he's met me before.

The rain's torrential on opening night, and a tie and blazer seem perfectly adequate for a guy whose favorite venue used to be college theaters full of stoned students. He's got a pretty cool resume as an actor and a Broadway star, too, of course. That's enough to rate him a classy cabaret stint playing Feinstein's through Friday. Klein still doesn't get enough credit for saving stand-up comedy during a transitional time. In the aftermath of Mort Sahl and Lenny Bruce, Klein worked the stage and showed that intellectual comedy could offer big laffs.

George Carlin somehow ended up getting all the credit. At least the hippy-dippy weatherman tipped his tired hand after rushing to rip off Andy Kaufman before the "dirt" was even fresh over the "grave." Meanwhile, Klein went on to be roundly dismissed as an embarrassing hack by preening douchebags fresh from pretending that some keg at Harvard was an Algonquin Table.

As it turns out, I'm the first person to ever inform Mr. Klein of this.

"That's news to me," says the surprisingly amiable comic. "I didn't realize I was uncool. I may not be able to fill Madison Square Garden, but I can count on having the respect of my colleagues. In some ways, I was seen as a traditional Jewish comedian. I was very innovative on other counts. I know that I've been considered as kind of a bridge between the old and the new. I practically invented the college circuit, and then the corporate dates began to offer me more money. That may have been a mistake."

That's okay, though. Jerry Seinfeld was similarly scorned in the 80s, and he got the last laugh. ("To the extent he was responsible," adds Klein, "since he had a great partner in Larry David.") Anyway, Klein's either thoughtful or polite enough to find this all worth pondering. Besides, I'm also the first person to tell him that his co-star from 1970's The Owl and the Pussycat is a candidate for vice president.

"Her name wasn't Marilyn Chambers back then," Klein recalls. "It was six years before I found out that I'd worked with Marilyn Chambers. I was doing this three-hour NBC special, and me and Buck Henry were sharing a dressing room. He wrote The Owl and the Pussycat, and we had a strange discussion before he finally figured out that I had no idea. I remember being in bed with her shooting that scene all day-and in bed later that night, too-and her saying, 'Oh, my father's going to kill me.' She wasn't wearing anything sexy. It wasn't even that sexy of a scene."

Klein remains cutting-edge, incidentally, since his cabaret act at Feinstein's-like his upcoming book-is based on a life that's gone way beyond stand-up. There's musical numbers, and the political content is noteworthy just for coming from one of the few celebrities who understands history and world events.

"I was on Hannity & Colmes the other night," Klein says, "talking about Hollywood liberals. I don't even know if I'm a liberal. The government putting more money into poverty programs isn't the way to go. But then there's Zell Miller, this fucking blowhard, saying his party's gone too far to the left. What's he talking about? I can't stand how everything's become so centrist. I don't like the extreme left, but it seems to me that one ideology has more heart than the other."

My heart's touched by how this child of the 50s continues to think that Dan Rather isn't biased. Klein's still a good guy, and he doesn't mind talking to a Republican. ("Mort Sahl's become a Republican, you know.") He's not afraid to take the stage and admit that he's occasionally "with the squares"-as when praising the recent fine levied on CBS for the Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction.

"Yeah," concedes Klein, "I'm with Mort on that-not because of the breasts, but because of the misogyny going on with the song they were performing. There are kids watching. It's one thing if something is on at 9 p.m. with parental advisory notices all over the place. You don't expect that at the Super Bowl. You already have to worry about the sound guys getting too close to the coaches and picking up cursing on the sidelines."

There's a pause, but Klein's too good an actor to let it sound like a punch line: "Also, CBS canceled my last tv show, the bastards."

Robert Klein, through Fri., Oct. 8 at Feinstein's at the Regency, 540 Park Ave. (61st St.), 212-339-4095; 8:30, $60 & $40 min.