Respectable Street feels like three clubs in one: One moment it's a cozy theater for live music -- local, national, and beyond. Walk in on a different night, and it's a sweaty dance club throbbing with hotties and boisterous beats. During the day it'll change stripes again, becoming a comfy lounge with overstuffed couches, chaises, and a small but sweet patio out back. The staffers understand they're in a pocket of the country where alternative-college music doesn't have a large following, but that hasn't hindered the gang's efforts to bring some challenging acts to the venue. If some cool and obscure act is planning a South Florida trip, you can almost count on it ending up at Respectable's. Among the recent high points from the club's 12-year quest for something different: the raunch-rock of Nashville Pussy, the ska-punk of Johnny Socko, arty Irish cabaret crooner Gavin Friday, the Young Gods and their industrial mayhem, Mojo Nixon's political comedy-commentary, the quirky good fun of They Might Be Giants, the Japanese cutesy-kitsch of Pizzicato Five, the Dutch electronic weirdness of Legendary Pink Dots, and altcountry superstars Son Volt. The room also hosts some great dance action, such as its '80s goth/new-wave nights, Wednesday's after-dark electronica evening, and Sonic Saturday's drum 'n' bass extravaganza.

Respectable Street feels like three clubs in one: One moment it's a cozy theater for live music -- local, national, and beyond. Walk in on a different night, and it's a sweaty dance club throbbing with hotties and boisterous beats. During the day it'll change stripes again, becoming a comfy lounge with overstuffed couches, chaises, and a small but sweet patio out back. The staffers understand they're in a pocket of the country where alternative-college music doesn't have a large following, but that hasn't hindered the gang's efforts to bring some challenging acts to the venue. If some cool and obscure act is planning a South Florida trip, you can almost count on it ending up at Respectable's. Among the recent high points from the club's 12-year quest for something different: the raunch-rock of Nashville Pussy, the ska-punk of Johnny Socko, arty Irish cabaret crooner Gavin Friday, the Young Gods and their industrial mayhem, Mojo Nixon's political comedy-commentary, the quirky good fun of They Might Be Giants, the Japanese cutesy-kitsch of Pizzicato Five, the Dutch electronic weirdness of Legendary Pink Dots, and altcountry superstars Son Volt. The room also hosts some great dance action, such as its '80s goth/new-wave nights, Wednesday's after-dark electronica evening, and Sonic Saturday's drum 'n' bass extravaganza.

The Dillengers have long displayed the integrity to be standard-bearers of the South Florida roots-music scene, although they have wisely opted instead for an enclosed universe: their house gig at Elwood's Dixie Bar-B-Que in Delray Beach (301 E. Atlantic Ave., 561-272-7427). There the guitar-centric trio holds court every weekend with what the members affectionately term "a bare-fisted amalgam of blues, punk, rockabilly, pop, surf, and country." As visitors soon discover, that can include anything from George Jones to the Ramones, punctuated by goofy original tunes and stoked with hipster attitude. In the Dillengers and Elwood's, we find the perfect set and setting for all that a bar band can be, and their recent CD, Live at Elwood's, actually comes close to capturing the experience. Upon hearing it -- and guitarist Rick Rossano's superlative picking, especially his muscular yet delicate slide guitar -- the national music magazine GuitarOne named him one of America's ten best guitarists. Not bad for a lowly bar band.

The Dillengers have long displayed the integrity to be standard-bearers of the South Florida roots-music scene, although they have wisely opted instead for an enclosed universe: their house gig at Elwood's Dixie Bar-B-Que in Delray Beach (301 E. Atlantic Ave., 561-272-7427). There the guitar-centric trio holds court every weekend with what the members affectionately term "a bare-fisted amalgam of blues, punk, rockabilly, pop, surf, and country." As visitors soon discover, that can include anything from George Jones to the Ramones, punctuated by goofy original tunes and stoked with hipster attitude. In the Dillengers and Elwood's, we find the perfect set and setting for all that a bar band can be, and their recent CD, Live at Elwood's, actually comes close to capturing the experience. Upon hearing it -- and guitarist Rick Rossano's superlative picking, especially his muscular yet delicate slide guitar -- the national music magazine GuitarOne named him one of America's ten best guitarists. Not bad for a lowly bar band.

We said E Street Band saxophonist Clarence Clemons knew how to pick 'em, and here's proof: Randi Fishenfeld, the 37-year-old criminal lawyer turned electric-violin player Clemons chose for his other group, Band of Faith. When Fishenfeld goes into her patented gypsy number on stage, she becomes possessed by the music. She goes crazy, and the club crowds go crazy with her. Besides fiddling with Band of Faith, she also plays with her own band, Blue Fire, which puts in appearances at O'Hara's in Fort Lauderdale and Hollywood and at the A Train in Delray Beach. It's a busy schedule, but that's exactly what she wants. "When I get all that energy back," she says, "it makes me want to go out and kiss everyone." Oh, if only she would.

We said E Street Band saxophonist Clarence Clemons knew how to pick 'em, and here's proof: Randi Fishenfeld, the 37-year-old criminal lawyer turned electric-violin player Clemons chose for his other group, Band of Faith. When Fishenfeld goes into her patented gypsy number on stage, she becomes possessed by the music. She goes crazy, and the club crowds go crazy with her. Besides fiddling with Band of Faith, she also plays with her own band, Blue Fire, which puts in appearances at O'Hara's in Fort Lauderdale and Hollywood and at the A Train in Delray Beach. It's a busy schedule, but that's exactly what she wants. "When I get all that energy back," she says, "it makes me want to go out and kiss everyone." Oh, if only she would.

Hey, now. Don't shy away from a band brave enough to call itself something slightly embarrassing. We've all had poopy pants at one time or another, with most of us perfecting the art of creating them at a very young age. North Miami troublemakers Poopy Pants are youthful, snotty, and irreverent, and sometimes they go for a deep, rumbling trombone-sax roar that almost encourages an onset of their name. Emerging last year with the fittingly titled Anal Devastation, the cover of which depicts a gentleman with a blazing stick of dynamite emerging from his hindquarters, Poopy Pants offer a quaintly pedestrian take on horn-driven ska-core with silly songs such as "Snap Into My Slim Jim." With any luck Poopy Pants has staying power -- because when a band like this gets cranky, it must be time to change them.

Hey, now. Don't shy away from a band brave enough to call itself something slightly embarrassing. We've all had poopy pants at one time or another, with most of us perfecting the art of creating them at a very young age. North Miami troublemakers Poopy Pants are youthful, snotty, and irreverent, and sometimes they go for a deep, rumbling trombone-sax roar that almost encourages an onset of their name. Emerging last year with the fittingly titled Anal Devastation, the cover of which depicts a gentleman with a blazing stick of dynamite emerging from his hindquarters, Poopy Pants offer a quaintly pedestrian take on horn-driven ska-core with silly songs such as "Snap Into My Slim Jim." With any luck Poopy Pants has staying power -- because when a band like this gets cranky, it must be time to change them.

The mood is never the same: One minute you have some raving headbanger still stuck in '80s metal straining every vocal chord to belt out an Iron Maiden song, only to be followed three minutes later by a housewife gently whispering Bonnie Raitt's "I Can't Make You Love Me." Or maybe the Motown Man goes after those high notes in a Jackson 5 or Smokey Robinson song. Then there's the blonde who does her weekly tribute to Britney Spears, and Italian Joe, with his heartfelt take on Sinatra. For those party people who just can't let go of the weekend, the Falcon Pub, which doesn't get hot till around midnight, boasts an extravagant video system that transforms even the sorriest performance into a video clip worthy of five minutes of stardom. A few Miami Dolphins have even been known to drop in from time to time. Before heading to Seattle last year for the playoffs, for example, quarterback Damon Huard and linebacker Larry Izzo thought it appropriate to test their pipes on Bob Seger's "On the Road Again." Big Dan was there, too, but Number 13 decided just to sit back and watch for a change. Who says Sunday nights have to be quiet and peaceful?

The mood is never the same: One minute you have some raving headbanger still stuck in '80s metal straining every vocal chord to belt out an Iron Maiden song, only to be followed three minutes later by a housewife gently whispering Bonnie Raitt's "I Can't Make You Love Me." Or maybe the Motown Man goes after those high notes in a Jackson 5 or Smokey Robinson song. Then there's the blonde who does her weekly tribute to Britney Spears, and Italian Joe, with his heartfelt take on Sinatra. For those party people who just can't let go of the weekend, the Falcon Pub, which doesn't get hot till around midnight, boasts an extravagant video system that transforms even the sorriest performance into a video clip worthy of five minutes of stardom. A few Miami Dolphins have even been known to drop in from time to time. Before heading to Seattle last year for the playoffs, for example, quarterback Damon Huard and linebacker Larry Izzo thought it appropriate to test their pipes on Bob Seger's "On the Road Again." Big Dan was there, too, but Number 13 decided just to sit back and watch for a change. Who says Sunday nights have to be quiet and peaceful?