Stan Ridgway: A Wall of Voodoo-er Loses it at the Movies & Finds it at the Clubhouse

THE CLUBHOUSE is up on the fourth floor of an office building Raymond Chandler might have called "reasonably shabby" fifty years ago. It's on a characteristically sleazy stretch of Hollywood Boulevard, stuck among the topless bars, massage parlors and T-shirt places that dot the "Walk Of Fame." The maverick artistic spirit of Hollywood directors like Welles, Hawks and Chaplin has long since departed this dismal tourist trap district. But up at the Clubhouse, Stan Ridgway is working out his own feisty alternative to another firmly entrenched "studio system." Only this time, the battleground is pop music rather than movies.