Suicide: Dingwalls, London

SUICIDE, ALAN Vega more than Marty Rev, have drawn some flak for looking/being old. Vega, his black, tightly-curled pompadour resembling a cheap hooker's wig, lets his tasteless green vest cut an inverted triangular swathe of chest hair across his flabby torso. Rev, in the unpleasant kind of studded black jacket found lurking in the bargain bins that line E 14th St, walks the keyboard, his fingers like Bowery bums.