THE BIGGEST development in post-smoking ban NYC nightlife is a ...

Meanwhile, privileged hipsters who usually attend Richard Barone concerts are baffled by what seems to be a new policy inside Joe's Pub?mainly, that the club seems to have finally begun admitting black customers. The new faces are there to see Prince Paul working the turntables, an occasion for which I've been joined by Jam Master Ned Vizzini, fresh from signing his Talk/Miramax/Hyperion book deal for, as he'll only confirm, "big bucks."

It's a long wait before Paul arrives on stage, only to (rightfully) explain that he's "too off" for the critics to appreciate his new Politics of the Business rap opera, and that he's skipping the new stuff and kicking it old school with friends from Long Island. It turns out to be an amazing night that, sadly, only commences after Ned's bedtime. The young author has already headed out, leaving a trail of $100 bills and the Beagle Boys in hot pursuit.

I'm closer to my own age and financial demographic at the party for the new studios of VH-1 Classics, a channel that?thanks to including vintage Who clips amongst their Huey Lewis videos?is currently cable's best rock station. In a nod to the latter audience, though, the new set resembles every used record store ever seen in a John Hughes film.

It's the kind of event where I only know the bartenders, so I spend most of my time eavesdropping on two catty producers ranking the Overblown Egos of Americana (Ryan Adams, as expected, at #1, with Lucinda Williams ranked surprisingly low). The true sound of America's heartland is then trotted out in the form of members of Journey, Styx and REO Speedwagon. This pairing neatly captures the good, the bad, and the ugly of classic rock, and fight amongst yourselves over which is which.

This shag-cut supergroup is too busy to care, anyway, as they'll be making Money this summer on the official VH-1 Classics concert tour. They put on a fine acoustic show, too. And give VH-1 Classics credit for skipping the easy hipster cred of roping in members of Cheap Trick and Mötley Crüe?especially since that line-up would be closer to the heartland of George Lincoln Rockwell.

Then it's on to the single greatest honor that can be awarded to any living New Yorker: Tickets to a taping of Last Call with Carson Daly. It's an unusually controversial evening, too, thanks to guest Shannon Doherty living up to her reputation as an impossible bitch by still declaring herself as a Republican. Even more atypically, there's some applause mixed with the usual tolerant booing from the audience.

But my own applause is gratuitous, since I'm really here as a cheerleader for local band Stellastar, whose publicists should be commended for blatantly packing the crowd in favor of the musical guest. (Not to brag, but I'm sitting next to a friend of the drummer's girlfriend.) The young act earns their Stellamania, though, reminding us they're the only NYC band currently ripping off "Papa-Oom-Mow-Mow."

And the week ends with a crowd worthy of Joe's Pub, as Stew of the Negro Problem plays the Songwriter Series at The Stanley H. Kaplan Penthouse at Lincoln Center. It's a rare and appropriate honor for the best pop songwriter to emerge in the past ten years. The setting is Stew-worthy, too, as the rotund genius plays to candlelit tables and explains that his idea of heroin use is "eating a box of Count Chocula in half & half when nobody's around." It would be a great setting to see any show, although you should buy tickets before the venue gets changed to Ned Vizzini's Swingin' Crash Pad.