By JUD COST

Even if Michael Phelps hadn't been going for his eighth Olympic gold medal on the color-challenged television perched above the bar, you just knew something extraordinary was going to happen tonight at San Francisco's Bottom of the Hill.

Oakland's Hot Toddies-a band name that probably sounded pretty good after they'd downed a few of the buttered-rum cocktails-warmed up the house with a brilliant blend of the indie-rock bands they think they like (Mates of State) and the stuff they really love: the fabled low-watt, girl-group harmonies of the Paris Sisters and Rosie & the Originals. Nattily attired in prom dresses and backing themselves with uncomplicated guitar, simple Casio keyboard, bass and drums, the voices of Heidi Bodeson, Erin Skidmore and Jessica Wright with Sylvia Hurtado on percussion, absolutely nailed that junior high school girls chorus sound you haven't heard in a really long time. One song even had a talking verse a la the Angels' "My Boyfriend's Back." It was like seeing the Go-Go's as teenagers play their high school's noon rec program.

When the Octopus Project flicked on the jittery, home-made film that covered the stage's back wall and started playing songs from their new album, Hello, Avalanche (Peek-A-Boo) it felt like giant tentacles had been wrapped around everyone in the room. Even the Saturday-night party people, drinking heavily at the back of the tiny club, ceased their nonstop chatter and faced the music tonight. It was simply impossible to ignore the circus-calliope-on-fire sound of this Austin, Texas-based foursome, silhouetted against the colorful, darting movie images. Keyboardist/Theremin player Yvonne Lambert stood rigid at center-stage in her spaghetti-strap gown and Keely Smith blunt-chop coif, in stark contrast to the wildly gyrating guitar, bass and drums of Josh Lambert, Ryan Figg and Toto Miranda, all in white shirts, rolled-up sleeves and black ties. What appeared to be sculptures of a neatly butchered white octopus covered in Saran Wrap sat on both sides of the stage.

Pounding drum-machine loops went toe-to-toe with the real thing as the volatile sound of this experimental/pop hybrid bounced like runaway bumper cars, from Stereolab-ish test-tube bleeps and gurgles to the slide-rule electronic migraine of Krautrock legends Kraftwerk. Also dusted with a thin layer of early DEVO and Obscured By Clouds-era Pink Floyd, Yvonne Lambert's glockenspiel rode the waves of this seething bouillabaisse all night long, like a cork in the ocean, until the last bit of heavily distorted, "Forty Miles Of Bad Road"-style guitar twang had decayed into the early morning Frisco drizzle.