The Beatles, 40 years after.

If PETA really cared about dead things, they'd have joined me later at the Hard Rock Café to protest the 40th anniversary of the Beatles' first appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show. Pop genius Martin Lewis?whose career covers plenty of acts cooler than the Beatles?has assembled a fairly morbid event, probably best summed up by the return of Irene Feldman, immortalized as a young girl holding the sign that read "Elvis Is Dead. Long Live the Beatles!"

There's also some woman who was the original stewardess to help the Beatles disembark from their plane. That's actually pretty cool, if only because I'm happy to see any woman in a Pan Am uniform and a leather miniskirt.

There's also an appearance by a genuine rock legend who matters. Micky Dolenz?currently on Broadway in Aida?looks resplendent in gangster chic. I don't own a single Beatles product, but I've got Micky's album of lullabies and a VHS copy of Night of the Strangler. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've got his complete recorded works, and I'm feeling a little out of touch.

"Well, don't worry," Micky replies. "I bought enough Beatles product for both of us. Umm?but thanks."

Anyway, the only thing Dolenz should be celebrating is the turbocharged beauty that he introduces as his wife. "She wasn't born," he declares, which might be his way of avoiding the topic of her age. Or maybe it's an acknowledgement that she was assembled by the same mad scientists who put together porn stars in the San Fernando Valley. Micky's model has both pins, too, which is better than what Paul McCartney's stuck with nowadays.

We're stuck inside the Hard Rock, too, since the event is being hosted by Cousin Brucie Morrow. Norton Records' Miriam Linna tries to explain to me that I'm too young to truly appreciate this event's cultural importance, but it's safe to say that the presence of Cousin Brucie reliably trivializes anything.

Miriam also provides the biggest scare of the night when she points and says, "There's the ultimate Beatle fan." I can't figure out who would've invited Mark David Chapman. As it turns out, she's talking about David Peel, looking more like the ultimate Larry Storch fan.

Brucie does some typically painful hosting, including dragging out some eight-year-old so they can recreate a meaningful conversation where the disc jockey explains that the Beatles were magic. Brucie then intones that he's got some news we're never gonna believe. He got this phone call from a reporter and, in an amazing development, "The Christian Science Monitor is doing a story on The Beatles! Whaaa?!?!"

Yeah, Brucie, welcome to the 70s. It's the same decade where they made that miracle weave that sits on top of your head.

Thankfully, some guys eventually wander onto the stage with musical instruments. Liverpool, as Brucie explains, is what's called a "tribute band." They're also the element that tips this gathering into the realm of a Christmas party at a real estate office. The ponytailed musicians bash away while the Star Spangles' Tommy Volume and I reminisce about the Central Park SummerStage show where the audience threw bottles at Brucie because he just wouldn't shut up.

Then I decide it's not worth staying to see Billy J. Kramer or maybe even Colin Blunstone come out to do some tunes. It wouldn't be worth it if they'd dug up John Lennon's skeleton and were planning to prop it up in front of a microphone?and if that were possible, May Pang would've already done it.

At least Cousin Brucie doesn't brainwash all of the youth. There's a sullen teen downstairs by the coat check. "Hey," I ask, "what do you think of these people celebrating music that's been run into the ground?"

He gives me a wary look: "I think they're stupid."

We're stuck in the 60s, so there's no duck to drop down with a $100 bill. I have the new album from Incubus in my bag, though, so I give it to him. The kid's really appreciative, too. Incubus?I can't stand those guys, either.

[jrt@nypress.com](mailto:jrt@nypress.com)