Harry Connick’s Evil Twin Is a Hit : Music: Randy Fontaine’s B-movie lounge act proves the unexpected survivor of a Solana Beach venture.

This isn’t exactly what Mac Falk had in mind when the local entrepreneur introduced live music to the Mandarin Coast Chinese restaurant last summer.

Seated at a keyboard in the Solana Beach eatery on a recent Friday evening, Randy Fontaine is crooning Rodgers and Hart’s “This Can’t Be Love.” He’s wearing an ascot and a loose-fitting smoking jacket; his hair is slicked down and parted in the middle; his singing is a bit off-pitch but as smooth as liquid smoke.

Providing accompaniment, and togged in less-refined selections from the Gig Young style book, is his band, the Swingers--guitarist Tommy Ajax, drummer Nik Bowelini, bassist Marvell Washington and saxophonist Claude ZoBell. With more conviction than finesse, they slither through such lounge-lizard staples as “A Taste of

Honey” and “Bessame Mucho” for a multi-generational gathering that has shoe-horned itself into the Mandarin Coast to engage in loud, TGIF conversation.

It’s a variation on a scene that’s playing in a hundred other clubs at the same moment. But this particular picture appears a bit out of focus: 26-year-old Fontaine and his backups are too young to be playing this material, and most of those in attendance are too young to appreciate it. Yet, as the band plays Sammy Fain’s “When I Take My Sugar to Tea,” only a few chuckle at the camp suavity of it all, and even the snickerers are costumed for the occasion.

The ornate, upswept hairdos and form-fitting dresses on some of the younger women suggest an attic raid on the remnants of Grandma’s late-’50s flings at the Boom Boom Room. And more than one lad prowls the room in a secondhand approximation of formal wear. But even an arcane dress code would have difficulty accommodating this motley assemblage of black-cloaked collegians, House of Leather yups, prematurely graying, ‘60s-vintage elders, or the group of young men in cowboy duds huddled at a corner table.

“It’s a little different, all right,” Falk later said in describing the scene. “Randy is a local guy who has his own following, sort of a tongue-in-cheek thing. He’s very popular in this area.”

Fontaine, the Swingers and their fans are what remain of Falk’s noble vision of a venue where local rock musicians could unplug and play solo acoustic sets of their original songs. After searching the North County coast for a suitable spot, Falk was able to secure the square, main room of the Mandarin Coast, but only after sometimes difficult negotiations with its Chinese-speaking proprietors. Falk christened the 130-seater Solos and last July 12 he inaugurated a Thursday-through- Saturday series of shows.

When filled with revelers, the dimly lit Solos evoked a Hogarth engraving. The room’s three walls rise to meet a deeply recessed balcony-ledge, like the gallery in an Old World tavern. One could easily imagine it lined with thick-waisted rakes and scoundrels, sloshing beer as they engaged in all manner of ribaldry. The ledge remained unused during Solos’ brief existence, but the crowded tables, close quarters and ever-present din in the room nonetheless contributed to a bacchanalian ambience.

This was especially true when either of two acts was on the bill. One was the Rebel Alliance Songwriting Consortium, an ad hoc group consisting of the Beat Farmers’ Country Dick Montana and Joey Harris, Comanche Moon’s Paul Kamansky, and the irrepressible Mojo Nixon. The other was Randy Fontaine and the Swingers.

Too often, however, Solos was not filled with people. In November, Falk put the brakes on Solos and began reassessing the whole venture, which had fallen far short of his expectations.

“I try to be an optimist,” Falk said recently. “Frankly, I had hoped that Solos would have done a little better. But it’s primarily a restaurant, and that complicates things a lot. Also, its difficult putting concepts across to the owners because of the language barrier. And, while the Rebel Alliance and Randy Fontaine did great, some of what we had considered our better-quality offerings, artistically speaking, didn’t draw well.”

Solos was beset by other minor calamities. One challenging transition came with a change in the ownership of the Mandarin Coast. Then, when the new owners were poised to improve the room used for Solos, a ruptured pipe flooded the place. But, ironically, Solos’ only chronic problem arose from what Falk originally said was the venue’s raison d’etre.

“We were yanking guys out of bands to do solo sets, but because they aren’t used to doing that, they’d be very uncomfortable about it,” he said. “As a result, they wouldn’t call their friends or encourage their normal following to show up for the gigs for fear they might screw up in front of them. We’d say, ‘Dude, how do you expect to make any money if you don’t get your crowd to come out?’ And they’d say, ‘Well, I was nervous about how I’d do.’ We must have heard that excuse a million times.

“So, after a few months of experimenting, we started booking only acts that have proven themselves right for Solos. We found that ‘real local’ and ‘real young’ works. We cut back the schedule to accommodate that.”

At present, Solos technically does not exist. Fontaine is the only one who regularly books the room--usually for the first Friday of the month--and he prefers to use the restaurant’s name in his billing. Frequently, in the middle of an engagement, Fontaine acts as emcee, presenting little-known acts that he’s come across in his travels. But usually the spotlight is his.

If this were a Good Twin-Evil Twin television movie set in the era of the jazz supper clubs, Fontaine could play Harry Connick Jr.’s seedy sibling. After sliding through Cole Porter’s “Easy to Love,” he leaves the keyboard and works his way into the crowd to sing an original, ‘30s-style ballad. The hubbub all but drowns out the lyrics to “Where Is Love,” and only the patrons at the tables Fontaine visits stop talking to listen. Undaunted, he follows with “Misty,” which gets buried by an avalanche of group-schmooze.

When the Swingers take their first break, Fontaine disappears into the bowels of the club before he can answer any questions, thus preserving the enigma. Rumor has it that Fontaine escaped into his current guise after a painful breakup with a girlfriend.

But guitarist Ajax, replete in a makeshift tuxedo, takes a few minutes to share the band’s mythology, and his account of its inception is more pragmatic, if not necessarily less suspect.

“Randy and I used to be in a rock band called Channel 21,” the 26-year-old Ajax said. “We used to play parties a lot, and we got tired of getting shut down by complaints about the volume. Finally, Randy bought a jazz “fake book” and started learning all these old tunes. We put a band together and started playing parties again. We found you can play a lot later at night when you’re playing this kind of music.”

Ajax looked toward the stage area. Two of the “cowpokes” who’d been sitting in the corner (friends of the Swingers, as it turned out) were at the microphones, eliciting hoots and whistles with self-conscious, rather subdued renditions of well-known country-Western songs.

“When we decided to play here,” Ajax said at last, “we just made a lot of phone calls and brought all the partiers with us. We know a lot of people in the area, so we’ll always have a built-in audience. Not many bands can say that.”

Randy Fontaine and the Swingers will perform a 9:30 show tonight at the Mandarin Coast Chinese restaurant, 221 Old Highway 101, Solana Beach. Cover charge is $3 . Call 755-6115.