Pity the boys in ska-pop sensation Reel Big Fish: Sure, their hit, "Sell Out" is zipping up the charts and their live shows are well-played, full-throttle affairs, but the seven-man band's musical ability has been all-but-ignored by a pre-pubescent fan base more concerned with crowd-surfing than music appreciation.

\\The band's growing frustrations were evident early on at its Friday night show at Washington D.C.'s 9:30 Club. Trying to get through "241," a shout-and-play near-instrumental, frontman Aaron Barrett grew increasingly distracted by the front-row bouncers dragging sweaty, tumbling bodies off of a sea of crazed attendees.

\\"Let's take a vote!" a safety-minded Barrett pleaded in between songs. "Crowd surfing, yes? Or crowd surfing, no?" Clueless, the kids crowding the no-space-for-rent floor hollered equally loudly for both. "Come on, guys, let's just dance and have fun," Barrett continued. "No crowd surfing, OK?"

\\Maybe not. After Barrett's speech, even more human projectiles started bounding through the hot air. But hey, who could blame them: These kids saved up their hard-earned allowance for this show, and damn if they weren't gonna try to kill themselves having fun. They could listen to music later -- this was fracas time.

\\Despite Barrett's pleas for musical respect, Reel Big Fish is thought of only as a party band. And party bands, whether they like it or not, have to play by party rules. So when the headliners broke a song down for a cool reggae groove or some impromptu soloing, the moment didn't last long. Apparently, the widespread outbreak of Attention Deficit Disorder among ska fans requires Reel Big Fish to keep their show moving at a breakneck pace. Which they mostly did. As soon as the group's brass (two trumpet players and two trombone players) kicked in for their opening song, "Everything Sucks," everyone in the house, band included, began hopping up and down.

\\The audience's hyperactivity made it obvious how young most of the band's fans are -- a point hammered home when much of the crowd didn't recognize a ska-ed-up cover of the Cure's 1980 song "Boys Don't Cry." A campy, hyper twist on another '80s staple, A-Ha's "Take on Me," met the same reaction during the encore. Only when Reel Big Fish closed their s