Mamadou Diabate fleshed out his life-size music box with a whole ensemble this time. It was a little more percussive than last time but still elegant. But as an ensemble it seemed less appropriate in the sit-and-stare affair of Kilbourn as the joyful polyrhythm and cascading notes had fans squirming in their seat just itchin' to dance.

Something that hasn't really been tossed into the mix at the fest - Ragtime - came bounding out of Max, and I bounded in. Young piano wiz Eldar was positively infusing some Joplin in his jump and was in full gallop. What a frenetic and wild player.

Caught 4 Brothers 7 at High Fidelity with their beautiful wall of harmonious horns. It struck me as street corner doo-wop with saxophones. I could get with this, no prob. Mellow and beautiful.

Walking back toward Gibbs Street I detected a sudden cut in my strut, a little extra glide in my stride, and a smile on my dial. Yup, that's what happens when Fred Costello gets behind the wheel of his big, beautiful B-3. Get Kimberly Westcott on the shotgun side and things get real Frigidaire.

Then things got weird. The two young Swedish lasses that comprise Midaircondo build loops of spacey, sonic exploration primarily with their voices. Like two little moon children of the corn, they floated and warbled and squeaked, causing a mass exodus from the Lutheran Reform Church after the third song. It was psychedelic and dreamy, but a little too slippery for the average listener to grab hold of.

Moving to a more conventional weird, I spied Dan Hicks and the Hot Licks with my little eye at the Big Tent. Hicks tin-panned the alley and swung Western in his trademark laid-back, smart-aleck way. Truly an American classic.