I took a pause from the non-stop nuptial bliss to hit some shows here in town last week. With the new wife (the word still cracks me up) and a handful of Australians in tow I hit the second night of the Big City Summer Fest. Due to some liquor law speed bumps the entire schedule was somewhat discombobulated. Sixties garage rock legends The Invictas kicked off our journey in the former Tiki Bob's hollowed-out carcass. The band has boundless energy but its gotta lay off the golden oldies, goddammit, and stick to that beautiful Mersey beat, go-go twistin' rock 'n' roll it was famous for. Keyboardist Sammy G was absent as he was blowing B3 hell through his Lesley in the former Bru's with The Legendary Dukes. A newly blonde-ified Elana James played with a trio that was essentially 2/3 Hot Club Of Cowtown. The band swung light and pretty outdoors with its Western swing swinging slightly into café jazz every now and then. The fireworks bursting in air above and behind the bandstand added to the romance. And talk about guts; James did a slick version of "Smoke That Cigarette" made famous by Commander Cody, who incidentally followed her set. When the crusty 'ol commander did the tune himself I watched a woman simultaneously dance and sign the words to her deaf friends. It was literally a dance of words and fascinating to watch.

Rarely have I looked so forward to a show as I did for the debut visit from Motor City neauveau-soulsters The Detroit Cobras. It was a stacked quadruple bill with St. Phillip's Escalator, The Cheetah Whores, and Ghostharm pre-steaming the wrinkles outta the joint. The Cobras rocked with a ragged r&b stomp. Singer Rachel Nagy wailed wonderful in high-heeled boots and camouflage grinding behind the mic with a minx mix of slither and shimmy. It sounded good. It felt good. It was everything I wanted. The Detroit Cobras wrung me out.