Barbeque sauce always makes it better, don't it? A little light finally shined down on Big City Summer Fest with Ribbin' On The River. Barbeque-scented smoke filled the downtown air and was so tempting that I bet more than a few vegetarians crossed over to the dark, delicious side. And talkin' 'bout tasty, man, you shoulda seen Austin's Guy Forsythe lay it down. Starting with some mellow juke on his uke, Forsythe wailed and plinka-plinked "St. Louis Blues" before graduating to the saw to cut up "Summertime." It was when he dug into a mean, mean rub shuffle on his big black guitar that things got good. Texas blues at it's finest.

Time constraints had the bands overlapping a wee bit, and Phillip Walker's old-school, balls-out blues 'n' boogie kinda steamrolled Forsythe's first few numbers. Walker was loud and raucous but falls into that category of artists I think could do better if they gave some of the standards a little break. I mean, Christ, how many times can you hear "Got My Mojo Workin'"? That mojo's gotta have holes in it by now.

While this festival struggled on its maiden voyage, Boulderfest is now in its second year and seemed to cruise effortlessly in the South Wedge all weekend. Saturday afternoon I got to see Smock, which played exuberantly if not a little sloppy. These guys obviously love what they do. The Lobster Quadrille - with voices on high and various things found around the kitchen - shouted and banged glorious anti-gospel to the clouds, as if the GWAR-meets-Disney stage spectacle were a tent in the middle of a Depression-era dustbowl. I love this band as much as I hate church. Maybe it should consider passing a collection plate.

Eddie Nebula and the Plague played an extra-long set of rock 'n' roll with some metal might. That Harley keeps a mean bottom end. The set was full of the band's sarcastic twist on covers from Billy Idol to KISS, as well as plenty of Plague crowd pleasers like "Red Beans and Rice" and "Rochester Girls."

And speaking of Rochester girls, there's a new one. The jury's still out on the name, but Grinders guitarist Todd Dentico is now a proud papa of a bouncing baby girl.

Tom Haney blew his harp for the last time as a White Hot last week to a packed Little Theatre Café. It was a dignified affair, if not a little bittersweet. After ending with a pretty take of "As Time Goes By" Haney promised to hug everyone in the audience. I rushed forward to get the first farewell squeeze - got it, too - before realizing I had cut off Haney's mom in the process. Classy...

We'll cross paths on our way to each other's promised land - me and the hippies, that is. And The North Mississippi All Stars are gonna get the genre-swap parade rolling.

You see, NMAS play - or used to play - some real down home gutbucket blues; that beautiful swampwater moonshine boogie that was at the heart of the genre that bubbled to the surface. Brothers Luther and Cody Dickinson learned at the feet of cats like R.L. Burnside. Their dad is producer Jim Dickinson, who played keys on The Stones' "Wild Horses." He also produced (among many other projects) The Replacements' "Pleased To Meet Me," where he had 13-year-old Luther play the guitar solo on "Shooting Dirty Pool." So suffice it to say the blues and rock pedigree is there.

And it was there last Thursday at the Party In The Park. However, so were the jammed out, extended solos that have won them some Bonnaroo-type attention. I was hoping the jams might slip some blues to those who could frankly use it. But whaddyaknow, the blues brought the jams to me. Luther played like Duane Allman, man, with the first guitar break clocking in around seven minutes. Tonally it was so sweet. You won't catch me dead in dreads or tie dye, but you may catch me groovin' in a crowd with them that do.

The Dirty Dozen Brass Band opened up the affair with plenty of Big Easyboogie. The baritone sax honked and rumbled extra low, yet managed to visit some extra high register stuff that shot up my spine. The band played a little too long and seemed to lose a little steam. I mean, it couldn't have been the 100 degree heat, could it?

The Fiona Apple/Nickel Creek show has moved to the Harro East Ballroom, 155 Chestnut St, due to "production issues." Showtime is still 8 p.m., and tix are $34.50.

...the gruesome spectacle of a live GWAR show will numb you to a lot of  things. The band's act is so ridiculously over the top you forget how incredible the music actually is. These guys are playing fast, fairly complex metal in costumes that probably weigh 100 pounds. This all the while blood and assorted bodily fluids flow freely from the various effigies the on-stage slaves gut, gore, and eviscerate.

Monday night's sold-out show at Water Street Music Hall was textbook GWAR: loud, violent, bloody, and incredibly vulgar. Singer Oderus Urungus took pleasure in extended periods of urination over the audience. The blood that sprayed over the crowd had fans of all ages (I saw a cat in his 50s) emerging from the pit looking like chewed up pieces of Dentyne.

Man that Jenny Hurricane (singer for the Midnight Creeps) has got some pipes. The band's disc "Doomed From The Get Go" has Miss Hurricane bellowing fierce and inclement, but live Tuesday night at The Bug Jar her voice was even luxurious and big a la Johnette Napolitano. She still roared snotty, and with a wallop that reduced the mic to the role of mere prop.

Warped Tour celebrated its 13th year with a stop at Darien Lake Friday. I brought my 13-year-old niece along to solidify my cool uncle status. With approximately 16,000 kids running around the place looked like a MySpace piñata had exploded. The DIY work ethic runs high with this generation of bands - along with their accessibility by the fans - and they are to be commended even if some of them suck.

There were a fistful of bands I wanted to see: Flogging Molly, who drove the crowd absolutely nuts; Bad Religion, who just played it straight ahead, So-Cal-istic, and with no frills; and Tiger Army, the lone psychobilly outfit that was one of the only unique acts of the day.

But there weren't no surprises, nothing outta left field that deviated from the legions of screaming young, dirty, and cute. There were no nuggets to be discovered. Warped Tour criteria has become kinda formulaic, I'm afraid. And that ain't so punk rock. And the syrupy courtesy these young bands ooze over their fans - Jesus, it drove me nuts. If I never hear "You guys are awesome" again, it'll be too soon. "Thanks," sure, but enough with all this goddamn kowtowing.

Well, maybe there was one revelation: Coheed and Cambria rocked - hard. It was practically metal or heavy prog-rock and the kids ate it up. Those guys were awesome.

Vans custom sneaker cat and Texas tattooer Oliver Peck inked me backstage with a Roman numeral I-IV-V. And no, it ain't my locker combination and it isn't there to commemorate Sterling Holloway's birthday. If you love rock 'n' roll, you'll know why. Gabba Gabba Hey.

The last minute change of venue to Harro East Ballroom didn't jog the jiggin' to Nickel Creek or squash the squirming to Fiona Apple last night. The comfortably packed, age-diverse crowd seemed glued to the floor, partially because it was melting. It was hot in there! And it wasn't just the music. Apple upped the temp even more when she came on to close the first set with her "Extraordinary Machine." And the crowd piled out to resuscitate themselves.

After taking a bite of the forbidden Apple it was a bit of a let down to not have her back on stage for the beginning of the second set. And while Sara Watkins' tasteful twang is like a lullaby that you want to stay awake for, and Chris Thile's mandolin playing is worthy of the 2007 BBC Folk Musician of the Year bestowed upon him, it was when Mark Schatz put down his bass and did some fast and furious foot-stomping that the crowd kicked up speed.

Apple returned; a slip of a waif singing sweet as molasses until you notice the little shards of glass scraping your innards. She so inhabits her songs, so exposes her soul --- her body contorting, hips swaying then stabbing, fingers clenched and hands grasping --- that when the song ends she seems to come to, not knowing what story she's in, head down, wringing her hands and pacing until the next.

The night ended on a note so sweet I better call the dentist: Sara Watkins and Apple singing a duet of "You Belong to Me," sung just as sweetly by Steve Martin and Bernadette Peters in "The Jerk."

Too Tall and the Howlin' Mercy Blues Band host a righteous open blues jam at The Dinosaur every Tuesday night. Assorted knuckleheads (myself included) of assorted talent line up to sign up to get up with the band. TT and the boys burn red hot 'n' blue and graciously make room for others to do the same with them.

But last week's affair had the extra-young trio Mint Jam get up and get down all by themselves. I figured guitar player Gabe Condon would whip out some Freddy King or something, but no, he dove face first into Robin Trower's "Day Of The Eagle." If you're not familiar with this tune, it's a guitar hero epic that just makes you wanna pick up an air guitar...or punch the dude next to you.

They deliver. And I ain't just talkin' about pizza, or Chinese food, or weed. Wanna see a young Rochester band like The Hoodies or The Demos or Another One Down? Well, slappy, all you gotta do now is send up a flag, get on the horn, or click a mouse and they'll deliver tickets to their shows to your door, hot, fresh, and in under 30 minutes. And though this may sound a little like the old Hollywood hair band pay-for-play, the bands actually get a cut from the sales, get to play to bigger crowds, and really cultivate their fan base.

Throughout our interview for this week's music feature, The Demos' cell phones were on fire with ticket orders for their Thursday night show at Water Street Music Hall - close to 200 tickets sold by show time. By the looks of it, the system works.

Besides The Demos, The Hoodies (featured in this month's Alternative Press) played jumpy, sharp, and poppy. The music was melodic, but with an emphasis on the rhythmic drive that the instruments wrapped around, only to uncoil into the crowd and get under its skin.

You'd think the super-salacious, twangtastic, luchadorable Los Straitjackets would be impossible to overshadow. The masked quartet's B-movie, beach blanket boogie is all kinds of fun, son. And the precision musicianship is made oddly hysterical by the deadpan gaze the members give through their wrestling mask eyeholes. And when's the last time you saw 600 souls shimmy in George Eastman's backyard?

Anyhow, overshadowed...right. Big Sandy has joined the group for its album "Rock En Espanol," and the subsequent tour where the masked guitar marvels play beneath Sandy's golden-throated takes on classics by groups like The Kinks and The Clovers. Well lemme just say Sandy is the vocal re-incarnation of Jackie Wilson. He even sang "Lonely Teardrops," shifting smoothly between Spanish and English. If and when he opts to do "Doggin' Around" I'll leave my car at the red light and go home; my life will be complete.

The way the kids gravitated to the band after the show gave me an idea: there should be a Los Straitjackets cereal. I dunno, how about "Frosted Luchos"? Yeah, with little horchata-flavored marshmallow wrestling masks. I shared this idea with the band with the understanding that I'd get a cut. We're gonna be rich.

Had the honor and pleasure to warm up the show with the Spiritus Christi Gospel Choir adding some sanctity to the insanity beneath the lo-fidelity raunch. Secular never sounded so succulent.

Don't call it a reunion; Cheater's back, baby. The band (original line-up) positively packed NOLA's Friday night to rock its first fanbase - and that fanbase's kids - silly. I made the scene as the band was mid-Journey. Now honestly I don't even like when Journey does Journey, but boy, that Jeff Cosco can sing. Show favorite: the double-entendre filled "Your Eyes." Yup, I'm an eye man.