Andre Foxxe has got his re-upped mothership ticket burning a hole in his pocket and his bags are packed, but the man isn't just gonna sit and wait at the airport. No, he's got rock 'n' roll burning a hole in his soul and it has gotta get out, man. Much like his music, Foxxe is a perfect amalgamation of class and danger, as if sprung from the pages of an Iceberg Slim novel. At his Friday night Montage Live Music Hall shindig, he prowled the stage like a panther in a bright yellow zoot suit with delicate wings that spread when he raised his arms. Foxxe has a new crew who, though they brought years of experience to the project, seemed willing to leave most of it behind to become extensions of Foxxe's arms, urges, and grooves. Though they came off a little faded sharing the stage with Foxxe in his day-glo duds, these cats laid it down heavy. And let's talk about that guitar for a minute; Foxxe cradled, caressed, and thumped on a six-string electric beauty carved in the likeness of a naked woman's torso. Foxxe made her roar and scream (almost as loudly as I did when the band broke into the opening riff for "Summer Girls"). Busty and armless, I guess you could call her Guitarnus De Milo.

The Hi-Risers have officially outgrown the Dinosaur - from a dancer's perspective, anyway. Now, I ain't no gold medal hoofer, but this roots rock trio shoehorns 'em in nut to butt, leaving hardly any room to do-si-do. When the chocolate milk-fueled urge to cut some rug hit me, I had to do it on the side of the stage. Anyway, these guys are hit-makers in the classic sense, cranking out beautiful three-minute ditties with which to boogie, twist, swing, and step on your wife's feet to. But I was very light on her feet.