Frank's in Vegas this week (something about girls and cars), so, after taking advice from friends on how to handle the column (say "cats" and "swagger" a lot, apparently), I'm gonna fill you in on some music action.

Caught 40 Rod Lightning's small-screen debut when the band played a taping at the WXXI studios last Tuesday night. I've seen this band plenty of times at the Dino and the Bug Jar, and usually get so caught up in dancing, drinks, and company, that I listen, but almost forget to watch the band in action. Throw 40 Rod into a television studio and seat the audience, and suddenly the dynamics demand full attention. From Brian Killigrew's precise playing of the lap steel (which he'll later claim not to actually know how to play) to Tom Jones's eye-crossing and perfectly executed yells, it all reads, both from the seats and onscreen. And the band's heavy metal-turned-country take on Metallica's "For Whom the Bell Tolls" was nothing short of beautiful. I mean, I don't even like that song.

Rob Filardo's drumming always makes me move, and it was no different when The Quitters opened for the Fleshtones at the Bug Jar Sunday. When I wasn't admiring John Chaijka's big red shirt, I was caught by the nonchalance with which Dan Snyder pulled off his guitar solos while Keith Von Suhr and Chaijka danced around each other. When Snyder introduced the last song ("This one's about getting fucked up!"), Sunday night felt like Saturday all over again.

And then the Fleshtones started playing - not from the stage, but from the bar. The crowd followed, pied-piper style, into the adjoining room, and it was pure rock & roll from then on. The garage rock grooves inspired one girl to whip her top off, and another to storm the stage (looked like she thought the drummer wanted some help; security carried her off). At other points during the show, the band formed a human pyramid; my man and I were singled out as swingers; audience members were pulled onstage to flesh out the Fleshtones, while the band did pushups on the floor; there was some synchronized twirling; and finally, what felt like several sweaty hours later, the band ended by parading back out to the bar, while Liz of the Cheetah Whores belted out impromptu harmonies to the band's vocals. The crowd was left staring, half-stunned, as the band members sidled up to get a drink.

Badass, right? This is why I go to shows on school nights.