Things don't really dawn on me anymore. They sneak up from behind and brain me. I believe all epiphanies should hurt a little - you're letting go, after all. Boston's Miss Tess and The Bon Ton Parade caterwauled all Tin Pan Alley over by the jukebox as I slurped coffee, exchanged pleasantries with well-wishers, and admired the pretty girls at Abilene Wednesday night. And you know what I discovered? I don't always like watching bands. Don't get me wrong, Miss Tess was quite pretty and callipygous, and the band looked like it had emerged from a sepia-toned photograph. But the music was just too good to stand there and stare, nod in time, my thumbs hooked in my belt-loops. Music like this is the soundtrack for all that goes on in the joint. The clink of cocktail glasses, the clack of pool balls, and the din of assorted come-ons are just as musical as what rolls off from the make-shift bandstand. The Bon Ton Parade swung sweetly as Miss Tess strummed and crooned with a brisling innuendo, disguised just slightly by her pretty voice. Oh, and the gal dusted off some Fats Waller, too.

As if that wasn't enough, I popped over to the Dinosaur for the second time this week to hear Philly filly Gina Sicilia wail with her mighty big voice. What a set of pipes on this one - and she's just 23. Her blues were more of the classic 50's "Rocket 88"-type boogie (Ike, we still miss you, brother). I liked the way she moved with a rather understated shimmy. However, the star of the evening was Sicilia's beaux, Dave Gross, and his TV yellow Les Paul, Jr. My god, this cat was roaring from stage right with righteous runs and fancy fills, the likes I haven't heard since young Texas twanger Nick Curran. His playing was fantastic a la carte, and when it was weaving in and out of Sicilia's voice. Some of the best new blues I've seen in a long, long time.