Flying solo without the other two Hi-Risers, Greg Townson (fresh off a solo tour of Europe) bopped on the Dinosaur stage last Monday night like a Rockabilly Bragg. Townson kept things in line and on time by simply stomping the downbeat with a kick pedal rigged to a suitcase. Kinda Rube Goldberg, very tin pan, very busker-esque, very cool. And without the entire trio's snap, crackle, and fleet flash there to dazzle, the words he sung hung in the air until they hit home.

The Bug Jar has always been a world unto itself. Musically, philosophically, morally (perhaps), this joint stands alone. Yet within that microcosm and vibe, last Wednesday night was all kinds of strange. The Worm Quartet, Devo Spice, and Seth Faergolzia of the oddball New York duo Dufus (not sure if he was Du or Fus) were there to bring down the wrath of odd.

I saw Dufus a while back at Boulder and loved them for trying to make me hate them. This time around Faergolzia was vocally elastic and spastic, moving freely from gentle incantations to prolonged episodes of epiglottal freak-out. It felt as if he were baiting the audience. He presented the questions rather than the answers, and yet somehow I walked away with more. I'm really gonna dig him next time.

Both Devo Spice and The Worm Quartet (a solo act, despite the name) are beloved and revered by Doctor Demento fans around the world. But this ain't "Fishheads" or "Another One Rides The Bus" type stuff, but rather insightful jabs at the every day. Most folks melt down; these guys write songs. Devo Spice raged against Microsoft, complete with a PowerPoint display. Shoebox - the lone, towering member of The Worm Quartet - complained about how the national child obesity epidemic has forced Cookie Monster to no longer jones for cookies, with the tune "C Is For Lettuce."

The last time I saw Miche Fambro was at Jazzberry's on Monroe Avenue at least 20 years ago. The cat hasn't aged a bit. He did a little set before The Beaumonts set on the patio at Abilene Friday night. His guitar playing was wildly percussive and followed a slithering time signature that you could see course through him down to his feet. His voice was emotive and strong, soaring well beyond the club's outdoor ceiling.

You watch The Beaumonts and you just know they wanna tear it up and crack wise, yet when the song calls for love or a serious tack, the boys in the band buckle down. This band never ceases to amaze me in its understated swagger, deadly musicianship, and perpetual smirk. Dig.