Unlike most Kilbourn acts this week, Don Byron’s Ivey Divey blasted out the gate at a trot. Byron’s flow was flawless on both sax and licorice stick. Pianist Jason Moran was incredible as he formed rhythmic phrases and melodies by not playing the actual notes, but rather by framing them with the notes around them. It was Thelonious Monk’s doing this that first made sense to me. A lot of times it makes about as much sense as Chinese algebra… but I still like to listen.

And speaking of Monk, you ever see concert footage of him in later years? The man was borderline batshit. Omar Sosa reminded me a lot of this with his completely wild and frenetic playing over absolutely savage drums (including a kick drum beater cheater). Sosa’s interjections and piano exclamations on top, in, and around the cacophony was only topped by his animated stage presence. The cat bobbed and squirmed as if his bones wanted to come out and play. The loudest thing I’ve heard at Max.

Sisters Euclid’s Kevin Breit (also known as Norah Jones’ Kevin Breit) was slingin’ a Tele and an electric mandolin at the same time when I arrived at Montage. This man can play anything with strings. He could probably even play a kite. Early in the set he pulled out an incredible guitar lead where the notes were struck and slid in such a way that they sounded as if they were coming out backwards. It made me miss Danny Gatton. And when he began to shred on the mandolin’s upper register, it made me miss my dog. These notes plinked and plunked so high I know they had to be heard in dog heaven. Tarzan, I miss you buddy.

Dried my eyes and went to the Eastman Theatre to catch Dr. John with Madeleine Peyroux. It was certainly the right place at the right time as John and his modest band brought the gris gris. They did an outstanding slow funk take on “Saturday Night Fish Fry”--- one of my favorite Louis Jordan songs ever.

Peyroux sashayed out un-announced and launched into some Leonard Cohen before arriving at Bessie Smith. She sings so pretty, but I had to high tail outta there. Rumors were flying that Eric Clapton was going to sit in with Toots and the Maytals on the East and Alexander stage, but ol’ Slow Hand was a no-show-hand. Still, I got to dig the 63-year-old Toots bound around like a teenager. Ex-Majestic, ex-Bahama Mama, and Eastman Theatre stage manager Ron Stackman was beaming, exclaiming repeatedly “The hits just keep comin.’”

Giant Panda Guerilla Dub Squad (just back from Jamaica) opened up earlier in the blinding sun with a beautiful sunny groove. They draw the hippies for sure, but I don’t care who you are, you get in front of this band and your ass is gonna move, baby.

Caught a taste of the Motor Kings at the other end of the street. It was pretty average rock, obviously influenced by pretty average classic rock, but singer Julie Stewart has got some awesome pipes.†