There's a fine line between road fatigue and nonchalance. Peter Karp's camper was parked outside the Dinosaur BBQ Wednesday night, October 17, and Karp emerged looking like he just woke up. And his opening number took on the feel of a sleepy slumber exit as he gently woke the audience with his red guitar alarm clock. Starting plaintive and sweet, Karp intoned and slid wearily, building with each measure. As the clouds began to scatter and the rest of the band kicked in, he had everyone feeling good. I know a lot of bands like to hit on all eight right outta the gate, but Karp's haphazard slow wind to a bluesy grind was much more effective. He's a Nashville cat, no lie, but there is so much more brewing that I'm sure he dreams up in pre-gig parking lot snoozes.

Crashed the opening for "The Tease" - 600 pics of swivelin' buxotics and gyratin' exotics from burlesque's golden days at the Palace Theatre in Buffalo - at the George Eastman House. A slick jazz combo led by Mint Jam's Gabe Condon swung as the hoi polloi swilled sangria. The burlesque scene here in Rochester is lean but lovely; what we lack in quantity we've got in quality. Take one Miss Holly Shock, who paraded about the affair in red chiffon and a bustier. There was a gaggle of lovely gals that graced the walls but Shock was the only one we could ogle in all three dimensions. Ooo-la-la.

The Sholanda Simpson memorial show Saturday at the Bug Jar was a sweaty, packed affair led by her band, the Cheetah Whores. I haven't seen a band maintain this level of drunken joy, sadness, soul, and swagger - in heels - in a long time. At the heart of the allure are the songs. The Cheetah Whores are writing nasty little r&b nuggets reminiscent of an era when Ike and Tina were still doing blow and exchanging blows. Taking on the air of a free-for-all with the shake of extra tambourines and hands in the air, this was a fitting send-off for any rock 'n' roller.