The four grease monkeys in Rumble Club rumbled into the Bug Jar Thursday night, coming from Kentucky with the leather-stetson'd double-bassist promising to "soak your drawers" as soon as the band took the stage. Relying heavily on the old minor seventh for the majority of its 45-minute slap-back stampede, the band played rockabilly on the danger side. And don't the ladies love a low voice? Lead singer Jack Coray rumbles with a sub-strata drawl that I'm sure fulfilled the band's earlier promise; there wasn't a dry seat in the house. The volume was big and bold, loud enough to feel where it counts, and without the upper end that typically leaves your head ringing and nose running.

Brokedown stepped in to clean up and seems to be going the way of Izzy Stradlin's early, post-G'N'R stuff. Lots of bar-brawlin' guitar and a rock 'n' roll beat and tone that straddles the Mason-Dixon. And that plank guitarist Croonin' Curt was giving a spank as pure Hound Dog Taylor. Yeah, I know I plug ol' Hound Dog a lot, but I ain't gonna rest until everyone knows his name - or Brokedown's.

The jazz scene at The Grill at Strathallan isn't really a well-kept secret anymore. Everywhere I stood was apparently an aisle as I dug ex-Rochesterian, ex-Big Roots trombonist Dave Gibson intone on the 'bone Saturday evening with Bob Sneider's posse. Anybody can blast when it comes to brass, but Gibson played as cool as he carried himself - all charcoal suit and scotch rocks stroll.

P-Funkster Andre Foxxe returned to Montage Live Music Hall later that night with a brand new band. These cats were rough and ready, lying down Foxxe's brass-knuckle funk and groove. It would be fun to see them do a residency here and really build up a following, as this music can really stir things up when the dance floor gets sweaty. Foxxe knows I dig his tune "Summer Girls" big time, and since a cord malfunction marred the first take, he did it again. He is so f**king cool.