'Twas a dark and metal night Wednesday, July 8, at CMAC with Judas Priest and Whitesnake. Whitesnake added to the night's retro vibe with singer David Coverdale's piercing vocals, Jesus Christ pose, and masturbatory mic stand moves. The band was more on the hair side than the heavy side of metal back in its prime, and still came off as masters of the rock-star preen and prance. The 10-minute dueling guitar solo was a bit much, and it made me wonder how long a guitarist could solo before everyone left. I think Frank Zappa tried to find out once with The Mothers.

Priest came out heavy and intense, but set up all the way to the back wall of the stage, coming out front only to solo and work the crowd. Singer Rob Halford - who didn't come out on a motorcycle like I'd hoped - barked and wailed angry, mean, and a little disengaged in bedazzled denim while the rest of the band stuck with the all-leather Priest uniform. There's less ironing, I suppose. Front to back it covered "British Steel" for an enthusiastic crowd that looked like it hadn't bought a new record - or clothes - since that album came out in 1980.

Head Chinchilla Pete Anvelt is a great songwriter. His wit is dry, wry, and sly. And the whole band - the vehicle for his stinging witticisms - shifts smoothly from straight-ahead barroom rock ‘n' roll to country bang ‘n' twang with a few nods tossed in to Dylan and Hank I. In other words, The Chinchillas are the perfect band. The band played as the sun set on Abilene's patio last Thursday night. It had a sort of post-tornado feel, as if the band was playing in a joint that had its roof ripped off mid-set and didn't bother to look up or stop playing. The Fitsner's Ted Keaton jumped up for some fun on one of the songs with the band. Incidentally, did you see his wife's shoes?

Songs about Genesee beer, plane crashes, and dreams of a better life in a double-wide trailer (on a song Southern Culture On The Skids wishes it wrote) cracked me up and sent me home smiling and singing songs, some I'd only just heard for the first time.

Saturday night was a way cool-block party in Brighton (location withheld to protect the guilty) starring none other than Rochester ex-pat now gettin' greasy in the Big Easy, John Mooney. Mooney learned his blues at the foot of the master, Son House, and leaned particularly heavy on House's Delta style - he didn't have a drummer - under the trees and under the stars for a ton of people and several tons of horny mosquitoes. Veterans of Mooney's classic 1976 line-up, Brian Williams joyfully slapped the doghouse to fill the percussive void and Bob Cooper tickled the ivories as dancers trampled the grass. The trio was joined by Joe Beard, Bobby Henrie, and Kate Silverman, who Memphis Minnie'd so sweet I'm surprised the bugs didn't eat her alive. I split as Mooney dropped the guitar to wail House's "People Grinning In Your Face" to the beat of the crowd's eager palms.