By the end of the show the stage was surrounded with dancers, a percussion jam had broken out, and Donna Graham, a veritable goddess of African dance, had been pulled in to add her joy to the mix. The place went nuts. When the show was over, I headed to Miller's where The Larry Keel Experience was exhibiting wisdom from another pocket of world culture: the Appalachia.

Now, if you've never heard the mad man of Natural Bridge do finger gymnastics and lyrical storytelling, you haven't heard Virginia bluegrass at all. Friday he had his wife Jenny on bass and Gary "Cud" Ruley on vocals and guitar, but the lineup of the "Experience" is amoebic, and by the end of the show they couldn't help but pull a few buddies out of the audience and settle into some grassedelic outbursts. Larry's like that. Schooled in the great Appalachian tradition and cut on everything from Django Reinhardt to Duke Ellington to Peter Tosh, he likes to venture into unknown territory and squeeze as much umph out of his steel-string guitar as he can muster. And he can muster alot. You'd be hard pressed to find a faster, more intense picker in any musical genre.

It was a fine hootenanny complete with a "tweener" (that's a between set performance -- to hip you to the vernacular) by Charlottesville's own dearly beloved, occasionally unruly, often admired Sydney Tapscott on harmonica and blather. After being told the band's name, he introduced them as "The Larry Kell Killers," or something like that. I've never heard him get a band name right. The man is a genius.

On Saturday I decided to check in on the Prism Coffehouse show with Paddy Keenan and Sean Tyrrel. I was late getting there due to the obnoxious football traffic, but figured I could get it on 91.1 FM, WTJU, and at least hear the first set on the way in. The Prism has been broadcasting the first set of their Saturday night concerts on WTJU for a long time, and it's a great and cool thing to be able to drive around listening to a show that's happening live right up the street. But 'twas not to be: the Jazz Marathon fundraiser pre-empted it, pesky thing. I considered calling to pledge some ungodly sum just to see if they'd put the Prism on. But the music was great, so I thought about calling them anyway, just to pledge some money. They deserve it.

At the Prism, Paddy and Sean were having an Irish tavern jam, Sean singing gorgeous Irish folk tunes (some original, others ancient) and Paddy blowing spooky flute and squeezing the most outrageous noises out of a set uilleane pipes.

Oft considered the pinnacle of European bagpipes, the uilleane (pronounced illin' which means "elbow" in Gaelic) pipes are incredible. They honk and squeak and growl and spin fantastic melodies all the while conjuring that fog-in-the-glen ambience that makes you wonder how you'd feel in a kilt on a frosty island morn'. And the Irish don't even wear kilts. Paddy seemed to think he was not on his game, but the audience was rapt, and between the two of them and a few gifted accomplices they pulled off a beautiful show. I ducked out (a pun, get it?), and headed to Trax to check out Lake Trout.

I don't know about you, but when I saw this band's name, I figured they'd be more of Jerry's kids: ex-Deadheads playing acoustic instruments with that Phishy kind of ethic. THIS NOT THE CASE. They're more like Devo on LSD. Lake Trout plays the heaviest trance-inducing super-jam cerebral psychotic episode music you've ever heard. In ravespeak it's called "jungle." I've experienced something like it before (late night on local radio) and thought it was all computer and turntable generated, but these five guys play live jungle on two guitars, a bass, drums, synthesizers and horns. Super fast impossible beats and monster bass sounds repeating tirelessly for what seems like hours while James Bond daydream fantasies ever-so-slowly well up into European lounge erotica and shift suddenly into freak-out vocal odysseys - then back to cocktails with James. They are mindblowing.

Cripsy Duck

Making some noise? E-mail cripsyduck@mindspring.com.