Wednesday night the Mudhouse opened its doors for Danny Schmidt and Brady Earnhart, two local singer-songwriters who've been percolating under Charlottesville's Indy-pop dominated music scene for some time.

Brady Earnhart is a gifted dude whose tunes can be found on Nickeltown's Presto Change-o and on his own CD After You. It's definitely a sign of accomplishment when your peers are rushing into the studio to record your work. Earnhart's stuff is worthy. He's a clever lyricists who turns used-up phrases into fresh poetry and delivers them with a sweet and mellow voice that cracks ever so slightly with hints of Lyle Lovitt and Kermit the Frog. The tunes he played at the Mudhouse ranged from a song written from the perspective of a penis to songs about the many pitfalls of love. Brady makes sentiments that might seem trivial elsewhere respectable. And there's always some clever twist. One tune humorously ponders the possibility that a long-term affair would have been better had it remained just an honest one-night stand. Another, King of my Living Room, propounds the virtues of successlessness, the protagonist proclaiming "No big ol' lights on Saturday night/ made me a bit of who I am." The whole time you can hear Brady in his tunes, reflecting on his own beautifully melancholy journey through a challenging existence.

Danny Schmidt is a tranced-out grandson of Bob Dylan. (figuratively speaking, of course) He likes to write extended folk ballads and dirty dirge blues bits that sound killer when you get up-close and listen to them. He's also fond of a clever turn of ideas and his tunes have that "drawing you in slowly" effect on the brain. But watch out for his guitar playing. Singer-songwriters generally don't get much opportunity to show off their riffs unless they write tunes specifically for that purpose, so Danny reveals the bonus tricks up his sleeve in the form of instrumentals that explore acoustic blues and dissonance in a decidedly modern way. It's really quite impressive and results in a very cool performance.

Up the mall I found Mike Rosensky at Miller's pumping out another week's jazz odyssey. He usually plays his guitar with Jeff Decker on saxophone, but tonight, no Jeff. Instead, it's the godfather of Charlottesville jazz, trumpeter John D'earth, jamming with drummist Aaron Binder (who can't seem to escape being mentioned in this column every other week or so) and some upright bass player whose name I wish I knew. They are RIPPING. Everyone around here knows what D'earth is capable of, and if you don't, let me just say this: it's inspired, fluid, and really fast. Binder is, of course, a monster of perfect time keeping and expression. He may think he's not all that, but he's wrong. The undisclosed bass player is pulling off some gorgeous counterpoint and people around me are going "who is that guy?" And then there's Rosensky, whose guitar work has become more powerful and masterful with each passing moon. He's aged like a fine vintage and now he's ready to be uncorked. Serve chilled with bread and a fine brie. Or perhaps a pint of Guiness.

It was getting late, so I picked up my pieces and ran to Rapture to see if I could catch another favorite Charlottesvillian jazz drumming legend, Robert Jospé and his merry posse, but to no avail. They started at a respectable hour and had already finished and packed out. Bastards! Oh well, you can't expect them to stay up and get silly with a stupid duck like me. Especially on a Wednesday.

At this point, weariness set in. I was feeling like I'd be lucky to fly home for the night. But Daysi, the relentless she-duck, would not stand for it and insisted I accompany her to the Outback Lodge.

"I don't wanna party anymore!" I pleaded. "I'm pooped."

But she prevailed, and so I found myself straggling into the Outback for the last couple tunes of another Secret show. It took all of about, say, 45 seconds for my demeanor to change. You can't stay bored or tired at a Secret show. That's the rule, imposed by cosmic decree. Somebody give these guys a job! Singer/sax player Andy Rowland has been honing this band for umpteen years and they've never been more solid. Matt Furgeson plays trumpet and sings beautiful soul tenor over tunes that deserve air-time, damnit! Joe Lawlor, formerly of Egypt, Earth to Andy's old band, plays vicious lead guitar that'll make your head spin. It's no secret: they rock.
--Cripsy Duck

Check out the Duck's brand spanking website: http://www.freespeech.org/duck, and keep me posted when you're getting it on in a musical way: cripsyduck@mindspring.com.