Shannon is a subtle genius - think the Beatles meet the Breeders - wielding a big jazz-style guitar to pluck heart strings with her wise little angel's voice and brilliantly crafted pop songs that pursue hidden meanings and unsure promises of costly victories. I can't help but adore her - I've been addicted ever since I got September '67's Lucky Shoe. She's practically my hero.

Lauren comes on next to do a set of her tunes, ruling with a velvet fist and an iron bra. Her style is like a European lounge torch crossed with a veteran prostitute/philosopher. She's as cool as a cucumber but dangerous, playing her worldly-wise songs with a classy laid-backness that only helps to deify her in the crowd's eyes and ears. She'll be hosting a series of shows at Tokyo Rose that are sure to be great - but don't be late - they like to start on time.

From there it's off to see the Hogwaller Ramblers at the Buddhist Biker Bar and Grill. The "Buddha" is a tiny place to see a band but the Ramblers never fail to please, bringing their blend of Americana meets Tom-Waits-ish-swamp-rag meets Rolling-Stones-psychedelia to the unwashed masses. And I mean masses. The crowd of Wahoos at the Buddha fills the building and pours out into the yard. The Ramblers rise to the occasion and kick down the walls. They seem to thrive on uphill situations like this, and the few people who can actually fit into the room where they're playing can't help but hoot and holler. The Ramblers may be the most "Charlottesville" band in all of Charlottesville and are undoubtably the best free show in town, playing every Thursday at the Buddhist Biker and every Sunday downtown at Escafe. But I can't hang. There's too much meat at the Buddha and I wanna check out this reggae band at the Outback Lodge.

When I get there the place is packed and, much to my suprise, there's a real reggae band playing. Stable Roots brings their roots reggae from Harrisonburg to the Outback most Thursdays. They're awesome: a bunch of Rastas and a hippy pulling off the Real McCoy with long smooth jams that segue from tune to tune. There's lots of original stuff, some Bob Marley, and the occasional oddball bit like the Eurythmics' Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This). They are totally refreshing, even with all the tribal philosophising that I find neither truly spiritual or necessary. Then again, I'm a duck, not an African, so more power to 'em. I love roots reggae, so to me they are a brick of gold in a coal mine.

On Friday the Living Wage show happens at Old Cabell Hall. I can't attend due to my day job as a test quacker for the Bird Call Emulation Facility. My wage: $8.00 an hour, and no, you really can't survive even on that kind of money. I wonder how minimum wage workers get by.

When I get off, I head over to see TR3 at the Outback Lodge. Arriving just in time for the second set, I'm surprised to find the place not packed. Apparently Tim Reynolds' new act was just too much for the cute little Dave Matthews fans who bailed out after the first set. I believe Tim likes it this way. He has evolved from a fusion/Middle Eastern/funk/jazz guitar hero into a cosmic monster of biblical proportions. The stuff is hysterical, obnoxious, thought-provoking and powerful. Tim has found his match in Charlottesville's hottest unsigned rhythm section, Houston Ross and Johnny Gilmore, and they throw down the most in-your-face, irreverent mishmash of funk and punk you've ever heard, truly redefining "over-the-top" performance art. It's not the old TR3, but in a lot of ways, it's better.

On Saturday night, I'm back at Tokyo Rose for The Dawning, Charlottesville's official Gothic grope. Local faves Bella Morte are tearing it up all decked out in glow paint and black lights. They're something else - a band that plays with a pre-recorded rhythm and keyboard section while a bass player, guitarist and singer twist the dark dreams of their medieval fantasies into gorgeous synth-pop. I wish they had a real drummer but must confess: I dig 'em. These guys are probably much bigger internationally than most people realize and, for a bunch of spooks, they're about the nicest people you'd ever want to meet.

After their set, we are treated to a rare spectacle: a set by the semi-legendary Counselors. Their lead singer has moved to Atlanta but comes back periodically to put on their ridiculously clever brand of shut-up-and-punk. He comes out in a dress, introduced as D.J. Corpselicker, and proceeds to run amuck, turning a rock show into a free-for-all comedy festival. The stuff is warped and brilliant, and I am almost compelled to throw myself into the slam-dancing fray - if not for my webbed feet. These guys demonstrate that punk rock is not for the faint of heart (or sensitive of ear) but in the end it's good clean fun.

It's amazing how much good stuff lurks around Charlottesville. Get out and see some.

If it's happening, the Duck wants to know about it. E-mail cripsyduck@mindspring.com.