Somewhere, someone's idea of paradise lies nestled atop the rolling hills of the Blue Ridge highlands, punctuated by 95-degree temperatures quelled by a persistent zephyr and set to the backdrop of some of the finest country, rock, funk and jazz groups in the country.

Remember the days when two-minute spots for classic rock compilation albums would run on MTV three times every hour, extolling the rocking possibilities to be realized by sending $24.95 to an address in Colorado Springs?

The Eastern Music Festival's Fringe Series experienced a quiet but potent opening over the weekend with two performances that, while not quite up to expectations attendance-wise, were more than satisfying musically.

When used in the depiction of a touring musician, the word "legend" usually invokes imagery of claustrophobic crowds, heavy-handed security and massive support details occupying a convoy of tour buses. Once in a while, however, it's just a word that's a function of the relationship between what is and what could have been.

"Ladies, if you 18 and up, got good credit and ain't got no diseases, make some noooiiise!' That's the battle cry of the 102 JAMZ SuperJam, simultaneously one of the most widely anticipated and contentious yearly events in not just the city of Greensboro, but the greater Triad area altogether.

Extra-cultural exploration is peaking thanks to the World Cup mania that's overtaking America (heh), lending the perfect environment for the inaugural Mosaic Festival to attract over a thousand people from more than a dozen different cultures to downtown Greensboro's Festival Park.

His husky voice crackled a bit when he tried to sing "Sunday Morning Coming Down" the same way Johnny would have sang it, but it was his flaws that made his set so endearing. He needed a pick-me-up on vocals toward the end, but the only thing that Jamey Johnson added was just another guy who couldn't remember the lyrics.

Anyone who ever thought truth in advertising was dead needs look no further than one of New Orleans youngest and funkiest bloods.

One doesn't often expect a dazzling light show when attending a bluegrass performance, but that's exactly what the 200 or so attendees of the Foothills Hayride at Jomeoke Campground in Pinnacle received as the sun dropped down over the treeline opposite Pilot Mountain.

It doesn't really matter who you ask about their experience at the last SmileFest in 2006; by most accounts it was an unmitigated disaster.

If you can deal with the resulting bleary-eyed, straw-in-the-coffee-pot kind of morning that follows a work/school night out at the club, no one will be mad at you for indulging a Monday or Tuesday night treat from time to time. Sometimes when the right name comes around, any night can be a night to scratch the itch.

If dreams were lightning and thunder were desire, I could fill out this entire review of John Prine's show at Cary's Koka Booth Ampitheatre last Friday night using only his best lyrics and sound like the second coming of Lester Bangs. Prine is simply that good.

It's entirely forgivable if one should end up listening to Doc Watson's yearly Spirit of Sunday morning performance at MerleFest on WNCW's live radio broadcast, even if you're holding a weekend pass and camped right down the street.

It's not a complete overhaul per se, but Ben Harper's new band Relentless7 does represent a reinvention of sorts. While Harper's name might forever be synonymous with his fiery, five-man folk-soul backing band of 12 albums over eight years, the Innocent Criminals, the time was right for a slight change of trajectory.

If you're depending solely on the late-'90s NBC miniseries The Temptations for your acquaintance with the sordid history of the Motown luminaries, chances are that the name Dennis Edwards is a bit of an afterthought in their saga.

Ween is not for everyone, including the easily offended, recovering alcoholics, those clinging to a tenuous grip on reality, anyone with strong moral convictions, feminists, chauvinists, pacifi sts, honor-roll students, Tea Partiers, Justin Bieber fans and the indiscriminately humorless.

When is a blues festival not really a blues festival? When it's called the Greensboro Blues Festival, apparently. In one of the strangest concerts this writer has ever seen, only a scant percentage of the six performances of the evening could be qualified as what most know as blues music.

Greensboro's rapidly growing hip-hop scene was on display once again on April 2 at Greene Street Club for Ed E. Ruger's Birthday Bash. The "Beasts of the Boro" showcased some of Greensboro's finest hip-hop talent, including Kaveman, MTTS, Ed E. Ruger, Don KotiX, Illpo and the Cream Team.

How many different ways are there to say "facemelting guitar solo"? That question, along with "How many guitarists does it take to pay tribute to the greatest of all time," was explored in-depth during the final stop of the current Experience Hendrix.

Despite existing favorably in the musical consciousness for more than 20 years, Michael Franti has seemed to be a permanent fixture on the fringes of conventional popularity.