We often take it for granted, but on an average Wednesday night in Toronto there's a pissload o' fine music being played out there in clubland. Maybe we're just so used to the high volume of great stuff that we've gotten lazy and spoiled. But judging from the mostly large and totally enthusiastic crowds at these mid-week shows, live music is far from dead in the big city these days.

The Ashgrove were first up in a night of London, Ontario acts playing at Lee's. Unfortunately, one of the bands had to cancel due to a death in the family; and the event was struggling to draw, going up against the other, abovementioned shows, as well as the Chemical Brothers' only-in-town-for-one-night gig. So it was a smallish audience, but a vocal and supportive one. The good news is, The Ashgrove deserves that response. They've got a lead singer with a strong, clear, solid set of pipes; a lead guitarist with a keen sense for the right riff; and a heavy-hittin' monster on the drums. All three have a modest but definite charisma — which they really should develop further if they want to pack 'em in. They play good, loud, melodic, mid-tempo power-rock. They're not imitative or anything, but they unintentionally resemble mid-period (i.e. the best) U2: Dramatic (but not excessively so) singing, propulsive guitar lines, and big-ass drumming. They've got some radio action going in a few markets, and they're just starting to tour Ontario. If they play their cards well, The Ashgrove could grow pretty big in a half-a-year or so.

Biked down to a comfortably full Rivoli in time to catch Moe Berg. (Unfortunately, I missed Mia Sheard, Howie Beck and most of Renann.) The good news is, he's as sharp, funny, skillful and deadly as he ever was, if not more, with the wisdom of maturity on his side now. He spent the first three minutes setting up a song with the story of a night he'd spent walking during last winter's killer snowstorm (when Mayor Mel called out the army, which was pretty ridiculous for the Edmonton-born Berg): All white, no people, no sound, nothing moving, and a used-car-lot sign the only thing visible through it, reading: "I'm In Love With You." "It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw," said Moe, cracking the audience up; and although his barbed witticisms kept the laughter rolling, by the song's end he'd clearly revealed how much ultimate self-sacrifice is involved in that state of mind. Pretty damned brilliant.

Here's a sample of some self-deprecating, between-song Moe patter: "These two young girls down front, earlier they came up to me and asked, 'Can we take our picture with you?! Can we?! We'd really like to take our picture with you... We're really big '80s fans." The audience just fucking howled; it was a truly great moment. As if that wasn't enough, he did a hysterical song about getting dumped by a girl he liked (so what else is new?) with the impeccable couplet chorus: "Now that she's fucked Moe Berg/She's lost her status in the herd." Once again, the audience just fucking died. Another truly great moment. Berg did balance his approach with more serious material — like the old "Walking In The Woods," and a newer song about leaving an untrustworthy lover for dead — literally — both of which testified to his range as a songwriter. But damn, he sure can be funny when he wants to be.

Unfortunately, I had to miss Mayor McCa if I was going to catch any of Blackie & The Rodeo Kings at the 'Shoe. It was encore time, and they were wailin'. It's a great combination: Tom Wilson's basso profundo voice and transcendent rock-hog dramatics; Stephen Fearing's perfect picking and authoritative singing; and Colin Linden's utterly appropriate, totally sympatico, flashy but tasteful guitar. Once they go into the ancient blues classic, "John Henry," anything can happen; tonight, it mutated into The Cramps' "Can Your Pussy Do The Dog?" If anybody ever told me, three years ago, that a folk/pop stalwart like Fearing would ever play a song like that, with a killer-rockin' band like this, I'd have said they were outta their mind. Now that's a step in the right direction.

Conventional marketing wisdom says that if you're the kind of person reading these ChartAttack reviews, then the music of The Ashgrove, Moe Berg and Blackie isn't your thing. To which I can only respond with the words of Parliament/Funkadelic progenitor George Clinton: Free your mind and your ass will follow. (Read: Open up your ears and let all kinds of worthy stuff come inside. You'd be surprised what you might find.) It's all music, and on this ordinary night in T.O. clubland, it was all good. Excelsior!