Side stage action with Nickel Creek and Raul Malo

[Guest blogger August Brown is likewise a lighthouse, worn by the weather and the

waves.]

Only Nickel Creek could sing a tune about jailbait

teenage girls and not come off as petrifyingly creepy this weekend. But the lovely,

ferociously talented trio (with bassist) seemed like they could pull off just about

anything during their packed Appaloosa Stage

set. The band has grown from childhood prodigies to one of the most adverturous and

pop-savvy groups in the new-grass scene, equally comfortable tossing off a Pavement

cover as destroying traditional instrumental numbers with deft fretwork and heartrending

violin lines.

The set was split between their breakthrough self-titled album and their latest,

"Why Should The Fire Die?" Older numbers like "The Lighthouse's

Tale" and "When You Come Back Down" have aged like a great bourbon. Violinist Sara Watkins (right)

added sweetly lilting harmonies while Chris Thile plucked scintillant mandolin melodies.

(He's also, we just noticed, a dead-ringer for "FutureSex"-era Justin

Timberlake.) Accompanied by a bit of Tilly and The Wall-ish tap-dancing percussion, the

band charmed the crowd as they debated the proper plural conjugation of

"hippopotamus" and shouted out Radiohead. "I was home schooled,"

Thile said, unable to decide about the right way to pluralize a pachyderm. Wherever he

learned his tricks, more kids should attend there.

But the

great thing about country music is that you don't have to look like Timbal

and's BFF to be a god onstage. Raul Malo

(left) proved that there will always be room for a huge dude with huge pipes in the

world of outlaw country.

Dominating the Palomino stage in both presence and voice, Malo spun desert-gothic

country-rock numbers that bellowed to the mountains behind him. More guys should keep

their sunglasses on and the small-talk to a minimum while they tear up their guitar with

a tejano-spirited vengence.

Malo has roots in Latin jazz, rock and roll and classic country, and all of those

sides came through in his commanding, well-received set. Kenny Chesney, button your shirt already. Real

men speak with their riffs, not glistening pecs and puka shells.