Pete Townshend didn't duck-walk on Monday night.  He didn't curse, or smash his guitar, or clock Abbie Hoffman in the back of the head.  In fact, he didn't do anything of which your mother wouldn't approve.

Which isn't to say that the Who in its current incarnation lacks vim, vigor, or even cheek...just that the guys who came to prominence as purveyors of auto-destructive art now seem more intent on self-preservation.

For years, whether in print or on the web, adoring City Paper readers have hearkened to the mellifluous prose of D.C.'s Dave McKenna--his rhapsodic treatment of Pop Warner football, his scherzo-like political musings, his epic riffs on the Dan Synder perplex.

Turns out he's not the only D. Mac around.

Winard Harper is the kind of drummer who can hold an audience rapt for five minutes with a two-stick high-hat solo. As you start applauding, or screaming, or whatever, you realize that this was just the intro, that the band is poised for a big entrance. Once the band is in, your jaw drops as you watch Harper hold a stick in his mouth while weaving byzantine rhythms with his foot and a single hand; the other hand is busy fixing the high-hat, out of which he's spent several minutes kicking the shit. Finally, you lean back in your seat and exhale, reflecting that if you gave this guy a stick, a rock, and a horn section, he could lead most bands and still have one hand to spare.

"The future of la musica is assured," a beaming Jim Byers informed the 9:30 club on Friday night.

Byers, the host of WPFW's "Latin Flavor," spoke after a stellar performance by La Timbistica, a high-flying salsa outfit also known as the Berklee College of Music Latin Jazz All-Stars. The group alternates between five-piece Latin jazz unit and full-on Salsa band. In both formats, they are astonishing. Juan Maldonado deserves special mention for his efforts on the six-string bass, as does Kalani Trinidad for his searing flute (how often do you hear those two words together?) and fine voice, both of which cut admirably through the bright wall of the high brass. Throughout, the band exemplified a classical precision infused with lively improvisation--most notably by Alex Brown, whose eclectic work on the keyboard kept the band from retreating, anonymous, into a genre that too often overshadows its practitioners.

This was good, jazzy salsa, in other words...and consistently up-tempo, to the delight of the D.C. Casineros, who took over the dance floor and put the rest of the audience to shame.

I nodded at the child strapped to his back. "You folks are in good company, then. The Beautiful People are out in full force tonight."

"That's what they tell me." The child had begun pawing at the man's baseball cap. "Say, I've been wondering: is it true that Pamela Anderson gave hep C to Phil?"

"Sounds like a dirty rumor."

"I can believe it," he shrugged. "They both live in Cali...."

I encountered Mr. Unassailable Logic an hour later at the stage-left lawn entrance, where he was shaking down the tie-dye crowd for coke.

"Come on, you guys gotta hook me up," he told successive barefoot gaggles. "Hey--yayo? Yip? Anybody?"

"You gotta quit that stuff, man," ventured a well-wisher.

"Hell, I'm not even looking to party--but I gotta drive back to Pennsylvania tonight and I've got work tomorrow. I just wanna travel safe, you know?"

Well shucks, Mr. Logic, I can't say that I do. But then again, I only came for the music.

The bands, of course, did not disappoint. (At these events, most people know exactly what they're paying for...and if somehow they don't get it, the fault is not in the stars.) Phil Lesh & Friends played a marvelous set of Grateful Dead gems, standouts including expansive takes of "Eyes of the World" and "Cassidy" and a jabbingly glorious "The Other One." Larry Campbell, the greatest contemporary sideman-for-hire not currently playing for the Allmans, led a phenomenal guitar attack, paying deference to Garcia while sharpening the blues licks--his interplay with Barry Sless on pedal steel was a definite highlight, as were the rhythmic contributions of Jackie Greene. Greene's fluency as lead singer was also a treat, especially for those of us who worried Phil's voice wouldn't be up to snuff (it was, though not on par with the tyke's). "Sugaree," the encore, was Greene's finest vocal moment: bluesy, exalted, dead-on.

NPR Music reports that Columbia is releasing Tell Tale Signs--Volume 8 of the Bob Dylan Bootleg Series--on October 7. (Click here for full streaming audio.) The new two-disc album chronicles a period of resurgence for the poet laureate of rock 'n roll, involving several excellent bands, lots of lovely wordplay, and a tasteful minimum of proselytization.

Previous entries in the (thoroughly official and hardly bootleg) series include the 1966 Royal Albert Hall Concert (Judas, anyone?), Live 1975 (which documents the Rolling Thunder Tour), and the soundtrack from Martin Scorsese's No Direction Home.