A beautiful Afro-Parisian woman in a tight-fitting dress, beatboxing to Thelonious Monk. What's hotter than that? Last night at the Dakota Restaurant & Jazz Club, Mina Agossi was backed up by a French bass player and Japanese drummer, who she teasingly forced into singing toward the end of her second set.

You may not recognize her name. I didn't. But if Lowell Pickett—co-owner of the Dakota, who hears live music day in and day out—says within thirty seconds of listening to her CD he knew she was something special, well, that's one hell of a recommendation. 

Her unique style and musical repertoire brought together elements of various musical genres, and she smoothly moved from throaty singing to Björk–style yelps to scatting. Last night she sang classic jazz by Ella Fitzgerald and Thelonious Monk—but spun to her own rhythm, of course—and even covered Jimi Hendrix's "Spanish Castle Magic."

But Agossi was almost more fun to watch than she was to hear. Her playful attitude was as seductive as it gets. She giggled between every song, and was sultry and sexy even as she scrunched her face to make wrinkles in her chin. Let's petition Pickett to bring her back.

I've seen Bob Dylan perform. I've seen the Foo Fighters. But I've never seen them together. Stoked is not a strong enough word to describe how I felt when I heard they'd teamed up for a tour and that they'd be swinging through St. Paul.

I haven't seen the Foo Fighters since 1997 when the band headlined at Roy Wilkins. I remember they were so big back then, so significant to the rock scene. To see the band open for Bob Dylan last night at the Xcel Energy Center was cool—such a big venue, such an amazing headliner—but to have them be the opening act felt surreal (even singer/lead guitarist Dave Grohl commented on it).

The other crazy thing was the Foo Fighters' band—eight musicians, including a rockin' accordion player—played an acoustic set. This wasn't the hard-rocking, spunky band of the nineties that I remember. They brought back many of those memorable tunes, such as "Big Me," but they were subtler, tamer. They still rocked, but it was a toned-down sorta rock. (Though Grohl's gratuitous swearing kept the audience reminded this was a rock show.)

The entire evening was pretty tame, actually. The crowd was skewed very young, I thought, for Dylan. Maybe a lot of people were there just to see Grohl & Co.

Here's the thing about Dylan . . . I've seen him now three or four times, and though I've always had a great time at his shows, I think maybe they've seemed more important because of his idol status, and I'm not so sure I'll see him again. It's not that the shows are totally disappointing, but they're somewhat anticlimactic. In all those shows I've seen, he's only spoken to the audience once. I know he doesn't strongly claim his Minnesota roots, but can't he just acknowledge us a little?

Nevertheless, he looked and sounded good. His five-piece band was dressed in gray suiting, while he sported all black, with a black hat. I gotta say, hearing that legend on harmonica is thrilling. I'd hoped to hear him play some guitar, but he never left the keyboard.

They opened with "Maggie's Farm"—one of my favorites—then played a bunch of post-'70s stuff, with a couple other older tunes ("Highway 61 Revisited") thrown in here and there. I've got to hand it to him for playing both "Like a Rolling Stone" and "All Along the Watchtower" in the encore. But the encore came pretty fast. You're in your home state, playing the X . . . couldn't you at least do two encores if you're only going to play an hour-long set? What about "Hurricane," "Mr. Tambourine Man," "Blowin' in the Wind," "Rainy Day Women"?

And one final note, to the management at the Xcel Energy Center: Whoever does your sound should get a raise.

In the element of full disclosure, I am not a music critic. But I have seen more live shows than I can count—many of them music legends. So it is with great pride that I add Ms. Barbra Streisand to the list. Up until last night I probably would have just called her Babs, but no more. She deserves my respect.

I counted myself a fan last night. I applauded loudly, stood with the crowd, and cheered on a number of occasions, even giving her a few of my concert–style hoots. There is no one like Streisand: a voice that is a true gift and great talent. A style all her own. That face. That hair. Those (most likely) Donna Karan all-black ensembles.

She held court last night with a full orchestra and at times sang with Il Divo (more on that on my blog). Many of the songs were very familiar, others not, at least to me. But it didn’t matter. That voice and her Barbra-ness had me in the palm of her hand for a couple of hours.

Here are a couple of my observations and insights:

+ She used a TelePrompTer for the full show. It was huge and hanging from the center of the X. Only a small portion of the guests would have noticed because of the placement. Even her anecdotes about songs—which were a highlight—were scripted. Hey, remember, she’s an award-winning actor, too.

+ She played a little song on the piano, which she said was the first song she wrote (at about the age twenty-two) for her album Je M’appelle Barbra. I’m pretty sure that piece was the same one she (or was it Kris Kristofferson?) played on the piano in one of the scenes in their giant LA mansion in A Star is Born. True fans would know.

+ As a fairly new mom, I got a tear in my eye when she sang "Children Will Listen." Here are the lyrics. 

+ I ran into a friend who was there as a chair-filler. You know how they have people who sit in the places of stars at the Academy Awards when, say, Nicole Kidman needs to powder her nose and they don’t want to show an empty seat? Same at the Streisand shows. Ms. Barbra doesn’t like any empty seats. So a team of volunteers jumped from chair to chair last evening to keep the seats packed. I was told this was the first time a performer has made this request in the Twin Cities. Hey, it’s also the first time Streisand has performed in the Twin Cities.

When Widespread Panic walks onto a stage, there’s an incredible presence. Most notably because there are a lot of people on stage: guitarist John Bell, bassist Dave Schools, drummer Todd Nance, percussionist Domingo Ortiz, keyboardist John Hermann, and the band’s newest addition, guitarist Jimmy Herring, who’s played with the Allman Brothers Band, Phil Lesh & Friends, and others. Herring’s a master guitar player, and last night he ripped it as though he'd been with the band since its inception twenty years ago.

Schools was a major rockstar in his all-black threads with a fan blowing on him for the duration of the show, and John Bell’s voice is an undeniable classic—at once both throaty and smooth, which lends itself to the band’s bluesy, Southern-rock style. But the highlight of the show was a skillful percussion solo by Ortiz (which Panic fans have come to expect), with Nance eventually joining him in this jam.

I could’ve used a little more rock and a little less jam, but overall, Panic played a good balance of old classics—including "Diner," "Love Tractor," and "Happy"—and new stuff from its 2006 CD, Earth to America. The band kept Northrop Auditorium jam-packed with hippies for four hours.

NYC–based, Russian-born Regina Spektor has been compared to Tori Amos, Fiona Apple, Bjork, and PJ Harvey. Like them, she’s an accomplished female musician who knows her craft and her audience. After two albums, Soviet Kitsch and Begin to Hope, her cult following is expanding, much like these other songstresses.

But the differences between her and the others were clear during the show last night at the Varsity. Her turns on piano are at once jazzy, classical, and rocking, and her style possessed me to feel like skipping along with the plinkier notes, even when singing about overdoses. Absent are diva-like glissandos—her voice pirouettes along instead, note by note. She giggles at herself. She bangs a drumstick with one hand and plays piano with the other, while singing/shouting “You don’t love your girlfriend! You don’t love your girlfriend!”

She sings a song about drinking soap and then vomiting, but it’s the most charming vomiting noise I’ve ever heard. She sings about the dollar-store employees, who sell plastic Jesus statues and spit on the graves of nonbelievers—but then buys one. And a first-aid kit. Just in case. Then came the encore, with songs that were touching, loving, and fun, reaching a kind of crescendo on Begin to Hope’s “Samson.”

She was a siren in every sense—sexy, self-assured, and with a voice as pure and clean as ice. She pulled the audience in with her girly, appealing, serious music. One hell of a show.

I regretfully missed Thursday's kickoff of Minnesota sur Seine—an annual jazz fest that brings together musicians from Minnesota and France for some of the most innovative jazz collaborations I've heard in a long time—but caught Saturday night's Happy Apple performance at the Southern. Drummer Dave King, bassist Erik Fratzke, and saxophonist Mike Lewis delivered an amazing show, as usual. The Minneapolis band was joined by pianist Benoit Delbecq, who jived well with the progressive group. For a band that's so 'out there,' it was impressive to hear an outsider fit in so seamlessly. The two encores weren't enough.

I was so jazzed (Sorry, I couldn't resist) by Saturday's show I checked out Lewis's Sunday afternoon gig with drummer Mark Sanders at the Acadia Cafe. The hour-long set was inspired, passionate, and fun.

The festival runs through October 22 at lots of great local venues—many of which are rarely used for public performances. Check out the whole schedule at sur Seine's site.