Houston's self-proclaimed "Misfit of R&B" is equal parts sex, soul and hilarity. You(genious) is known on the local music scene for his ability to lay down sultry vocals while busting plenty of moves with his well-dressed, more-to-love torso. For him, every show is a chance to woo unsuspecting female audience members with tunes like "3 Minute Romance," "Is Your Mind Right?" and "Sex on a Spoon" — a fan favorite that includes the line "Make you howl at the moon — Woo!" You(genious) always manages to captivate a crowd of hipsters, and we're guessing he'd do just as well in front of a group of drunken Betties donning veils and various penis paraphernalia.

Poor little Aurora. In Dominic Walsh Dance Theater's version of Sleeping Beauty, she was a rebellious teen suffering from narcolepsy, drug abuse and, well, general sluttiness. Walsh turned the fairy tale on its head and created a splendid fast-footed, semi-comical, quasi-tragic tail of love, lust, teen angst and fantasy. The princess was a pain and the prince a geek, but it all worked out in the end. Walsh gave himself a star turn as Dr. Lyle Lac, who saved the day, sort of, with flying leaps and sci-fi-lit mime scenes. The company dazzled, the ­choreography sizzled, and the overall concept was fun and thought-provoking. For fans of DWDT, this was a pure gem of genius.

The group had such a great name that some band from Oregon threatened to sue the pants off these youngsters for using it. Well, the Oregon band apparently did have the name first, unbeknownst to Houston's The Dimes, now called Young Mammals. The indie group collected 2007's Best New Band and a slew of other Houston Press awards last year and seem poised for greatness. Now, with a new kick-ass name, Young Mammals are playing shows around town. Go see them play now, before they have to change their name again.

UGK, short for Underground Kingz, were at the pinnacle of their craft, the highest point of their career. They had made songs with the biggest of rap stars and gained an international following unparalleled by other Houston MCs. But it all came crashing down in December when Pimp C suddenly died. The 2007 double CD Underground Kingz received raves and will serve as their opus, no matter if it was meant to or not. Five years from now, there'll be no reunion album. There will be no "Steel Wheels" tour down the road. There will only be the quality music the duo released over the years.

Poison Girl (PG if you're texting) gets a nod from us for its diverse clientele, entertaining decor and alcohol-heavy drinks. You're as likely to see a local musician enjoying a cheap drink on the patio with a one-legged Cabbage Patch Kid as you are a lawyer playing vintage pinball and drinking high-quality whiskey. (Did somebody say "Scavenger Hunt?") But the pours aren't the only thing generous about this place — we give the owners added props for stirring cool with consciousness. Every first Sunday, a portion of sales is donated to a local nonprofit organization, and every last Thursday, they lend the patio to local writers for the Poison Pen Reading Series. If Rudyard's is Montrose's living room, then Poison Girl is its equally-as-cool basement bar.

On the outskirts of Midtown is a time warp to a Vietnam-era dive bar. Okay, so it's actually the Lone Star Saloon, but anyone who has moseyed (purposely or accidentally) into this shotgun-style drunken haven might believe the aforementioned scenario. The clientele ranges from talkative veterans to homeless crazies to two-steppin' transvestites. The bartenders — who prefer that you pay in cash — will be happy to help you as soon as they kick out the drunken mental cases. Ladies will want to make sure they're on or near the arm of a familiar lad, as they may fall prey to one of the countless, ahem, charming regulars who "just want a kiss." But all these obstacles make for great people watching, set to the soundtrack of a kick-ass jukebox featuring selections that do little to kill the blasted-back-to-the-past atmosphere.

We have no idea who a certain local character we'll charitably refer to as "T.B." may be, and that puts us in the definite minority among those who use Rudyard's downstairs men's room — or at least write on its walls. There we learned T.B. (allegedly) "licks ass (...and does your laundry)," "has Brad's whiskey dick," "is a blood donor" and "makes awesome pasta sauce." Also, he apparently "finger-banged A.D. Player's lady," "is the fucking champion of Texas" and "it was the sight of T.B.'s naked body that drove Brian Wilson insane." The paper-towel dispenser is helpfully labeled "Free T.B. T-shirts — pull." There's other graffiti in the bathroom, some of it hilarious — "Yao Ming's Glory Hole," "Shut up Santa" — but it's studying the continuing saga of T.B. ("...eats pussy with a spoon and a napkin") that makes us spend a little more time in there than we really should. Yeah, that's what it is.

Jon King has mastered the most important skill in bartending — attitude. He's not all smiles or cheery salutations; rather, he possesses that charming, old-man sass (even though he's barely 40) that's no doubt born of years of serving drunks. You want to earn King's respect, but first you'll have to prove you're not just another Saturday-night Sam or Sally. King is like a suspicious crush waiting to see if you'll return. During your first couple of trips, you'll likely be greeted with little more than a "What can I get ya?" But once he sees you around more, count on being rewarded with plenty of laughs via his clever quips and biting comebacks. King is exactly the kind of bartender you want heading up your neighborhood hangout — a solid dude who's handy with a tap, nozzle or shaker.

Along with the blues themselves, the old-fashioned juke joints that acted as hothouses incubating the music have been on the endangered species list for a while now, but they're not quite gone completely. Located in the Foster Place subdivision about as far south as you can get and still be inside the Loop, the ramshackle converted icehouse is one of the last bastions, if not the last, of real Houston blues of the '40s-'60s Duke-Peacock vintage left in the city. Opened by Louisiana native Eugene Chevis in 1973, in its current location for about half the intervening years, and prominently featured in Dr. Roger Woods's 2003 local blues opus Down in Houston, Mr. Gino's still attracts a decent crowd of curious interlopers and neighborhood regulars, particularly for the Sunday-evening jam sessions headed up by Duke-Peacock veteran I.J. Gosey, where Chevis and staff usually have a batch of beef stew or gumbo steeping so the beer and setups (it's BYOB) go down smooth.

There's something inherently oceanic about Indian Jewelry's Free Gold, the densely layered second disc from the (mostly) Houston-based musical collective headed up by ex-Japanic/Swarm of Angels provocateur Tex Kerschen and wife Erika Thrasher. The rolling, tribal rhythms of several songs create an effect similar to being tossed to and fro on what old salts of yore called the "bounding main." Elsewhere the record evokes everyone from NYC art-rock royalty Velvet Underground and Sonic Youth to shoegaze marvels Lush and My Bloody Valentine to the down-and-dirty Butthole Surfers, but the reason it stands out among other local releases this year is that at its core, Free Gold is all Houston. It's swampy, provocative, sprawling, dirty, frustrating and seems to exist in a humid haze all its own — thus making it a dead-on reflection of its city of origin.