I often joke to Kevin Barnes actual publicist that I am Kevin Barnes de facto publicist. Consider: In the past 24 months, I have glowingly reviewed both of his Of Montreal albums for Magnet magazine and previewed both of his New Orleans shows in Gambit; previously, his manic-pop milestone Satanic Panic in the Attic also topped my 2004 end-of-year list. Perhaps this is the price of selling your soul to Outback Steakhouse, but somewhere in between, to even my surprise, Barnes studio greatness has given way to a new breed of stage weirdness. Stallions. Speedos. Pirates. Penises. Its as if the Gibb brothers came out of the worlds largest closet wearing nothing but platform spikes and feather boas, commandeered the Parliament Funkadelic Mothership, and promptly crashed it into the Grand Funk Railroad. Its Hedwig and the Angry Inch turned into a 2,000-mile absurdist tour. In short: Tonights stop at the Howlin Wolf is one you really dont want to miss. A once-a-year event is a worst-case scenario.