Shmootzi the Clod—born Drew Keriakedes—looks like a gutter dandy from the fun part of hell: thin as a bone, sharp as a blade, and with more than a little crazy in his eyes. Shmootzi can swallow a dagger and pound a nail into his nose, but his great gift is music. He writes lewd ditties ("I've got a red-hot pussy for sale") and mournful ballads ("Good-bye Southern men/You treat your women like dogs/They're beaten and starved for love"), then plays them on a whole trunkful of instruments. His ragged, soulful pipes are the envy of every person who's heard them. Shmootzi is a town treasure. (Cafe Racer, 5828 Roosevelt Way NE, 523-5282. 9 pm–midnight, tip the musicians, 21+.)