This ain't no bohemian, bebop, black beret, bongo-bangin', beat generation box in a basement. Ruta Maya’s stage is a coffeehouse colossus, a centerpiece for the self-centered, an Olympus for the onanist, a maniacally massive monolith fitted with top-notch lighting and a full throttle, ear-piercing, hair-throwing sound system. It’s finger clickin' good.
