There's a lot of personality holed up in a nondescript bar in Millvale. An hour before the sold-out Jenny Lewis/Heartless Bastards show at Mr. Small's Funhouse on Sunday night, I slipped into a bar called Just Cousins for a slice of old-fashioned river town humanity.

People in the neighborhood refer to the bar simply as "Cousins," because that's what the faded sign facing Grant Avenue reads. The discrepancy between how it is identified on the Internet and what patrons actually call it isn't surprising.

The folks who live in the old mill towns and tiny boroughs of Allegheny County don't stand on airs. A neighborhood watering hole called Just Cousins isn't going to fly when Cousins is one syllable shorter and far less pretentious.

The bartender on duty was an older gentleman who looked as if he stepped straight out of central casting. Chomping on a stub of a cigar he could have inhaled if he wasn't careful, Joe worked the length of the bar by himself, wiping glasses and adjusting the volume on several televisions suspended overhead. Later, I would find out that his full name -- as unlikely as it sounds -- was Joe Stroh.

He squinted like Clint Eastwood when I asked if he carried any Belgian beers. It was a struggle for him, but I could tell he was resisting the urge to say, "Look around. This ain't Belgium." For that, I gave him lots of credit. Restraint is a gift.

Joe put a $2 bottle of domestic beer in front of me. It was the same beer everyone was having. "Or would you prefer that in a glass?" he asked with a smile. It was subtle, but I could tell he was finally tweaking me. For an extra 50 cents, I got a glass.

"Where are you from?" he asked. I answered him literally, telling him I was from Philly and omitting 20 years of Pittsburgh from my biography. He didn't recognize me from my picture in the paper, which makes me look older anyway.

There were several other people sitting at the bar who were also hanging out before the concert. We swapped opinions about the new Wilco CD and whether Son Volt still mattered to anyone. Joe expressed satisfaction that we ended up at his bar. It was past the early Sunday evening closing time, but he insisted that we finish our beers. He wasn't going to kick us out.

Joe also had some thoughts about music and they didn't involve bands with names like Heartless Bastards. "Listen to this," he said after turning on the bar's jukebox to top volume. Nat King Cole's "Unforgettable" flowed through the speakers. "Now, that was a singer. The greatest singer that ever lived," he said.

Nat King Cole was followed by the plaintive voice of Hank Williams: "Hear the lonesome whippoorwill / he sounds too blue to fly / the midnight train is whining low / I'm so lonesome I could cry."

Hank Williams was followed by Bobby Darin's version of "Mack the Knife" on the jukebox. Joe pantomimed a conductor's gesture with his cigar stub between his thumb and his forefinger. "Everyone I love is planted in the ground," he sighed. After a beer and two glasses of water, it was time to go. I made a mental note to try the food next time.

Next Sunday, Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band are playing Mr. Small's. Maybe I'll pay Cousins another visit. Joe Stroh is as good an opening act as any I've seen in a long time.

If Jenny Lewis is ever eclipsed in my pantheon of contemporary female rock singers, it will probably be by the equally brilliant Neko Case. In the meantime, Ms. Lewis will have to settle for having one of the best touring bands in indie rock. Drummer/guitarist Barbara Gruska and percussionist/guitarist/vocalist Danielle Haim turn the concept of "supporting player" on its head with set-dominating performances. Trading guitar and percussion duties at times, Ms. Gruska and Ms. Haim were almost as exciting to watch as Ms. Lewis herself.

It was great to hear Ms. Lewis' re-booting of the songs she recorded on "Rabbit Fur Coat" with the Watson Twins. They're harder and more propulsive now but haven't lost their intimacy. I once thought the songs on "Acid Tongue" suffered in comparison with its folksy predecessor, but after hearing them live, I'm finally on board. Guitarist Jonathan Rice, bassist Jonathan Wilson and lap steel guitarist Farmer Dave Scher kept the show flowing nicely.

The Heartless Bastards, a band from Ohio, opened the show. It took a couple songs, but singer Ericka Wennerstrom's gravelly vocals won me over. The band specializes in a "mathematical Americana" when they play live. Give them a listen and you'll know what I mean instantly.