Chug............chug............Yeah, that's pretty much how it works.** Saturday night was true to form.
The wobbly start in which we cast off the weeks or months (or in this case, really, years) of atrophy, thinking to ourselves, "Damn, I forgot how hard this is." By the third song, the set list is abandoned.
The train picks up steam. We begin to sound like we know what we're doing. Mary smiles. Somebody in the crowd get's drunk enough to dance.
Everybody in the crowd get's drunk enough to dance. Mary dances. Everything gets stupid and lovely. There is lots of hollering. There is lots of singing along. We think to ourselves, "Damn, I forgot how easy this is." Life is beautiful.
The train jumps the tracks. Any semblance of a planned, structured event is abandoned. We sing eighteen "last" songs. Weirdos from the crowd get up and sing songs. We play our favorite songs a second time (which is okay since it's been hours since we played them the first time, and nobody can remember that long ago, and they sound much better this time anyway). We play songs we don't really know (but it usually somehow works out). There is even more hollering and singing along. On a good night, somebody collapses to their knees screaming and/or falls into the band, knocking over the mike stands. We sing a couple last-last songs. Then, finally, by some mysterious, unspoken agreement, we stop.... And then Jason sings several more songs by himself (though Saturday he had lost his voice so he just croaked one song).... And then he stops.... And then... it's over.
* I mean this in the best possible sense. It's often my favorite part of the night.
** I should probably print this up and start handing it out as the program for future shows. It's good to have everybody clued in.