The Aftermath

*yawn*

We spent pretty much all day on edge Friday. It's not that we were insanely nervous or scared sh*tless, per se.

It was more that we had a sense of, "Holy sh*t, you've been practicing and learning and honing and dissecting and playing and drinking and critiquing and doubting and screaming and drinking and strumming and singing for more than a year, and now you're, you know, doing something with it."

So, yes, we did something. And we killed (humbly speaking, of course).

See, Old Man Snap and his various personalities used to act a lot, and we've made a lifetime of living in a dream world while watching others do *precisely* what we wanted to be doing. We can't tell you when, exactly, OMS got fed up and said, "F*ck it," mainly because when it was time, it was, simply time.

But ya'll knew this.

So last night, OMS and his trustee geetar and pretty much the best moral supporter ever went to the Open Stage Night run by the Morris Folk Project. We went armed with three songs and a whole lot of holy sh*t. We also went armed with some words of encouragement from pretty much the best friends ever.

OMS practiced from 7 to 7:30 in his living room. He played Angel from Montgomery and Sweet Child O' Mine and Round Here, and then he took a deep breath, almost shat hisself, and drove literally two minutes down the road to the Minstrel Coffeehouse.

The slots were all booked solid, and OMS signed up for 8:45, fourth in the line-up. He looked at it as batting cleanup. He really couldn't bomb. What's the point of practicing and practicing and picturing and mulling and knowing if you're going to get on stage and suck ass?

Most of it's a blur. The nice MC said our name correctly, and we made a joke about playing for our living room plant, and how honored we were that a similar looking plant shared the stage with us. We also said we'd never done this before on a stage.

We played Dead Flowers first. The crowd, most of them former folk hippies who started the folk project before we were listening to Kansas albums with our mom in our old living room, couldn't wait for the chorus. Most everyone joined in unison.

From there, we played Babylon and remembered the words for once, in the actual order. We even let loose at the end like Mr. Gray does, and it felt really, really good to actually sing, "Feeeeeeeeel it nooooooow," and actually feel it, well, then.

From there, we made a joke about being impressionable and how marketing always gets us buying the next hot thing. It almost bombed, but at that point, we didn't care. We mentioned Walk the Line and went right into Folsom Prison Blues. We also asked if it was OK if we had a cheat sheet in case we had a momentary lapse of reason. Yup. That was about as funny as it sounded. As in, well, not really at all.

But whatever. That's not the point.

We became someone else, or maybe just us, as soon as we strummed the G. And we growled during the second verse -- you know, the one about shooting the man in Reno just to watch him die. When we growled, we smiled. We always liked evil. We growled during the third verse, too. "I know I had it comin. I know I can't be free."

And then it was over.

People clapped and honestly, the feedback was overwhelming. Musicians and audience members were very genuine, and we were touched, and more importantly, honored, to share the stage which such wonderful people.

We like this performing thing. A lot. And there will be more.

Open Stage Nights in general are fantastic, at least calling on this experience. We were surrounded by older folks who simply dug them some rock roll music. One gentleman had just turned 80, and he was clear, crisp and dead on for all three songs. Another, Robert, played a mean ass slide guitar, and a third, Tom, played his first set on stage as a high school student.

Tom brought some brutal naive honesty to the table, which is always, always good, this brutal naive honesty. "She punched me in the heart," was one of his lines. We dug this.

We were surrounded by nice people. What a way to start. We can't wait to do it again. We might even open our eyes more than just once.

***
Now that the lovefest is over, OMS will return to his normal anger and angst sometime tomorrow, when he is probably hungover and pissed at the Jolie-knocked up coverage.