The end of the night and the house lights burn bright. The band, still buzzing with excitement and adrenaline, work like an army of ants, dismantling the equipment and packing it away with so much care that it might be the most precious of jewels.
They talk in quick, excited bursts, their faces set with permanent grins. Two encores, could you believe it. Oh man, what a high.
The owner of the Raven sits with a scotch and water, he betrays a smile. These guys are hot. The crowd really did love them, and you wouldn’t have known it was their first night. His eyes shine with the cash till chime. He stands slowly, deliberately, and walks towards the stage.
“You were pretty good, boys,” His smile now lost, he looks like he is barely complimenting them, “Listen… I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you. Come back tomorrow. Saturday’s a tougher crowd. We’ll see if they’re as enthusiastic, and if you go down well we’ll put you on weekly… for a trial period. One hundred and fifty per night.”
Elation. Saturday night, the prime time. A celebratory joint is passed around. We’re on our way.
© 1990 & 2006 Andrew M Boylan