He looked like he was about 12. One of those kids who’s the first in his class to grow really groovy sideburns. And he assured us the band playing Adair’s on this desolate Monday night in Deep Ellum was worth a look.
“Do they play Johnny Cash,” we asked.
“Yup, but it has sort of a … reggae feel.”
That was all we needed. So we bounced into the bar, stepping over a cord leading to the amplifier the bassist was setting up, and headed back to the pool table.
This was our traditional “friends night,” the evening we reserve during NAA conferences to hang out with folks we like instead of networking with vendors and pretenders. Rusty, Elaine, Pat, Ken, Jay and I were looking for music, but not much was happening in Deep Ellum. We settled for Adair’s. Good move.
The band, Jeramie Crawford, lived up to its promise. The sideburned 12-year-old turned out to be a pretty respectable guitarist. And they played Cash’s Ring of Fire. With a reggae feel. At least three times by my count.
I remember Jay standing on the bar, writing on the ceiling. I came to the startling realization that “Rusty” really is Larry. Jay became Elaine’s bitch. And we all danced the dance of drunken white boys (and an Asian American girl). The image of Jay cutting the rug still is burned in my mind. My therapist will enjoy many hours of helping me try to come to grips with that.
The band was very obliging, perhaps because of all the shots we bought them. We even bought Crawford’s “Fog and High Beams” CD, which turned out to be pretty good. The Maker’s Mark and diet Coke didn’t cloud my judgment that much.
Great, great time. Sometimes I marvel at what tremendous friends I have …