Let it never be said that BRMC are a band who don't go out of their way for their fans.

There was something extremely fishy about there being tickets available the night before to a BRMC gig, even if it was acoustic, especially when the band have a large fan base in Dallas, and especially when the venue was such a tiny club. The reason very quickly became apparent when Steph and I rolled up to the club at thirty minutes past doors and an unmoving line of people stretched five wide for several blocks down the sidewalk. It became even more apparent when we returned from Cafe Brazil down the street, where we had leisurely sat in the cool air drinking iced coffee and tea for nearly an hour, and the line was still there. Only twice as long.

We stood across the street and grumbled while I rolled a cigarette. An old guy in a security guard uniform walked passed and paused to comment on what in the sam hill was going on down there. Something about the fire code.

They oversold the show. In 100 degree nighttime weather, they oversold the show.

Not only did the band agree to play for an exhausting three and a half hours until 2 am, when legally, they have to stop, but Robert Levon Been let Peter Hayes play the first few songs of the first set by himself, and came out to play a couple of songs on the sidewalk, leather jacket and all, for those of us locked outside.

Doors were supposed to open at 8. We didn't get in until 12:30.

It was a decent show, perhaps a little overshadowed by the four hour sweat-fest on the sidewalk outside, but worth the wait in that stubborn dug in heels kind of way. Mostly they were willing to stay for us, so it was almost a matter of honor to stay for them. Found Robert sitting in a little crumpled pile on the sidewalk outside after and crouched down to thank him. He peeked out from under his fedora and offered his hand.

"Why does it seem like these kinds of things always happen to us?" I asked Steph.

"Because they do. They don't seem to, they do."

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