Well, it wasn't long before the place was packed with an International crowd, all baby boomers. For his second set, the guitarist welcomed a female singer and they took off on a musical journey that spanned Lynnard Skynnard (did I spell that right?) to the Beatles, Police, and everybody started singing along with the Rolling Stones' numbers. I realized that most of these happy revelers were actually British teenagers during the British invasion. This music must be part of their soul. Several folks in the audience got up and sat in for a number or two. There was Geoff, who had the worst voice I've heard in awhile, who gave a go at "Rocky Mountain High," and there was Ken, a very reserved, white haired guy, who really went to town banging along on a wooden box. You'd think he was Charlie Watts! Really very good--just needs a real drum set. A very large British woman in her 30s asked if she could join in on Roxanne. He let her have the solo and my ears are still ringing. Oof!
When the guitarist spotted a young couple and their baby walking down the street, he yelled for them to come in and play a couple songs. They sang two of the most beautiful Spanish ballads, with him on guitar and some friendly woman holding the baby in one arm and a wine glass in the other.
A young Dutch guy named Thijs, played his guitar for a set and was quite technically talented, but lacked the finesse and experience of the other guy.
The whole place, which easily held 80-100 people was manned by one very smooth and efficient waiter, Pepe, who didn't let a glass get dry or a plate go uncollected. What a hard worker!
There was kissing, hugging, some tears of happiness through the night. We stayed till after the third set and the crowd was still rocking. It was our farewell party from Spain. A vibrant, memorable night made more so by the inhibitions and spirit of a bunch of regular folks just trying to relive the best moments of their youth.
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