We were half-way done. One set was in the books. Some of new (to us) songs had been performed. The audience really seemed to like Last Date, Sleepwalk, and Miserlou. Surfin’ Bird was something else. Maybe the lyrics and delivery were too subtle.The afternoon had a party feeling. The people who came to hear the Pups were eating, drinking, laughing, talking, and socializing. Some were in the arcade. Eight or nine were bowling. Almost everybody seemed to be having fun.
Our break ended. We returned to our corner of the restaurant. Tuned up. Put in our ear plugs. I shifted the leis around on the mic stand, turned on the mic, and announced, “We are the Lava Pups, and we’re back.”
Mr. Moto opened the second set. “How about the food?” Applause. “Give a big hand to Chef Nathan and the Capitol Bowl!” Applause. “Here’s a song from our CD.” We then played Out of the Vortex for the first time in public.
As we played Runaway, people at the bar and tables sang along. The audience was back with us. We were hitting our stride again. Squad Car cooked, and I made sure that everybody knew that Paul Johnson was going to be at the Sierra Surf Music Camp. The crowd sang along with our spy semi-medley -- Goldfinger and Secret Agent Man. “Goldfinger. He’s the man, the man with the golden touch. . . .”
Play Pacifica Blue. Thank the Capitol Bowl. “If you like it here, say so on Yelp.” Introduce the band. Applause. Somebody yelled out, “How about you?” I announced, “I am Mr. Anonymous.” Laughter.
Then a stranger came up to me from behind. He had a look on his face that he had something serious to say. I pulled the ear plug from my right ear to hear him. “Those homeless people are taking things out of that Siebring convertible in the parking lot.”
Public service announcement time. “If you own a gray Siebring convertible . . . .” No owner responded. Huh? A staff member and couple of other people went out to the parking lot. The homeless folks shrugged their shoulders as if to say, “What? We didn’t do anything.” We watched out the window while authority confronted the underclass. I started up “Rumble” again. Laughter.
Interruption over. “This is off of our CD.” Sea Witch. As we played, the police arrived to check out the homeless people and the Siebring convertible. We looked out the window again. Another public service announcement was not productive. No owner surfaced or spoke with the police.
Even though we had lost some momentum to the Siebring convertible, we were building up for our finishing kick. Paul shouted “Surf Party!” After Surf Party, we went into Wipe Out. We now had a dancer -- not a typical go-go dancer but a middle-aged guy. As naturally as can be, Paul was playing his guitar and dancing with the guy out in front of the band. Paul played his guitar under his leg and did the splits. I kicked my reverb unit. Clang! Paul moved back from dancing, and we exchanged reverb unit kicks. Clang! Clang!
Glenn wailed away on the drums. Radio announcer voice into the mic: “Glenn Kohlmeister!” Applause.
We finished Wipe Out. “Glenn Kohlmeister on Drums.” Applause. “Paul the Pyronaut on guitar.” Applause. “And me on reverb unit!” Laughter.
Straight into Lava Tube and then our Link Wray medley. A couple started dancing to the primitive, driving beat of Jack the Ripper. We were winding up. Faster. Faster. Cymbal crash. “A” chord.
“Thank you. Thank you to the Lava Pup dancers. Thank you to the Capitol Bowl. We are the Lava Pups. Thank you for coming out today!” Applause.
Done. Time for a beer before packing up.