We went to dinner before the show and the band was sitting at the next table, not 18 inches from us. They were exactly as they seem to be: he lank and laconic, she droll and dithering. They were putting up with a hippie, in a Doors t-shirt and red terrycloth Nike headband, telling long anecdotes with Kris Kristofferson as the punchline. I am not kidding. They paid cash for dinner.
On stage, they were on fire. It gives me hope that they are still up there, rocking it out, 31 years later. It fills me with despair that their songs are still so relevant, 31 years later.