Gather round children and I will tell you about the night long ago when American Muscle came to play Hillsiders with Wayne Pain & the Shit Stains.

Once upon a time Wayne Pain & the Shit Stains took the stage. The trio played its set to a small crowd – many appeared to be holdovers from the honky-tonk show that happened earlier in the evening. Those gals twirled in their long skirts and cowboy boots as Kenneth Kupfer led his group of miscreants through depraved proto-punk fueled by cheap beer. He dedicated "Baby I Hate You" to his "bitch of an ex-wife." Then paused and added, "I don't really have an ex-wife – that was just a joke." Truth told, Kupfer isn't as sociopathic as this Wayne Pain persona, and we're all better (and safer) for that. Several members of the audience moved side-to-side across the face of the stage, pulling up short to avoid colliding with the two-steppers. "You guys want some more?" Kupfer hollered out. "Good, because we've got some more." More came in the form of catchy garage-on-fire punk adorned with strong guitar solos. They sounded good played on his Flying V, and then after a string broke, just as engaging on a borrowed SG. Oldtimers say the highlight was the deceptively simple "I Don't Wanna Go in Your Nazi UFO."

An hour later American Muscle took the stage. These boys were from Minneapolis. They wore leather vests without shirts under them. Singer/guitarist "Nick Muscle" wore sunglasses indoors after midnight. He shouted to the patio to bring everyone inside, and once they came inside, he shouted at them to get closer to the stage. And they did. The trio loves rock & roll. Maybe some punk. Maybe some metal. Maybe some amphetamines. Lemmy would have liked them. The boys in the audience dropped down to do push-ups against the stage when they weren't thrashing about. This was a sport. An employee of the bar came in to referee and serve as matchmaker, sending the sweaty punk boys careering into the booted cowgirls and vice versa. A real cultural exchange. It was the show inside the show. Muscle shouted "Kansas City" at the audience a lot. Somehow it kept everyone engaged well after midnight. When the band tried to end its set, there were calls for an encore. The lads were bemused. A long break ensued as the threesome attempted to learn one. My request for "Teenage Kicks" was ignored. What group doesn't know "Teenage Kicks." Certainly none that I want to see. When the act returned, Muscle pushed his strained screams harder, and the rhythm section was extra noisy and extra raw. Then it was over and everyone lived happily ever after – except for the hangovers. They all definitely had hangovers the next morning.