Four white guys one playing a kazoo and looking like rock stars except one guy in the middle with a sport coat on

One of the best feelings in the world is seeing a hot band in a cozy club playing a show so unforgettably on that you're sure – absolutely sure-fire sure – the best rock'n'roll anywhere on the planet that night is being performed right in front of you raw and in the flesh.

Seeing how the Stones had the night off...

... it's a no-brainer: NRBQ at Rumba Cafe was the greatest rock'n'roll anywhere on our funky blue spinning ball the last Saturday in June. Stupendous they were, 120% stupendous.

My clogged chakras got an energizing purge so bold-as-love they're still a-tinglin'! Like musical super concentrated high-voltage Liquid Plumr – the Q straightened my spine and blew my mind, left all my troubles behind. I can't booze it up and dance to just any old band. They got to know how to play and to slay and brother, when it comes to the Q, well, that's my church of the holy soul jelly roll. They stoned me. They owned me. I'm going to leave them everything I got in my will.

With original founder Terry Adams still at the keyboard helm, the 'new' guys who've been with him for the last few years played every bit as good as the previous classic line-ups we used to see at Shelly's 'Stache's. That was epochs ago, back in the tri-bar area of North High, where Buddy Guy would walk his guitar out the door and thanks to a super-long chord play his guitar outside the club.

With the Q, I used to sit cross-legged at Big Al Anderson's feet as he played his electric Telecaster so mellifluously I never wanted to touch my Gibson again.

But these new Q-cats are terrific: Scott Ligon, tremendous on Telecaster guitar; roly-poly Casey McDonough on Fender Mustang bass; and the kid John Perrin is like an eight-armed octopus on drums--the dude was all over that set. The band is one beautiful rhythm section who play with virtuoso coherence. I could swallow 'em whole.

Frankly, Dolores, this could very well be the best line-up up of NRBQ ever. I just don't remember them blowin' it out energy-wise like at the Rumba, a perfect place for them. Just as the Stones' 'Shoe show was their most-realized stadium tour concert I've ever seen by them, the Q has never stopped growing, I suppose.

 I will admit at first I wasn't even sure I was going. I was a little hesitant, concerned "da new guys" just might not have 'it'. But the addition as local warm-up act of the Apostles with Phil Clark, Jimmy Castoe, John Boerstler and Matt Newman clinched it. Had to go. So I did. I will never not go to see NRBQ again in my life.

They knocked out, oh, about 30 songs. I know they did Me And The Boys by Dave Edmunds and Wouldn't It Be Nice by the Beach Boys and I'm pretty sure they did Magnet and I could've sworn I heard Flat Foot Flewzy. In between there was just so much light-hearted rootsy pop and soul, jazz-based Americana with every kind of danceable groove this country has produced since 1949 that I'm now completely sure they did Take The A-Train, the Duke Ellington instrumental.

And I danced to that, too. Every single thing they played sang with the NRBQ spirit, something wonderfully loving in other words. No bullshit, no fake nothing.

 So yeah I shook my booty like an orangutan. Terry Adams's eccentric goofiness making me smile, making feel like there is some mojo medicine in the Q's music. Millions of slaves saved their humanity with music. Adams put mine back on the map.

I mean I ain't danced like that since my old lady Jeni and I won a dance contest at Crazy Mama's back in the day, some 300 years ago. That sweaty Saturday night my bodily reaction to the irresistible rhythmizing was entirely involuntarily on my part.

It was like one of those old-fashioned vaudeville canes that would come out from the side of the stage when a performer was suckin' and jerk him offstage. Except this cane came from the stage to the beginning of the bar by the doorman's post, hooked my freakin' neck and invisibly yanked me to the very front of the stage where I let it all hang out, like the black Mormons' tent-revival meeting I witnessed in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, during a motorcycle trip out west years ago. The power was not to be denied. Even the devil in me liked it.

 So from the first second of their two-hour set I was sucked into the swirling rockin' vortex like the night I saw the Stones at the Rubber Bowl in '72 with Duff Lindsay, then my older sister's super cool boyfriend and now High Street art gallery owner and who was in attendance at the Rumba, too. That was nice.

 NRBQ at the Rumba was killin' it from the word go! And they made me feel like I was 16 again hearing Jumpin' Jack Flash. Only things missing were opener Stevie Wonder and the police riot before that.

And now here Duff and I were, some 400 years later, still rockin' out. You don't have to be young to be young – just get off your ass once in awhile and feel it, baby.

Keith Richards likes the NRBQ, by the way. And Paul McCartney. And Elvis Costello. And...and...

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