A is A

A friend dragged me out to the bar Friday night, to see a band that she likes. Actually, I’m just kidding, she didn’t have to drag me. She just caught me on a good night. But the band she brought me to see is called A is A. (I’m no expert on the band, but I think the photo currently showing on that web site is out of date. I don’t think all of the people shown are still in the band.)

I don’t really have anything to say about it, though. I had a good time, and really enjoyed seeing the band. They’re pretty durned talented, and I enjoyed myself thoroughly. (If I knew how to dance, I probably would have enjoyed myself even more, but frankly, that’s why I learned to play guitar—so I wouldn’t have to dance, at such occasions. Except that my plan only works when I’m playing; when I’m watching someone else play, it doesn’t work so well. Let’s face it folks: Musicians aren’t the smartest people in the world.)

And that’s all I have to say about that. If anyone from A is A ever reads this, I hope that you’re suitably touched: A mediocre, amateur musician is impressed by your talents. What higher praise could there be?