"Good job with that Black Keys song," says the impressively inoffensive young man who preceded me. (It's important to understand, at this point, that the eight songs before I got up to play had been acoustic numbers. And not just any acoustic, because it's not like that's a rarity at open mikes, but songs that were guaranteed to leave your pulse at a comfortable resting rate without alteration or acceleration. If there is a beneficent deity, may he save us from acoustic singer-songwriters. After that, I could have played a heavily distorted Mary Had A Little Lamb and still rocked the joint. But that's an entirely different parenthetical discussion.)
"Thanks," I say. "It's a good song."
"I've seen you do it before," he says. "At Iota a couple months ago." Which stuns me. I didn't think anyone was watching me at Iota--there weren't that many people there, and I thought I bombed completely. I say as much now.
"Well," he replies, "you're the guy with the bass guitar and the looper. You kind of stand out, you know?"
Oh. Right. Good point.