...Soon the band re-assembled, and Eddie came forward. “Hey, here we go again, folks! Got a surprise for you, too. I ran into an old friend in the crowd during our break. He played lead in my first garage band. We were out to make a lot of noise in those days, and called ourselves the Scumsuckers, 'til we found out they wouldn't let us play at school dances with a name like that. So, thanks to my old buddy, here, we became the Gods of Guinness, and when that got to be too much of a mouthful, our friends christened us 'GOG'. Let's have a big hand for Sean Phelan!”
He stepped forward, and I laughed delightedly. Someone had loaned him a pair of round, mirrored sunglasses and a black leather vest, and he was really hamming it up as he approached the microphone.
“Well, now, I think I can be after rememberin' a trick or two,” he purred, working the brogue to his advantage. “Ye're wantin' t' rock, eh?”
The audience cheered.
“'Kay, then. Here we go!”
He bent his head down and began to play.
I recognized his opening riff, but couldn't place it until he looked up at the crowd and cut loose with some serious power chords. I couldn't quite believe he was attempting Hendrix, but there it was: 'Voodoo Child, Slight Return'.
Sean took it slow at first, not challenging himself too much until he warmed to it. Eddie began roaring out the lyrics, and the guitar prompted an eloquent dialogue. By the time Sean hit the first solo, he was blazing.
It ended up being about two-thirds Hendrix and one-third Phelan, but that was no surprise. Sean had never been a man who played anything straight from the books. He had to customize it at least a little.
Hendrix, I was sure, would've approved.
The song went on somewhat longer than the usual five minutes, and when it finally ended, the audience went wild.
“'Freebird'!” screamed a woman's voice, from somewhere behind me.
Oh, Lord. I wondered if Sean would try it.
He was smiling, laughing softly into the mike. “Eh, it's been a long, long time, don't ye know? Maybe later, if ye still want me to keep goin' after this next one.” He leaned towards Eddie, out of range of the mike, and whispered something to him.
Eddie grinned and nodded.
“O.K.,” Sean said. “This next one's an old rhythm 'n blues number you might remember from the early 1970s, one of the signature pieces of a fine Irish guitarist, Rory Gallagher. Hope you like it as much as I do.”
He struck the opening notes and took off, playing with real authority, and when it was time for the vocals to come in, he and Eddie leaned in towards the mike, and began to sing in unison.
Eddie carried most of it, as Sean no longer had the strength, but the rough timbre of his voice added a nice dimension.
I didn't recall the song, though it was a good, lively one, but I did remember Sean appearing in the old coffee shop once, sporting a t-shirt emblazoned with Gallagher's image. Recalling the picture, I almost laughed. Sean and I had argued that day, briefly, but intensely, as I accused him of trying to look like Gallagher's twin.
“His hair's brown, not red, and his eyes are blue,” Sean had retorted. “That's a far cry from me, wouldn't you say?”
“Not really. You'd look just like him if you let your hair down and took off your glasses.”
Sean snorted and tossed his head, calling attention to his long ponytail, which at that time fell nearly to his waist. “You're out of your mind,” he muttered, “and I could really use my cup o' joe now, so if you'd go and fetch it for me, I'd be much obliged.”
Back in the present, up on stage, in the middle of a long instrumental break, he was really into his solo, head flung back, left hand flying up and down the fretboard. Judging from the way his heel was banging time with the music, I guessed he might have been dancing all over the place, if not for the leg. He looked utterly transported, and was even posturing a little, really putting on a good show.
People were dancing, and much as I wanted to just watch Sean, I couldn't help dancing a bit myself. When it was over, I thought that would be the end of Sean's cameo appearance, but from the applause again rose the request.
“'Freebird!'”
“Yeah, 'Freebird'!”
Sean stretched a little, shaking his left hand vigorously and blowing on his fingertips. “Lemme put out the fire first, eh?” He flexed his fingers, then pushed the sunglasses up on top of his head and replaced them with his own glasses. “'Fraid I need me eyes fer this one, people.”
A light chuckle rippled through the crowd.
I watched Sean. He looked a good deal more serious now, and I knew he must be getting pretty tired. He'd been practicing a couple hours a day since his accident, but only on his acoustic guitars. His fingers were well-callused and nimble, but even so, all these pyrotechnics had to be had to be exhausting.
Well, at least no one had asked for 'Stairway to Heaven'...
"…if I could have had my way one more time, I would have challenged 'em with more Gallagher. 'Bullfrog Blues', maybe, since 'Messin' with the Kid' went off so well. But this audience didn't want a challenge. They just wanted what they knew…."