She is just gorgeous, really, and yeah, I know that's not a terribly good picture of her, but for some reason, I just love it. At any rate, me describing the band to you is fairly pointless, since, like all bands, they have a myspace page, and you can listen. Do you see how I provide these things for you?
Fourplay is, of course, the band that Peter Hollo is in, and Peter (frogworth) hangs round this blog, so I was curious to see it. Peter told me I should go up and say hi if I was there, and I saw him at the beginning of the gig, before Circle of Rhythm kicked in, but like all people who fear they might have to fake interest in a band that tanks later, D and I found a dark corner and hung round there well away from Peter in case he recognised me. When the band didn't tank, I went up and said hi, and it took him a moment to figure who I was, thus proving that avoidance was unnecessary. But of course, this brings me to the story of the night.
During the actual gig, D and I ended up next to this guy who, when Fourplay began playing, began to, well, sway. Arms out. Drifting through the air. Up and down. Side to side. As if he was painting. Or high. Or drunk. We weren't quite sure which one it was, but, personally, I was taking High. D wanted Drunk. But I hadn't seen the guy drinking, so I figured it was a couple of pills on the sly, or in the bathroom, you know what I mean? Still, the problem with the Swayer is that he took up a lot of room. He in fact, created a sort of circle round him, and that circle, as the gig went on and on, kept moving towards me and D, his circle of space sweeping across the floor.
It wasn't any kind of problem, just one of those things you notice, find strange, and move on from. I stepped back and his circle of swaying passed me. The Swayer, as I describe him later (or now). But, as what happens, is that after the gig, I hang round to say hi to Peter, and I go up, saying hi... and totally realise that he's standing there talking to the Swayer. So I say hi, but all I'm thinking is, "It's the Swayer. It's him. Dude. He doesn't look drunk or high right now." And then the next thing I know, the Swayer is shaking my hand and introducing himself as an old friend of Peter's, and all I can think, the only thought going through my head is, "Don't call him the Swayer."
Which is exactly what I managed to do until this blog post, but then I've never had much self restraint.