i went to a concert...

I went to a Jason Webley concert Thursday night.
It was in M Coffee, a rather small coffee shop. There must have been about 30 or 40 people stuffed into that little room, pressed together cross-legged on the floor. I haven't been so surrounded by weirdos since I went to the Alternative Press Expo with Michelle to meet some friends of Heather's. Only this time, I sort of knew some of these weirdos. It was uncomfortably warm.

It was awesome. Jason Webley is an irresistible maniac.
But I should tell the story in a little more intelligible order.

Heather introduced me to Jason Webley's music a little back with a mix CD, then a collection of only Webley. I was intrigued, but not obsessed. Heather invited me to go to a concert of his in Half Moon Bay. "Half Moon Bay?"
"Yeah, in one of the coffee shops." Well, that is an interesting idea. A concert in a coffee shop in the little town where I went to high school. Well, it would certainly be a change from the Linkin Park concert I went to in San Jose. (That was very very very loud. Excessively so, to my mind. Though I did enjoy myself, I don't intend to bruise my ears in such a manner again.)
So, plans were made.

But, Heather can't make it. She's leaving the morning before the concert for a friend's wedding back East. Hmmm, a strange coffee house concert without company? A tad intimidating. But... Heather would be disappointed if I didn't go.
I asked some other friends to join me. They could not.
I asked my younger sisters to join me. They agreed and invited a friend of their own. (Let's call her Priscilla, since that is her name.)

Now the story takes a more interesting turn than was actually quite comfortable.
The concert was to start at 8:00. It being a free concert, standing-room only, or something the like, I thought it best to arrive early. To make sure we had our own standing room and didn't need to borrow anyone else's. 'We ought to be there 45 minutes early,' I thought. 'After all, it is in a coffee shop, and no one is likely to object to a little waiting around in a cafe.'
We left later than I intended.
We arrived to a curiously empty scene. No lines, no crowds. Hardly anyone at all, aside from the employees occupied with preparations for closing. Priscilla inquired and was so informed: "Uh, that's at M Coffee, I think. Down the street."
Chastened, we moved on down the street.
Then we came upon a likelier scene, but also distressing. A smallish cluster of people outside the cafe, wherein a performance was already underway! Flyers on the windows proclaim:
"Concert begins 6:30 SHARP." Egads, how could I have been so misinformed?
We gathered on the corner to regroup. Should we strive to enter in spite of above-said "SHARP" warning? It is crowded inside, and entering seems likely to be disruptive. Ack!
Well, perhaps we shall simply peer in the window to pick out the as-yet unknown likeness of the much-touted Jason Webley and then return home, rather defeated. But wait!
We hear from someone that Mr. Webley is supposed to play at 8:00. Exactly as I had been informed! Huzzah! We have merely to wait for an opportunity to slip in during the chaos of transition.

Soon enough, the band on stage stops, as all performances must eventually end, and packs away their instruments. The crowd leaks out of the coffee shop, and we venture inside. We toss a donation into the large concert-donation jar on the counter and pick a patch of floor to claim as our own. We stand and wait. The crowd eddies and shuffles, gradually gradually filling up the small space. In the mix of characters entering and exiting, we catch sight of a man in a jacket and a hat, carrying an accordion case. "Is that him?" "I think that's him." "It must be him!" We lose sight of him in the small crowd. A small girl-woman is up at the front of the room, the end with the speakers and such, the end with the only open floor space. The "stage." People find seats on the floor, pressing together. The girl holds a guitar. She begins to sing, as the shuffling settles down.

Her singing is beautiful and somehow surprising in its power. She stands up there and makes jokes about how awkward she is up there. I was quite taken by her manner, her slightly scruffy style, her humble smiling introductions to sad-sounding songs. Her name (stage name? yeah, pretty sure) is Wooly Mar. And yes, I did buy a CD. Enjoyable, but much sadder without all the smiles and cutely awkward self-effacement. I like her.

Then came Vermillion Lies. (I don't particularly like their name.) Their set was okay enough. I very much enjoyed their last song. I believe it was entitled "Lobster," but cannot be sure. An entertaining duet about cooking someone up, making them scrub the dishes, then throwing them away. Almost more a drama than a song, but rather entertaining.

Then... there came the Webley.
It was indeed the man in the jacket and hat (which explained later was a new hat, please forgive him, he lost the old one at Burning Man) with an accordion. He was... magnetic, frightening, charismatic, instantly likeable, scruffy, loud and humble, very relaxed yet seemingly possessed. He was like everybody's favorite uncle. (Yet he seems no older than late 20s.) The stage welcomed him like a brother, and we were all cousins and closer.
I believe my sister Davina described him something like: "He played the accordion and stomped around. His singing was like a yelling growling." And it was exactly like that, except completely incredible. He also played the guitar. He told stories. He told a ghost story! (Everyone wanted to hear other stories, but we couldn't agree which one, so he told the one we didn't want to hear. It was awesome!)
He played "2 AM," which is pure accordion madness. He played "Icarus," which is my favorite of all the songs I've heard of his. (That song is genius. I would write down some lyrics, except that it would convey almost nothing of the genius without the delivery. Go listen to it.) He played "Train Tracks," which is very sad. I saw a girl in the corner in tears and I understood. He took us up to almost terrifying glee within a minute of his arrival on stage. Then he almost made us cry, then had us laughing mere moments apart. He had a willing audience (everyone seemed to adore him. it seems impossible not to...), but even so, I was astonished at how easily we all shifted with him. He sang about a coffee percolator, which goes ".....weeeeeeeeee." (I guess you had to be there.) He was personable. He told us, any time the concert wasn't up to standard, we should raise our right fist in the air and shout, "THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!" A few took it up on occasion, but I never partook. I was almost paralyzed with the sensations and astonishment. (If you can call singing along, laughing like a madman and clapping time 'paralyzed.')
At the end of the concert, he gave out cherry tomatoes. (Kindly provided by Vermillion Lies.) We raised them up in the air and took the Tomato Scout Oath. (So, I guess I am now a Tomato Scout. I'm not sure what are all the duties involved, but I am hoping that it involves more Webley performances...) We spun around 12 times or so, staring up at our tomatoes.
Then we sang a drinking song "like sailors" and ate our tomatoes.