The club matriarch, some publicist who put the show together, is running around, screaming that Left Standing isn't even going to play. Ellis spends 15 minutes just trying to calm the publicist down. The few people in the cavernous Cajun House have gathered around the stage, waiting for something to happen. As soon as the band hears the OK, it's like a bomb went off. The group jumps in unison.
Distortion starts bouncing off the walls.
It's one fusion plant after another, the band burning through a set of loud, chugging pop punk faster than Cheech and Chong could burn through a bowl. The whole thing looks like some pogo stick ballet. Chris dances around in circles like he's trying to summon some rain god. Danny stays front and center, bouncing on some imaginary trampoline. And Henry, tucked behind his kick, stoically gives rhythm to it all.