And to think we almost left after the opening act–a white teen rapper who could rhyme, but swung his disproportionately small arms Cocker-like while doing so. It was jarring. The bar on the west siiii–eed of Dayton served only beer, which was how we muddled through the rapper’s set, listening to the kid spit lyrics like “I’m like Michael Jordan / Like Michael Jordan / Like Michael Jordan.” Entertainment was limited to Young Rabbit’s family–mom (head bobbing, drinking), dad (head bobbing, drinking), grandma (drinking), grandpa (who thoughtfully acquiesced when Sonny Boy shouted at him “yeeeeeh, yeeeeeh, throw yo’ muthafuckin hands in tha muthafuckin air”), aunt (w/video camera–I wonder if she posted it to YouTube, I’ll have to find it) and uncle who was alternately bobbing his head and craning it away to see the Dayton basketball game on the TV opposite the ‘show.’

At a table in the wings sat a paunchy man in technicolor Zubaz, a white fanny pack at his waist, a two-foot rat tail curled down his neck, and a mustache too ironic for actual life. His girlfriend was an 80s glam vision. A founding member of the New Power Generation. They were the next act.

Unfortunately, the awesomeness that was Andy D cannot be captured with words. And this isn’t a tired writer’s lazy way out–what we saw simply defied explanation. I went to Dayton a little low on psychic fuel. I went out that night lethargic and maudlin. Andy D started, and–as Jack Black attests in School of Rock–one great show can change the world. Andy D and his back-up singing wife dropped rap/techno-comedic/dance lyrics inspired by Showgirls, vikings, and “drunk chicks.” It lived somewhere in the realm of Tenacious D, Beck and Eastbound & Down. Anyway, hadn’t laughed or screamed that loudly in months.

It was good enough that I finally broke down and opened up a YouTube account for the sole purpose of making sure this clip is seen, believed.