Gooster!

My buddy Dan posseses the magical ability to shoot the wheels off a musical performance ---specifically, the prelude to a musical performance. And he employed this talent last month at the Telluride Bluegrass Festival in front of some 7,000 people.

This event reminded me that I like attending festivals with my friends but kind of hate bluegrass. So after enduring hours of endless mandolin noodling, I moved to closer to the stage with Dan and other assorted idiots to see Guster, the only indie-college-radio-friendly act on a bill full of mountain jug twang.

The woman who was tasked to introduce Guster obviously knew nothing about the Boston band. She meandered along, describing how the band was a little different and had graciously agreed to play. In mid-sentence, as she was trying to find more words to describe a band that she hadn't even called by name yet, Dan screams at the top of his lungs: "Gooooooster!"

The woman stops. She doesn't know what to say next, for fear that she's about to mispronounce the name of the band. Obviously, the fans know the band's name is pronounced "Gooster" --- she thinks --- because some jerk just yelled that.

Then she says, demurely, "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, uh, Guster."