Maybe it started a month or so ago. The band played three gigs in a week and a half. Each one better than before. Performance was better. Crowds kept getting stronger. People stayed late to see us. Us! Old Beans. I couldn't get to sleep after the last gig, because I was so happy about the way the gigs came off. My brain was flying and didn't want to shut up. It was a very Sally Field moment.

Two and a half years in, and we're starting to hit a stride. Some kind of swagger about this whole music thing. Maybe it's just me, but I can see it in all of us.

Like everyone, I run in circles. There's the work circle, which is concentrated far away from the center of town. It's social in that I work with twenty-five other people. But it's not really a social circle. It's not a place I hang out in. We spend eight hours a day with each other, but not much after that. A few years ago, there was an effort by a few people at work to make us workers a circle of outside work friends as well. Didn't work out very well for me, but others did better--for a while. And then the realization set in: You see these people enough during the day.

So I got in this band. A bunch of the people at work got married, had kids or found work elsewhere. We all found our smaller circles outside of work. We had a company outing last week, and I hadn't felt so alone among so many people in a long time.

So maybe it started long before this summer. Long before Old Beans understood its power to rock.

I've been on the outskirts of the rock n' roll scene in Albuquerque for over a decade. I started going downtown to see live rock in the mid-90s. Mostly it was to see bands from elsewhere, but local bands as well. I was sporadic in my attendance. I didn't have a good reason to go--other than my own desire to see live rock n' roll. Sometimes desire wanes. But eventually, it became about the local scene, although I still love seeing the out-of-towners, too.

Being in a band makes me active in the scene. And that's what I've been noticing lately. I'm actually part of this organism. I go into a club and people recognize me. Handshakes and short conversations ensue. And, of course, the rocking out I always do when I go to see live rock n' roll. The music has always been the juice.

I didn't get into this for the social aspects, but it is a nice side benefit. Everyone likes to know they belong somewhere, and I'm no exception.

There are benefits aside from this belonging--other than the Cheers "everybody knows your name" aspect. I don't think everyone knows my name, but they do know the face. This is fine. I've never been good with names, but I'm trying.

But there are benefits, like not having to pay cover. Or only half-price cover. Or a free drink. Or not having to stand in line. One of the things about Swingers was the cool way they would work themselves into many different social situations--and got into bars with their own table waiting. I think this is really what I liked about the Mob (from movies and books...I've never been in the Mob). They got respect and props. And they didn't have to make a big deal about it. It was, for the most part, a silent and understood thing. Of course, they did occasionally have to pull out the big guns. My big guns are my drums. They don't hurt people as much.

I don't like to make a big deal about anything. I've always been humble--or at least as humble as I can be. I've always been aware there are people with less money than me. Less education. Less ability. Because there are those with more of everything than me--especially ability and knowledge. I'm appreciative of those who use everything they've got to become great ambassadors of their craft.

When I see people rocking their hearts out--for however many people deem it cool enough to show up, then that's great. I've been there. I've rocked for four people. And I knew all four. But the show wasn't diminished just because it was, in a way, a glorified practice. It was a performance. Whenever I'm up on stage, I'm supposed to rock you. That's my job.

But I've never been a big boaster. I've always thought the loudest people probably need to think more than they talk. Even with a few whiskeys in me, I try to keep the roar down. It doesn't always work, but I've got time to fix the kinks.

And, I guess what I'm saying is, I can see the fruits of my labor. And the labor of my band mates. I can see that what we've been able to accomplish is being appreciated.

That's nice for the ego. I didn't get into this for everyone to tell me how great I am--I got into it to get out of the rut I was in a few years ago. I got into it to feel good about myself. But it's nice when others say I'm doing alright.

So I'm talking about myself today. That's the ego trip. That's where I'm at. Even with all the bad things happening outside of my circles of influence, I'm feeling good about me. And the people I share space with. Time with. Rock with. Drink with. Live with.

Because I've still got some more to rage before the long goodnight.

Matt Worley is still that kid feeling bliss from the too loud rock band playing with its heart on its sleeve.