Worried about missing it entirely, we approached Europa’s quiet doorway a little before midnight to learn that the Legendary Stardust Cowboy hadn’t yet arrived at the venue. From outside the Polish disco seemed aweful sleepy – a little too sleepy. We took a walk to the store and, coming back to find that the doormen had vanished, proceeded to make our way upstairs to find that there was still no one to hand our money to. We found a somber scene – roughly a dozen folks at most scattered across corners of the big dark room with no music whatsoever playing. You could’ve heard a feather drop. My deaf ears could detect the sound of people quietly walking up and down the staircase from fifteen feet away… forchristsakes…

Which is why, about a half-hour later, we could hear the Ledge, Dead Kennedys’ bassist Klaus Fluoride, and the other two Altamont Boys pulling their rolling suitcases up the stairs. The Ledge later explained that he took Jet Blue in an anecdote that involved flying low and thinking about what building they were going to crash into – he picked the Chrysler.

After about another half-hour or so of setting up and line checking, the Altamont Boys sans Ledge, tore into “Ghost Riders in the Sky,” our spectacularly bespectacled star emerged from the back room, made his way to the stage, and, not too long after, the guitar amp unceremoniously blew. The next ten minutes or so were dedicated to finding another one, setting it up, getting the levels, etc. Despite the fact that a girl at the back came up front and did the splits, it was a total momentum-killer.

Most musicians would’ve been deterred by a late flight, no crowd to speak of, and equipment failure. I’ve played with guys that would’ve been out the door in two minutes. But the Legendary Stardust Cowboy and his bunch are true artists who you can tell love what they’re doing and who they’re doing it with. They rolled up their sleeves and laid down the kind of vigorous performance most acts can’t even muster with a packed house cheering ‘em on.

The Ledge, decked out in wild western gear, from his spurs to his ten gallon hat, proceeded to whoop and holler his way through “Standing in a Trash Can,” “I Walk a Hot Wind,” the bizarre faux-jazz of tonight’s stand-out “Gemini Space Craft,” a song about Houston, and a few more. Not only did he exhibit a vast vocabulary of unusual dances and stage-moves, but also employed a towel, a pair of little handkerchiefs, his hat, and his gun holster as props – tossing the hat and the holster into the “crowd” at certain points. But the theatrical climax was when he emerged with a stack of paper plates (see illustration below) and began hurling ’em Frisbee-style across the room at (or to) his sparse and scattered audience. On closer inspection these were no ordinary paper plates – but were each autographed. And that’s not all, The Ledge was kind enough to include his phone number below the autograph. By this point I was well aware that this man had become my new hero all over again.

Capable but sans slickness, and with truckloads of burning gusto, the Altamont Boys provided ideal accompaniment for this unusual artist – goin’ wild and taking it back in all the right places. Fluoride played bassy guitar like Hound Dog Taylor’s Phillips or the Blues Explosion’s Judah Bauer, tonight through a GK. The lead guitarist knew how to smoke his rockabilly runs but his dirty bends and lack of cheesy precision technique indicated that he was most certainly from a more punk/underground lineage. And the drummer could both pound and swing.

At the end of the “Paralyzed!” finale the Ledge walked off the stage, through a crowd of about four, and disappeared into the back while the band played “Psychotic Reaction” – a fitting theme. The few people that remained, all aware that we’d witnessed something extraordinary, and that it was over all-too-soon, made a mighty ruckus of appreciation considering our numbers. And the toothsome young blond Polish bartender, who looked like she was ready to commit suicide at any minute during the set, brightened up a bit at the prospect of going home.

A legendary lonesome stardust kind of cowboy night indeed.