Monday night I find myself in the basement of El Cortez, a grotto-turned-speakeasy packed with fifty sweaty fans of Dan Mangan. We've all been tipped off to a secret show, starting at midnight, in one of the most intimate concert spaces I've been in.
Mangan plays tune after tune that take me back to specific moments. The first time I heard 'Basket' and got a little teary and hit repeat. The times I've played 'Road Regrets' load to kick off a long vacation drive. There's barely room for Dan Mangan and a drummer with a stripped-down kit, and the sound shrieks feedback every so often, but we don't care. We surprise Mangan by turning his so-sad ode to senility into a rousing sing-along. He says its the first time Basket has become a singalong and I believe him.
When Mangan gets to 'Robots', his early hit and crowd favourite, he announces this one will be 'campfire style' and unplugs his guitar so he can walk into the centre of the crowd. Then he sings for us, and we sing for him.
"Robots need love too. They want to be loved by you. They want to be loved ..."
"I've spent half of my life in the customer service line. Flaws in the design ..."
The words are sometimes silly, but something is happening beneath them that is deeply meaningful. Music is magic in times like these.