By Pamela Kessler
The other night at a rock'n'roll place called Club Soda, it was the drummer who stirred things up.
During a long version of "Wipeout," he banged on the pipes overhead. He slid a drum out on the dance floor, enveloped a blonde in his arms while beating a rat-a-tat as they circled around it, and never missed a beat. While the rest of the dc Motors played guitar and bass, he carried a drum to a table that was quickly vacated, hammered wildly on the drum while standing on the banquette and climbed behind the rest of the audience seated along the wall, while he drummed on more pipes.
Returning to the dance floor, he tapped on a column. The song was over; the groupies descended. The crowd -- a
friendly mix of folks in their 20s, 30s and 40s -- continued to dance to piped-in music.
I know, it's only rock'n'roll, but they like it.
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