Some Charleston rock shows are bigger than others. Then, there was the Empty Glass Top 100 party Saturday March 29th. With the Pistol Whippers, Campbells Creek’s psychobilly punk rock four-piece reuniting after a two-year breakup, the Glass was indeed more than half full on this night for this huge show.

By the time we got there after midnight, there was a small crowd milling about outside. By the apparent lack of parking spaces you could tell it would likely be packed. After paying the door guy (who resembles Ray Romano’s brother) and getting no special edition t-shirt, I gazed inward at the sea of people and could only mutter something to the effect of “HOLY SH–!”

Luckily enough, we got there in time to catch the tail end of Buckstone rocking their honky tonk set. Tom, Jamie and Diana put on a great show, and Kirk, out front singing & drumming in his flamboyant (is that the word?) country and/or western suit, is a sight to see. Seriously, they rock, and we knew that already…

A palpable anticipation was in the air as Buckstone took their stuff down, and my bladder was by this point ready for a trip to the men’s room. Waiting in line, I ran into Rose City guitarist Slick Leg (AKA former Whipper Bruiser Highman), summarily flipped him off jokingly, and told him I had only recently stopped laughing from his MySpace pic-taking exploits (he knows what I’m talking about).

After a trip to the bar, the former Whipper was onstage introducing the Pistol Whippers to the crowd. “You love ‘em, I love ‘em — the motherf—in’ PISTOL WHIPPERS!” Highman screamed as he jumped off stage after exchanging bro-hugs with singer Guy Parker and guitarist Dirt Reynolds.

“Get your iPods ready,” Parker said as the electric blue lights of cellphones and cameras sprouted and the band rolled into “Haunted Whorehouse” as now beers were raised in a seeming toast to the band being back onstage.

Parker took time inbetween songs to commend the Glass on their being honored in the Top 100 bars and exhorted patrons to tip their bartenders. The place was as packed as I’ve seen it; I resorted to standing on a barstool at the corner of the bar, with my head tilted at a near 90-degree angle against the ceiling so’s I could get a decent view. Luckily, I didn’t fall off the thing and kill myself.

From my vantage point I got to see the Whippers go through solid versions of “Naughty Boy,” “I See You Lookin’” and “Chevy Mandango” among others. Later, I dismounted the stool and went to the front of the stage to get the real deal feel of the show. Thanks to longtime friend and all-around good guy Nathan Hoffman and his sister Susan for being so accommodating.

You know it’s late and loud when I’m introducing myself as “Nick Harrah” to people who’ve known me for years, but who I don’t think knew or cared at the time. Turns out, I was standing next to RFC Rudy, and neither of us knew it cuz we were busy staring into electronic monitors.

About the time (after 2 a.m.) that I started approaching people I am acquainted with to say something incoherent or to shake hands, and confusing people (C. Burgess) with other people (M. Brown) and embarrassing myself, I knew it was time to leave. Who knew alcohol made you more sociable? Me, and you.

As we drove off, I saw Roadblock talking to one (or two or three) of Charleston’s finest (cops), and thought: better him than me. But getting to catch the Whippers for (likely) the last time, I had no regrets; got to catch up with several old friends, and had a rockin’ time doing so.

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