It’s been a while since I’ve seen Scott Copeland. I don’t know if the longtime singer-songwriter’s playing the Wreck Room on a regular basis like he once did back in the day, but every time I drop in on my favorite West Seventh Street joint – which is almost hourly – he ain’t thar.

So imagine my surprise last weekend when on my way to the Wreck I got lost and ended up way the hell out on Camp Bowie West at the Cowtown Sports Bar and Grill. Lo and behold, there’s Scott Copeland and his band (sans percussion, if I recall correctly), doing their thing to a healthy but not overly huge crowd of Camp Bowie Westers. You know the type: bikers, people who love bikes but don’t own one (yet), people who love people who love bikes, people who love people who love bikes but don’t own one (yet), and so on.

My three pals and I grabbed a bar table in the corner, and while we weren’t talking amazingly loud or carrying on or anything, we (or at least I) kept getting dirty looks from the burly rough-housers in the front rows. Sorry, tough guys, but when you go see an acoustic show – albeit a rowdy, hoedown-esque one by Scott Copeland – in a bar-bar, you’re gonna be surrounded by a lot of people who don’t share your particular enthusiasm for the guy or gal onstage. Or people who wanna do what people at bars normally do and have a good-ass time talking, drinking, laughing, you name it. Fuck me. Anyway, the Cowtown is a cool little place, with a low ceiling, billiards- and playing cards-themed bar stools, and, the best part, a three-counter bar, meaning that no matter where you are in the room, you have a waiting counter and bartender at your immediate disposal.

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