10:00 p.m. Night 2 of Darby O’Gill and the Little People’s triumphant return to Quinn’s Irish Pub (formerly Fado) inside the Green Valley Ranch Casino. Booked every Friday and Saturday beginning this weekend, the quintet immediately launch into the poppy, pint-y malarkey that’s cemented them as Vegas’ go-to band for jigged-up renditions of “Don’t Cha,” “Hey Ya” and the Beasties’ “Girls” (here pronounced “Gells”).
10:20 p.m. “I need someone to bring me whiskey,” announces hirsute vocalist/guitarist Andy Morris (aka Darby O’Gill), whose ensemble includes a paperboy cap, Hennessey tie and green kerchief dangling from a back pocket. “Preferably someone with her tits out.”
10:35 p.m. “I shot a man in Summerlin just to watch him die,” Morris sings before “Folsom Prison Blues”’ accordion breakdown. Much glass-raising, air drumming and uninhibited whopping ensues.
10:45 p.m. Fifteen-minute break. So, how’s it feel to be back? “It’s really nice,” says Morris. “We’re still at McMullan’s Wednesdays and Hennessey’s Thursday, but after being here five years, it’s nice to come back and be able to drink ’em dry the first night.” What else is going on? “We’ve been talking about recording another album and recording new songs.” Adds vocalist/fiddler Tristan Moyer, “We’re also going to be at Fado when they reopen up the street.”
11 p.m. “Round 2, baby! We’re going to kick this set right in the balls!” Morris promises. “... Baby One More Time,” “Seven Nation Army” and “Proud Mary” follow in rapid succession. “Blister in the Sun” incites a dance circle of the sloshedest order.
11:42 p.m. Someone named Filet O’ Fish recites tasteless limericks. And then it’s someone’s birthday. And then “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” and “Sweet Child O’ Mine” end the second set with a massive Riverdance-off.
Midnight. Fifteen-minute break. Impromptu games of Quarters bust out like popcorn. Shiny, bouncy, plinky popcorn. Distracting and appetite-arousing.
12:24 a.m. A long and impassioned speech is made about ... something! “Santeria.” Something about The Pogues. Cheers. “Play some Skynyrd!” Boos.
12:53 a.m. “Jump Around.” And the crowd does. “No cover, beers and $3.50, let’s hear it for that!” Morris instructs. And we do.
1:03 a.m. “SexyBack.” “Peace and love, we’ll see you next weekend!” Rooms spin, crowd defiantly chants, “One more song!,” all goes black.