[The Horrible Esthete]

Wow, blackie. That anecdote made even my eyes well up a little. Imagine how the boys must've felt sitting there in a dumpy NYC dressing room, out of their home country, as realtive unknowns in the US, hearing a gathering crowd improvise such a sentimental ditty, written as a tribute for a friend's loss in the first place.

That's remarkably compelling.