The magical rhythms reach out through the night air, like Ratdog inspiring a communal experience, bringing young and old together in a family sense of harmony. As usual, the elders have prepared well for this event, with most of them either clutching past box office reports for Alicia Keys or recent ticket counts for Galactic and Leftover Salmon in their hands. The shrunken heads of past enemies hang from their belts, silently witnessing tonight’s event, while the senior medicine man starts rounding up his chickens.

The drums grow louder, a signal to the tribes that it is time to begin. Two fierce warriors stand in a ring, warily circling each other. Eye to eye they make small talk. “Have you seen Midnight Oil?” one asks. “Uh, uh,” grunts the other. “And I’m seeing Pat Benatar in Vegas next month and both Michelle Shocked and Toto in May.”

The crowd watches. The two warriors move closer. The medicine man grabs a chicken.

One of the warriors feints towards the other, mentioning Terence Blanchard playing in Denver. The second one parries, then grabs the first one’s wrist, and shouts out, “Paul McCartney, April 1st! John Mellencamp, July 5th!” They struggle. Blood is drawn on both sides. And just when it seems as if neither can continue, they battle onward to the delight of the tribes. The medicine man reaches for a bigger chicken.

Suddenly, the second warrior grabs the first one in a wrist-lock, and starts jumping up and down chanting, “Creed in Fargo on April 29! Creed in Fargo on April 29!” The rhythm is contagious and soon all the tribes have joined in, until the medicine man approaches the two warriors, carrying a long, sharp knife in one hand, the largest chicken he could find in the other.

The medicine man grabs the first warrior’s right hand and slashes a deep cut across his palm. He repeats the procedure with the second warrior, then forces both combatants into shaking hands, palm against palm, slash against slash, while at the same time holding the chicken underneath so that the brave warriors’ mighty blood trickles down on top of its beak. “Creed in Fargo on April 29. So be it,” commands the medicine man. The drumming reaches a crescendo. The crowd goes wild. There is much rejoicing.

And that is how a concert date becomes “firm.”