You probably weren’t there that Wednesday night, in the tiny dive bar a few blocks from the beach.

If you were there, you’d know.

How four guys who’d never played music together blistered the small stage with Springsteen covers, then stood around at the set break, unsure how to answer questions about their next, non-existent show. Because they weren’t a band, of course. The drummer and singer had just met a few songs ago, even though they’d sounded like they’d been playing their brand of gritty Americana for years.

Which they had been, of course… playing for years, albeit in different bands, in different cities, leading different musical lives entirely, with resumes listing artists from Springsteen to local heroes and neighborhood pretenders, in stadiums and clubs and dive bars.

Dive bars, like that one a few blocks from the beach, where on a recent Wednesday night, four guys who’d never played music together, finally did.