When we realized that Jones Beach Theatre didn’t serve beer, I feared it was disaster abound. By time Stone Temple Pilots closed their August 6th show, I decided sobriety, for once, was a blessing, since I probably wouldn’t have left my seat during their set. Anyway, if a hot dog cost $6.00, how much would a Coors Lite have cost?

Rumors of a putrid May performance at the PNC Bank Arts Center (Holmdel, New Jersey) wafted through out music blogs and alt-rock radio. Two audience members said the band debuted excessively late and that Scott Weiland sat on the stage for the first three songs, misfired lyrics, and rambled incoherently in between songs.

Ian Camfield of K Rock warned last week, during his afternoon radio show, that the Long Island crowd might not hear the same tender version of “Interstate Love Song” they might have in years past. A few questions swirled around my head.

Would STP take the stage before my check out time at the Best Western Bar Harbour Inn? Could their front man remember the words to all of the songs? If he did recollect, could he sing without slurring? Would this hits-tour be predictable and disappointing?

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, self-described as Indie/Alternative/Psychedlic, but, with obvious country and hard rock influences, performed the best opening act I’ve ever seen. The trio sampled their album Baby 81 with “Weapon of Choice,” a hard rock battle cry imbued with country riffs. When they left the stage, the audience wondered when they would hear live music again.

Just at the point when rock fans start to go from antsy to angry, STP took to the darkness. It was an hour shy of their reported 10:30 opening at PNC. My prejudice dissolved when they opened up seamlessly and flawlessly with “Big Empty” and marched hard into “Wicked Garden.”

Scott Weiland strutted around the stage with a redemptive stride. Once, he did a “Jigger-swagger”—a paid homage to the Rolling Stones immortal. He strode around playfully, making use of the stage space and sound equipment, discarding his denim jacket and black fedora hat.

His gimmicks were bi-polar by comparison. At one point, Weiland smashed the megaphone in a rage. Later, he sang Happy Birthday to his two-year old son, Duke, who joined him on stage. Then, we ate ice cream cake. (Not really).

Guitarist Dean DeLeo and drummer Eric Kretz played as if they didn’t have to compensate for their vocalist. DeLeo was better when he stuck closer to the studio versions as opposed to the jams. Robert DeLeo (bass) looked a slick cool like Vincent Vega (John Travolta) from Pulp Fiction.

They used songs like “Lady Picture Show” and “Creep” and segued to a softer mid-set and finally amplified the crowd with “Sex Type Thing” and a rendition of “Plush” that turned into a group sing-a-long.

Since this was a reunion show, STP hit all of the major avenues, shying away from the real deep tracks. The set list hit on most of the greatest hits album. It capped off with encores of “Dead and Bloated,” “Trippin’ on a Paper Heart,” and a much deserved bow.

The next day, I heard another listener comment that had seen both the PNC show and the Jones Beach show. She said they were two different bands. Up until that point I had a hard time figuring out if my enjoyment was genuine or just an upshot of my lowered expectations.