Ponce de Leon Ave. - Butch Walker does Raleigh

At 6:30 a line of die-hard fans had already rooted themselves to the pavement leading to the door of the Lincoln Theatre in downtown Raleigh on this Monday night. Lincoln Theatre is a small box of a venue with a mural splattered on one side of a hot rod Lincoln with none other than the other Lincoln -- Abe himself -- seated inside. The venue is oddly located, next to no other clubs or bars or even restaurants or shops. It sits essentially alone on its block on Cabarrus Street, a parking deck looming across the street and the peaks of tall downtown skyscrapers peeping over top.

At 6:30 on a Monday in March, dusk had yet to settle in, and so joining the queue of music lovers seemed a little strange in the daylight. For me, I've always equated shows with night, as though I need the envelope of darkness to satisfy my secret craving for music. But with my sister and some of my oldest and best friends I took my place in line and felt the surge of anticipation move through my veins like it always does when I go to a show.

At 6:30, standing in this line, with some of my favorite people in the world, I snapped pictures, freezing the moment in time. I scuffed my feet on the pavement. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and grinned.

And at 7 p.m., the doors opened. The crowd filed through the doors, past the merchandise tables, past the bar selling overpriced bottles of beer and to the small floor in front of the small stage. I took more pictures, drank a beer, laughed, fell into the moment.

And at some point, after I gave up looking at the time, Butch Walker walked onto the stage and seated himself at the piano, pounding out an emotional rendering of the beautiful ballad "ATL." He sang his heart out for about an hour and a half, showcasing his talent on the ivories, as well with a guitar and even the drums.

In skinny blue jeans, a brown leather vest and a Native American-esque clunky silver necklace, he looked every bit the rock star. The gray knit cap he wore for the first few songs was doffed to reveal a mop of sweaty brown ringlets that clung to his face or swung about slinging sweat.

He poured sincerity into every song and delivered vocals that seemed practiced and as though from a throat well cared for, when in all likelihood his prescription is cigarettes and booze and late nights. A guitar that refused to remain in tune caused the singer some consternation, but he took it as an opportunity to joke with the crowd and reveal his trademark good nature.

His following may be small, but it's loyal, and his Raleigh fans demonstrated that, singing along with him, bouncing up and down, smiles plastered across their glistening faces.

They loved him and revered him when he did a sing-along version of "When Canyons Ruled the City" for a closer. Hands waved in the air, back and forth and back and forth. The crowd crooned, "na na na na, na na na." "That was awesome," Butch said in congratulations.

He played a number of tracks from his new album, "Sycamore Meadows," but he also threw in some old favorites. It was a good mix for a crowd of fans that likely equally love the old and the new. And one of the biggest hits of the night was a cover of Elton John's "Tiny Dancer." Butch sang, the crowd sang too, and I'm pretty sure Elton would've been proud.