Socked in and swollen from a heavily salted plate of chicken nachos, the mind can’t keep from going back a couple weeks, where an assembly of teens and young adults took over Pembroke City Limits and owned the afternoon, letting it be clear, that if the future does indeed worry you, fret not. At least in these parts, you’re in good hands.

The show was dubbed “The Kids Are Alright,” and it would be made up of thirteen teens and young adults, ages 14 to 25, and they’d produce an afternoon music show for three hours, encore included.

Original impromptu jams, rehearsed classic renditions, soul-seeking cover songs, each keenly chosen with the firm intention of connecting deeply with the audience. The kids seemed to be saying from the git-go to the sold-out crowd: “This ain’t no bubble gum party, people. We came for your souls.”

Solos, duos, trios and full bands. Names known and unknown, biggest being Miss Olivia Conway, a 16-year-old country singer from Pembroke, working like an adult at her trade, little by little, her dreams paying off.

Other musicians came from the coast, out of a classroom, off a nearby barstool or basketball court. They rallied to put this show together for no other reason than to see if they could pull it off. Many of the players, up until a year ago, were white-mouthed and nervous to bare it all and play in public. But they did it. I watched it happen, each brick breaking falling off their backs, born anew.

Other players, like Oliver Hannon of the band Florence, a seasoned hybrid of glam rock and punk, had to weld down the edges of their sound and play chained and contained, with less chest hair showing. And they pulled it off beautifully.

For months the young musicians prepared by gathering in hidden locations, working and reworking song parts, the entrances, the exits, making sure not to break that beam of light they planned to hold the audience in.

Serious about the event, not in talk but in action, the kids had a text chain going that read more like a novella, originated by the organizer, and I do mean “organizer” of the event, my 24-year-old daughter, Danielle, also one of the performers.

Everyone fell into place doing their parts, not whining with distraction but sharing the same light they absorbed through the music we share with them. And too maybe uncloudy some of the perceptions of what people might think the youth are up too these days.

As a bar owner, I watch the crowds keenly. I see many early 20-year-olds come into PCL, not trying to kick the keg anymore, but gathering at a window table, nuzzled up to a mocktail or a few beers (not a dozen), playing a board game, catching up on love and work and conversing for hours. A vision that won’t make us rich but sure cleans things up real nicely.

In fact, at one point during the concert, I looked around for the rockers, Florence, who I figured would be a mile high on ale and sheeba, but instead were locked into a heated game of chess, drumsticks and axe at the ready.

Jaelyn Rix from Allenstown, who I think is 14 and as quiet as the word gets, started just over a year ago singing backtrack music in public, old and new. She has a voice like Etta James. And there she was, knocking the crowd out, breathless and teary at times, making everyone ask the same thing: Who is that kid?

Then, there are the Cummings boys, Noah and Mason. Noah, being the head coach of PA girl’s hoops, runs a great zone defense, but he can also drop an octave like he did threes with ease. Mason, Noah’s little brother, playing bass, shining brighter than the stage lights, offering himself up to whichever way a song blows, happily.

This is as good as it gets.

What we witnessed went deeper than a set list, deeper than an extended applause. It helped to solidify what is coming, and who possesses the hand of empathy, and who can wield that hand by connecting with others through music, community, joy and love.

These kids, they are alright. And we will be too.

Rob Azevedo can be reached at onemanmanch@gmail.com.