The smell of burnt wood still hung heavy over downtown Athens on Saturday night. It had been just over 36 hours since the first 911 call had gone out to the local fire department, and the hollow shell of the Georgia Theatre loomed over Lumpkin Street, eerily quiet and dark. Posters had been posted for weeks advertising Perpetual Groove’s two-night stand, a special summer escape from the heat.

Instead, the heat had come down on us. There had been no P-Groove concert the night before, and tonight’s show had been moved to the Classic Center. Not that there’s anything wrong with the Classic Center, who has earned a special place in my heart for opening their doors to us. But before this tragedy, I would have considered the Classic Center’s regal feel and no-nonsense security the antithesis of the Theatre’s down-home swank and party-friendly policies.

But the Theatre’s gone, at least temporarily, and there were, and still are, a lot of people in this town who needed to work that idea out. P-Groove, who owes a large part of their fame to the Theatre, was right in there with us, honoring all tickets from both Friday and Saturday night’s shows. This concert was no longer about an escape from the heat outside. There was no escape from what had happened.

The Classic Center is one of the few venues in town that starts relatively on time, so by the time I arrived, P-Groove was already cranking into the high-gear freakout solo of “Three Weeks.” I rushed downstairs to the concert hall, only to find the place barely a quarter full. This would have been a small crowd for the Theatre, which can hold far fewer people than the Classic Center, giving the room a hollow, sad feel.

Security was tight, too. Instead of the usual madness swirling in circles around me, we were told to stop dancing in the aisles, constricted by rows of chairs that nobody wanted to sit in. Even the air didn’t have the same smoky texture it does by this point into P-Groove’s set.

Things just didn’t feel quite right.

Ultimately, though, none of this mattered. We were all at our best that night, because that’s what the Theatre deserved. P-Groove played a no-holds barred, fan-favorite heavy setlist, and their usual bittersweetly dark lyrics took on a whole new meaning for the crowd. Even the covers P-Groove played felt hand picked for the night, including a poignant take on Modest Mouse’s “Float On.”

P-Groove weren’t the only performers to pay their respects to the Theatre that night. Their original keyboardist, Matt McDonald, who left the band back just over a year ago, joined the new lineup on stage for two numbers. There was also an extra-special treat for the hardcore fans of Athens music, with Daniel Lawson and Karolyn Troupe from Venice is Sinking joining P-Groove, who they had just met earlier that night, for a mellowed out version of P-Groove’s “All This Everything.”

The wooden “Georgia Theatre” sign, which always hung so casually on the wall, had miraculously survived the inferno and was proudly hanging above the band. Even though we weren’t in the physical confines of that old YMCA building, by the end of the concert we had transformed the propriety of the Classic Center into the raging pit of energy that the Theatre has come to represent for many in this town.

By the end, the Classic Center was packed out; hosting more people than the Theatre would have allowed that same night. There was a fog bank around the stage and people were dancing in the aisles.

There were triumphant calls of “Georgia Theatre lives!” and impassioned pleas to rebuild, both of which reached the ears of Theatre owner Wilmot Greene sitting in the crowd. We may have been in the Classic Center, our home may have been hollowed out, but for a few moments, the Theatre was brought back to life.

And even though this is not the night any of us wanted to have, P-Groove’s lyrics echoed hope in our heads as we left the building, humming “All the saddest things I’ve seen, don’t come close to what has been. All the great things left to be, things that keep me in between.”