And so it began, four days of vintage threads, sounds and Chevys that was like a '50s sock hop preserved in amber. The ladies had flowers in their hair and scads more tattooed on their biceps. They came smothered in curve hugging pencil skirts and more cheetah print than you'd see on an African safari, generally patterning themselves after one of three icons of feminine cool: Rita Heyworth, Bettie Page or Marilyn Monroe.

The fellas clutched 12 packs of Pabst -- which is really only good for Excedrin sales, but still -- awash in pomade and cuffed jeans, looking like extras from "Eddie and the Cruisers."

On Saturday, they showed off their rides at a mammoth car show where aircraft carrier-sized Cadillacs, flame-covered pickups and low riders whose dashboards were barely waist high filled The Orleans parking lot.

The musical score to the weekend was similarly rooted in nostalgia.

Calgary, Alberta's Eve Hell drove for 22 hours to air their hard, femme fatale bop early Friday afternoon, followed by harmonica-powered Chicago blues revivalists Morry Sochat.

Blue Denim, all the way from Australia, seemed like the perfect fit for the soundtrack to a future Quentin Tarantino flick with their bursts of reverb-drenched guitar fireworks and gyrating go-go girls.

And then there was the much anticipated "Stars of Rockabilly" set later that night, when '50s legends such as Lew Williams and Don Woody wowed the room with first generation rock 'n' roll that still packed enough heat to broil a steak.

Saturday belonged to the Royal Crown Revue, who absolutely packed a ballroom with their punchy horns and surprisingly concussive rhythms that were just the right blend of finesse and physicality.

As the band played, the crowd was a blend of gray-haired couples reliving the tunes of their youth, younger punks drawn to the roots of the music they pledge allegiance to and dressed-to-the-nines scenesters whose every stitch of clothing was authentic to the decades-old era in question.

It was a rare generational mix, the kind you seldom see, and it was a kick to watch 60-somethings swinging themselves about the dance floor in grand circles next to revellers half their age, all under the same hip-swishing spell.

For a weekend, the past became the present.

And the present became a future hangover.

Contact reporter Jason Bracelin at jbracelin@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0476.