We’ve always talked about going to the annual Hold Steady gig at the Electric Ballroom in Camden, without doing anything about it.

But now we are here.

I got my eldest boy into this American band years back now. We saw them early on with Counting Crows in Manchester. And now we are here for their Weekender party, a regular date on the Camden calendar.

The venue is one loud, heaving party, all joyous and hectic, sweaty and beery.

As we end up in a lively scrum near the front, I am glad of my son’s presence. This trip was his idea, he did all the organising, and now he has my back.

It doesn’t take much to get this crowd going, and it’s fair to say they are not careful with their beer. Without the support of those around them, the least stable fans would fall over, and some do that anyway, redistributing their drinks as they go down.

It’s surprising just how much the fans adore this band. A fine adoration, for sure, but I had no idea the fans would be so ardent, and so physical, so completely into the Hold Steady. Theirs is a raucous ecstasy, leaping about, flinging their arms, jumping like pneumatic drills, and shouting the lyrics back at Finn.

Standing near the front now seems to have been a little reckless. The mostly blokeish mob surges forward, then falls back, pushing and pressing in a hefty conga line.

“Are you all right, Dad?” says Spencer behind me, as the wave returns.

It’s funny to think of it now, but when he was a toddler he used to hide behind his mother’s legs, or even under her skirts, too shy to be seen. And now he is a man of six foot two and acting as a human prop to his small old dad. Five foot eight, and I’m sticking to that now eroded truth.

I am glad that little boy grew into this man, I think, as the fans surge back again. I helped to look after him, and now he is looking after me in the midst of this happy riot.

The Hold Steady, fronted by Crain Finn for 20 years and more, tell stories of drugs and alcohol, religion and redemption, hope and despair. Often these rock yarns have roots in Minneapolis, where Finn grew up.

Rampaged youth is viewed through a long smudged lens. The songs are rocking, uplifting and yet gentle too, fond and packed with believable characters, all seeming so real.

Finn often sings and speaks about how he only just made in out of that party maze, as in this key lyric: “Killer parties almost killed me.”

A phrase that gave a title to their debut album in 2004. Two years later saw the release of what is considered their greatest album, Boys And Girls In America, and the opening track, Stuck Between Stations, gets the party started tonight.

Finn is, you have to admit, an unlikely rock star, a balding 53-year-old in heavy-framed black spectacles, perhaps a little tubby, looking like someone’s dad on a livelier night out than he intended. Yet as soon as he speaks or sings, the charisma shines out. There is something about this crumpled rock god, an everyday sort of hero.

It is a night of stories and songs, tales and tunes, and some killer chords. This band has survived lots of those, too. Two guest horn players turn six into eight, filling out the sound, and allowing songs such as Sequestered in Memphis to kick up a gear.

Chips Ahoy is another lively treasure. The opening lyrics get everyone going again –

“She put $900 on the fifth horse in the sixth race
I think his name was chips ahoy

Came in six lengths ahead

We spent the whole next week getting high.”

Stay Positive is in there too, one of the band’s sturdy anthems.

“There is so much joy in what we do up here,” says Finn towards the end.

After the last encore, as is traditional with this band, Finn chants: “We are the Hold Steady – you are the Hold Steady…”

This really does feel like a community or the livelier sort of church – even if you wouldn’t want to invite some of the worshippers round to your house after the ‘service’.

Everyone leaves hot and happy, a little battered and bruised, but feeling positive, as instructed.

We go back to our hotel smelling of beer. The next morning, probably still smelling of beer, we walk through Hyde Park in the sunshine, then visit the V&A Museum, before heading back through the park to Speakers’ Corner and Oxford Street, something to eat, a beer, then home.

Finn went with us too, still filling our heads with his killer songs and killer stories. How good it is to have finally made that gig. A glorious night. But next time, if there is one, I will stand further back.