“When they see us traveling with our bus, people ask if we are in a band,” Robert Randolph said with a characteristic smile. “They say, ‘you must be pretty good rappers.’ And we say, hell no man, we like to jam.” And jam they did.

Mere minutes after the nearly hour-long set from opening band Rose Hill Drive ended and the trio stepped off stage, crowds quickly migrated to the front of Madison’s Union Theatre auditorium. With the pedal steel guitar set at the front and center, fans knew where they wanted to be and could not have gotten much closer to Randolph. Bouts of clapping and cheering broke out all through the duration of the stage preparation. It may have been a Sunday night, but people were ready to celebrate as if the weekend had just begun.

Joined by Jason Crosby and by cousins Marcus Randolph and Danyel Morgan, Robert Randolph only needed to step onto the stage to bring the audience to their feet. Over the course of the next two hours, few would be off them.

A half-hour long rendition of “Nobody” began the show by Robert Randolph and the Family Band. This provided more than ample time for a microcosm of the classic RRFB experience: Randolph’s straw hat dropped off as he threw his head back in to let out a shout of enthusiasm, the audience joined in the joyful call and response and the cousins took turns at each other’s instruments.

Following “The March,” with Randolph jumping up to show the audience just how it was done, came a soulful singing of “Press On,” distinguished by the high-pitched wailings of bassist Danyel. Only the playing of “Jesus is Just Alright” during the second encore brought more of the sense of this band’s Pentecostal foundations. With the lyrics the focus rather than the fast fingerings of the pedal steel guitar, RRFB momentarily turned the theatre into a celebration reminiscent of those from the services of their New Jersey House of God Church.

Notable moments of the show came when audience participation added a little bit of Wisconsin zest to the sounds. As the band began playing “Shake Your Hips,” Randolph called out “ladies choice” before inviting willing females in attendance on stage. It did not take long for the space to fill up and, primarily students, to let loose. With such encouragement from the band, the environment offered was less of a show and much more of a collective festivity that included the performers. Randolph even found himself standing on his stool doing a little hip shaking of his own.

The mood created by such an audience interaction with the band continued when Randolph invited three lucky fellows from the front of the audience to individually plug in and play lead guitar with the band. Each presenting his very best, the crowd offered appreciation and enthusiasm for the temporary family members.

From “Good Times, Bad Times” to “Purple Haze” to “I Need More Love” ending the primary set, the band kept a constant sound, playing with as much solid energy as when they began. Though Randolph noticed problems with the sound system, crew occasionally wandering across the stage, few in the audience took any issue with what they heard. Marcus kept fans moving with steady beats, expertly anticipating the improvisations of Randolph. Jason added depth to the sounds with the keys of his Hammond organ. Danyel kept the auditorium grooving with his bass lines.

Such liveliness stood in stark contrast to the docile demeanor from guest guitarist Daniel Sproul of the opening band Rose Hill Drive. He may have played with the fervor of the others onstage, but he lacked the positive power that makes RRFB a must-see performance. With two encores extending the show further into the night, such energy — in no way deficient Sunday night — is essential to keep the crowd going.

Though surprising neither a rendition of Hendrix’s “Voodoo Child” nor the staple song “I Don’t Know What You Came to Do” were played during this set, there was no question as to why anyone was there. From the middle-aged men clapping in their seats to the college women grooving onstage, the crowds braved the possibility of a rough Monday morning to prove they like to jam just as much as the band. And jam they did.