So far, I've had an emotional melt-down/cover-tune-comeback-at-the-mic and Tranny Houston has left the building. And before I go on, I just want to share some reflections I've since had with regard to cranky ole' Trans: She was angry, she was deeply troubled and embittered. Obviously, this person had not had an easy life. I can appreciate and sympathize, and will state plainly that I seriously have NO any idea of what it must be like to walk in her shoes - (or to drag around a giant bag of shoes, for that matter). She was belligerent, she was damaged and she was trying to make a statement at that open microphone. She really was PUTTING IT OUT THERE. She was BRINGING IT.
That being said, when I
complimented her performance, my intention was pure. I was showing support. The fact that it served to incite her and
draw yet more hatred and loathing from the very depths of her soul was not
something I'd anticipated, altho' I probably should have. And had I not been
slightly off my intuitive game that particular night, I believe I would have. But I was going thru shit of my own, as all of us so often are.
In retrospect, I realize that she was probably at a
point in her life where everything and everyone around her felt hostile, and like
a mockery. Despite my best intentions, I
would be no exception.
I do think about her
sometimes, and I sincerely wish her well if she's still mucking along with the
rest of us. And if not, I hope she went
out easy: Easier than her life looked to
be.
* * * * * *
The next act up was the guitarist dude - the one who came in with his
gal, lugging amps. He had a folky-weary
air, shaggy and 50-ish, the performer of the two. Helpful Gal-Pal also had to be at least 50,
was slightly more refined in pin-stripe dress slacks and a sporty matching vest,
altho' whenever she bent over - however slightly - her entire ass fell out the
back of her slacks. I only know this
because she sat directly in front of me and Chris, so this was indeed a
treat. Ah, show-biz.
So he gets up and plugs in his acoustic-electric guitar which
immediately starts feeding back.
Rattled, Shaggy blurts: "FORGET THE AMPS, I'LL GO COMMANDO." Dakonda jumps up: "NO - NO! Let me adjust it!"
Shaggy: "NO IT'S FINE."
Dakonda: "No, HERE - I got it!
TRY IT NOW!"
Shaggy gives 'er a tentative strummmmmmmm. The guitar is completely out of tune. I take another look just to make sure he
doesn't have a couple of broken strings goin' on - it sounds that off.
He nods, grinning beatifically at Dakonda.
Shaggy (Reverently): "As always, leave it to Dakonda - THE
MASTER!"
Gal-Pal (giddily clapping, child-like): "AS ALWAYS! YES!!! Leave it to THE MASTER!!!"
Okay, so obviously Shaggy,
Gal-Pal and Dakonda have a bit of a thing goin'. Bit of
a history, I'd say…
Shaggy strums a shaky, one-chord intro, eyes down-cast and
dramatically contemplative. Then, he slowly raises
his gaze to STARE MANIACALLY into the eyes of Gal-Pal. She raptly returns his ogling as he begins
what essentially is a private serenade to her.
It goes on for a very long time, this song of passionate fixation and
obsession. Because it wasn't really a
LOVE song, no - it was like: "I…..will
never leave you…..and YOU….will never leave ME….and WE…can never know….with
ANYONE ELSE….WHAT WE HAVE….WE EACH HAVE EACH-OTHER…WE NEED NO OTHERS….FOREVER….AND
NEVER LEAVING…NOBODY LEAVES….DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT….LEAVING IS NOT AN
OPTION…"
It got pretty heavy, this little number of his. And Gal-Pal squirmed and sighed thru it, her obnoxious
ass flying every which way in the pure enchantment of being the object - nay,
the inspiration
- of such devotion.
At one point, she proudly whirls around to tell us: "He writes songs about me ALL THE TIME…"
Right toward the end, his microphone started feeding back and I get the
feeling that the feedback was the ONLY reason that he then quickly wrapped it
up: Feedback was a tough one for this
guy. That and people trying to LEAVE him.
TO BE CONTINUED....
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