Grilled Cheese Nightmare
You would think a three piece band would not have trouble fitting on a theater stage, but calling this three man group three piece would be a misnomer and a categorical understatement reserved for the uninitiated. These guys don’t set up; unload, invade, occupy and disperse is a better way of putting it. Left to right, up and down, back and forth, instruments, equipment, cases, amps, speakers, mic-stands, cords, seats, props and unknown things of unknown purposes crowded together in such a massed cluster to wash out the specific into a giant general mass of what or whatever. It was so busy you had to quit trying to figure it out and accept that you couldn’t. All that your eyes could focus on was the movement of the three guys clad in loose fitting, wrinkled, off dark colored clothes wandering, reaching and grabbing for something. All you could tell was they were purpose driven and earnest in movement.
“And now,” was the way every song was introduced. And why not? Names could only be a distraction with these guys and what they do. After the second “And now,” the first announced the extensive tuning of their instruments, they played a jaunty show tune like song on piano, harpsichord and organ. You kept looking for the dancing girls to show up. Next came some kind of polka, except the Oom-pah part was played on a piccolo and the leads were done on what looked like a contrabassoon and pennywhistle. All the crowd could do was shake their heads and have another drink. A particular crowd pleaser was a hillbilly hootenanny number on blow hard tuba, bongos and vibraphone. One old man got up and did the two-step until he fell down and couldn’t get up again. They slowed things down with a Mozart sounding minuet on string quartet. To pull this off, one guy with long, quick fingers played both violins. If you closed your eyes, you would never know the difference. One solo number was and wasn’t a solo. There was only one instrument being played, but it took two of them to do it. One guy stood on a stepladder fingering the neck with both hands while the other guy pulled and plucked the strings with all his might. Stenciled on the body of the instrument were the words, double trouble double bass. I don’t know what they played but it was thumping good. To close the first set they ran into a heavy metal march song on pedal steel guitar, bagpipes, with one guy playing his stubble face with a playing card when he wasn’t doing the spoons on his thigh. They reached a crescendo when all three got on spoons and started to hoot and holler like they had spastic hiccups. Off to one side of the theater, some head bangers jumped up, butted heads and drew blood. There was something for everyone, and everyone of the packed house crowd gave the group everything they had in a loud clapping and cheering send off.
The cause of the long intermission was determined when the curtain rose for the second set. The stage remained full and overrun, yet it had a much different, organized look. Various brass and woodwind instruments were set up in nested arcs much like they would be for an orchestra, except no one sat behind them. Instead piping ran from a large organ, where the director would have stood, to each instrument’s mouthpiece. Beside the organ, and connected to it, was a large tank. The trio came out, sat together on the organ’s bench seat and played six handed blues on their version of a pipe organ. When they finished, the crowd gave them thunderous applause. Beethoven would have been proud. For a second number they played a reggae number that put a smile on your face and the taste of a pina colada to your lips.
Wisely the entire pipe organ orchestra was on wheels, which enabled the crew to move it back out of place to make room for the placement of stacked gongs of all sizes. The group began playing the different toned gongs until a full rich sound rolled out, grew, blossomed, and boldly commanded attention and echo filled the theater. While the gong sound sustained, they took out saws and began to make them sing in high vibrato. Imagine the ultimate competition of sounds to a point of magical cohesion. The effect was mesmerizing. Your ears itched in excited response. Like that wasn’t enough, while the chorus of gongs and saws serenaded you, bullwhips were brought out. Supersonic cracks and bangs rang out to break the meditation and made ducking a reflex action to the sounds of gunplay. Of course no such thing was occurring. Rather as the whip cracking became unified, it seemed like a low sonic boom began to rumble. Boom. Boom. Boom. The gongs, long since struck, began to vibrate and send out shimmering sounds, and the quieted saws wiggled and quivered to life. They flopped all over the stage like fish out of water. Then the whipping ceased and a minute or two later it got quiet. The crowd didn’t know what to do, so they sat in silence.
While the gongs, saws and whips were taken away, a large object slowly descended from the stage rafters and a voice from the back of the theater asked everyone to fasten their seatbelts. A loud murmur went out from the audience, yet nobody failed to comply. Even after the stage lights were turned up it was hard to tell what was on stage. It looked like a huge cable or a big metal tube in front of a bright wall. After the “And now,” introduction, the group donned thick gloves and began pulling on the cable or tube. Once they got it back a short distance, they let go and it rebounded and came back to them. Grabbing it again, they pulled once more and released it. This pulling and releasing continued for a number of cycles, culminating when the cable went into electric like oscillations. While no sound was being produced, a pulsating, throbbing force could be felt. It came in waves, pushing your head and body back against the chair that itself was shaking. The floor too shook like an earthquake had struck. As the intensity approached genuine fear, the three band members were struck by the cable or tube and sent flying off stage into the first rows of the audience. Slowly the waves, pressure and shaking subsided until the crowd unbuckled and gave them a standing ovation. This was the true meaning of playing with feeling.
For their first encore they played an all brass waltz on trombone, French horn and bugle. There was glorious dancing in the aisles and when they finished more was demanded. Picking up a banjo, snare drums and cello, they gave the crowd some hip-hop. More dancing, this time sensual and gyrating. Their third encore was a gospel hymn played on clarinet, sousaphone, and harmonica and the crowd clapped their hands and swayed in unison. It was a beautiful moment. The final encore was a tour de force of instruments and songs. Employing piano, organ, guitar, drum kits, saxophone, trumpet, flute, string bass, and Moog Synthesizer, they played a medley of Take the A Train, It’s Been a Hard Day’s Night, Be Bop A Lula, Don’t Worry Be Happy, Purple Haze, and Stars and Stripes Forever. Still the crowd would not let them go and as a way to tell them this would absolutely be the last encore, one of the guys played Taps on a harp. Finally the band bowed, blew kisses to the clapping and cheering audience and exited the stage.
I caught up with the trio back stage after the show and found them sitting quietly alone drinking water. No one else was in the room.
I walked over to them. “May I sit down?”
The guy to the left said, “ Sure, take a load off.”
“That was a heck of a show. Can I ask you some questions?”
The guy in the middle replied, “Nobody can stop you from asking.”
“Thank you. First off, what are your names and where do you come from?”
“It doesn’t matter,” came from the guy on the right.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I decided to talk about the show. “I have to ask about that big cable or tube you used.”
The guy on the left answered. “That was the same braided cable used on the Verrazano Narrows Bridge.”
“What about the gloves?”
Right in front of me came, “We had to heat the cable to over 1200 degrees Fahrenheit to make it flexible.”
“That shaking was really something. What happened there?”
“Natural frequency baby.” Came from the right guy.
“Geez, that was some frequency. I lost track of all the instruments you played tonight. How did you learn how to play them all?”
“We haven’t,” from the left.
“You sure had me fooled.”
In the middle came, “That’s your choice.”
I laughed. They didn’t.
I wasn’t sure where to go, so I asked, “Where do you get your ideas?”
The right guy answered, “Where do you get yours?”
I laughed. They didn’t. It wasn’t that they were cold or untoward; they were just not with me. At this point it was clear they were not going to give me interesting stories, funny quips or delightful insights so to end the interview I asked how they came up with the name of the band. A transformation took place and they all started talking.
“That no good for nothing.”
“Why did we listen to him?”
“Why didn’t we fire him sooner?”
“The dill pickle inside the bread, right there with the American cheese.”
“ Can you imagine the stupidity? And now we’re stuck with it.”
They gestured to a table behind them. I walked over and saw a large tray full of what looked like fat grilled cheese sandwiches. I picked up one and verified that it indeed was an overstuffed grilled cheese sandwich. Then a guy walked in with another tray of sandwiches. They started on him.
“Get out. Get out. No more. Get out. No more. We’ve had it. No more.”
The sandwich man left and I followed him out the door.