At "My Previous Building", the Thespian troupe threw "Cabarets". These were installed by the previous theatre teacher as a place for the students to work out more "edgy" pieces-so I was told when encouraged to perform as the new teacher 17 years ago. At my first cabaret I performed an original monologue that personified addiction as a woman, and therefore a seduction.
The teacher's idea of "edgy" differed greatly from mine, and I never performed anything dramatic at a cabaret again.
Instead, the five of us, or the three of us, or the two of us, or however many were around that year, would do parodies. The first time there were five of us, including our TD, and we did "Cell Block Tango", but I changed the location to detention --OK, it was Breakfast Club meets Chicago---and we each told our story as the person we were in high school. It was fun. There were a few other performances, but today's memory is about the three of us--theatre, instrumental music and vocal music---doing "No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn" at a cabaret.
We were fairly inconsistent about performing, but it was generally at the senior cabaret at the end of the year when our brains and bodies were fried and we could see the end. We did not do anything with heavy choreography or harmonies, mostly because of the three of us, I was not the musical one. I always rehearsed alone for hours so I wouldn't make a fool of myself. When Jim (vocal music) and I did "The Song That Goes Like This" for the grand reopening in 2016, I had spent hours alone with the Broadway sound track. Jim spent his career entertaining parents and kids as the choral director, he was always at ease on stage. I directed kids to perform and then hid backstage because it's egotistical for a theatre director to be too visible, put their bio in the program, etc etc. So I was the opposite of comfortable. Also, if you read the opening paragraph, I may have scarred children at my first performance.
So I wrote new words to "No Sleep til Brooklyn" and it was changed to "No Sleep in Littleton". The verses were about how the performing arts teachers never slept or saw their families. A good line I wrote "E----- only sees his daughter 'cause she's in his band". At rehearsal, I gave Jim the lyrics and declared that he was now the lead singer. He said "That's fine, but I can't read on stage, I have no idea what I'll actually say." D was on drums and I was on guitar, to the extent that my thin knowledge of the instrument could be summoned. I took a guitar lesson from Harper's teacher the week before I proposed doing this number, just to make sure I could pull off the four chords. Even ten years ago the arthritis in my fingers was impressive, and the last thing I needed to do was choke in front of my students.
One or two kids got wind of the plan, and would smile or clap when I ducked into the band room with Harper's guitar. I am not a musician, but I think the Beastie Boys songs may be pretty easy from that standpoint, since I have a memory of two rehearsals total. As per his habit, D was more interested in what our costuming would be, and took it upon himself to name us. As we are all within a few years of the same age, our pop culture references are similar, so it was no surprise that our constant jokes about "being a band" ( I know four chords) led to him naming us "Twysted Rayn" in an homage to Bill and Ted's "Wyld Stallyns". I remind you that our brains were fried, it was the end of the year and we thought we were hilarious.
Senior Cabarets historically run long, and this was no different. By the time the final scene was complete, we were ready to go home. We'd been in the band room making Jim memorize the lyrics and sending Thespians to the costume shop for leather jackets and baggy pants that we could borrow for almost two hours. By then, word was out that we were up to something, and as high school students are wont to do, they had built it up to epic proportions. When the curtain opened, they started screaming and applauding, and I realized they wouldn't have heard us, anyway. I could have not plugged in the guitar at all.
We had blocked a bit at the beginning with a student, making it appear at first that we were there as roadies to get their band set up. I even did my beloved Tom Hanks "Sibilance, sibilance" from a Wayne's World skit as the mike check. It was all for naught, the kids knew what was up, but we stuck to the script. Then Jim turned his baseball cap backwards, D struck the drumsticks and we were off.
Jim took the lead vocals, struggling to read his large typeset but doing an excellent job as front man. D held the drumline so casually it was like he did something similar as a day job, with a massive smile on his face. I staved off panic by focusing on the six chords I had to play (there are only four different chords, but they're played in sixes, I don't speak music). At the first rehearsal, I had only played the progression twice until the lyrics started, then I mimicked the Beastie Boys and played only the opening two and the last two. D shot me a look that I can imagine every band student fears, so instead of explaining my artistic choices, I just played the six.
I had to backup the lyrics occasionally, so in addition to not playing dead chords I had to watch Jim and know when to shout "in his band", and "NO! SLEEP! IN LITTLETON!" Then my favorite part arrived. The Beasties split the lyrical narrative between them, but I gave everything to Jim because he's the vocal music teacher, D was on drums and I didn't wanna. Even so, a passable parody must have certain elements of the original, so when the moment arrived, even though he'd been singing the entire time, I said "Ain't seen the light since I started this job Farrell J, get on the mike my man." I was SO PROUD of that line, and nobody cared that was illogical: Farrell, J had been on the mike, man, the whole song.
We got to the end of the song, and the inevitable happened. Jim either could no longer read the words, or his jazz improv took over, and he started chanting "Pants on the ground, pants on the ground, looking like a fool with your pants on the ground." And scene---song over.
Based on the screaming kids, nobody cared what he was saying. Completely unprompted by anyone else on stage, all in with enthusiasm as was his habit, D stood up and declared "ENCORE!" Jim and I looked at each other and laughed as D launched back into the song. I shrugged and played, and Jim gave another round of "pants on the ground, pants on the ground, looking like a fool with your pants on the ground."
It was glorious. Writing these memories, I am having a true Stephen King moment. At the end of Stand By Me he writes "I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?"
Nobody thought to videotape. This was a few years before everyone had a camera phone, so the memory is lost except to those of us who were there to witness the majestic premiere of Twysted Rayn.
Scene
No comments:
Post a Comment