Tampa Bay Street Team

Dreaming of being a rock star is as American as dreaming about having sex with a rock star. I’ve read countless interviews with performers who describe how they were always putting on “shows” when they were younger. They use these anecdotes as evidence that performing is in their blood. What these talented, or just plain lucky, bastards don’t realize is that most every American kid puts on “shows” as a way to get attention. I used to chase my parents around the house while strumming a plastic guitar in my underwear and singing the same verse to “Old McDonald” repeatedly. And yes, I too won a talent contest for a rap I wrote and performed with a group of four white boys at camp.

You could say that being a rock star is in my blood. So why the hell am I not on TRL or dating Miley Cyrus. The problem is that though performing maybe in my blood, musical talent isn’t. I was born with an impaired sense of rhythm. Five separate times I attempted to teach myself the guitar and failed. When I was older, I attempted the bass thinking it would be easier to learn considering it only has four strings. My highlight from this venture was being asked to play bass on an intentionally horrendous, mock hard-rock song called “Sewer of Ass Piss.” Since playing an instrument was out of the question, I did what any talentless performer does: I decided to become a singer. I did in fact write and record a few songs with my sexually explicit boy band, 2 Sr. Real, but hearing my recorded voice was painful even for someone as self-obsessed as me.

The fact that I will never be a rock star has been particularly difficult to accept considering that I have so many other attributes that make me overqualified: I can switch leotards within a matter of seconds, play air guitar against the carefully formed bulge in my tight pants, and underage women eat me up. Unfortunately the world will never know my talents, and I will never seduce as many women as the grungiest of rock stars.  I am reminded of this sad fact every time I go to a rock show. I will never be a rock star and so my only hope is to try and sleep with one.  

For a show titled, “In the Raw,” one would think that I might at least get to see a few rockers naked, if not find a way to hide in the greenroom in wait. Despite my perverse suspicions, the show’s title referred to the rock musicians stripping down their songs to the essentials. In most cases, this meant that acts performed without the benefit of electric frills or the heart-reviving pulse of amplified drums. There were no wardrobe changes or flamboyant dance moves. In most cases, a lone songwriter sat on stage with an acoustic and a microphone. The intent was to see how well these local songwriters’ material held up without the distractions of light and noise that often overwhelms the senses at concerts. Imagine MTV’s Unplugged without the commercials, elaborate stages, camera tricks, or bated audiences. The likes of Ronny Elliot, Will Quinlan of the Diviners, Katherine Kelly, Mikey Bostinto of Tres Bien, Shawn Kyle of The Beauvilles, Geri X, and Hat Trick Heroes took part in this experiment beneath the stark red light of The State Theater. 

Even the State Theatre had to clean up its act to accommodate the unplugged show. The place looked like a shadow of the theater it once was. Rows of chairs lined the floor that is usually covered in beer and roughnecks slam dancing. Cocktail tables flickered with candles in red glass holders. It felt like a beat poetry reading or a swanky variety show from the early-’60s with a ventriloquist, jugglers, dry comics and a classy audience lingering over cigarettes and cocktails.Rock shows are known for the energy reverberating off the crowd, which at points can reach the levels of a sweaty religious experience. In general, the wilder crowds are, the better the music sounds. At first it seems like a risky move introducing chairs to this type of concert, but in practice it worked. The introduction of chairs eliminated the problem of the audience lining the sides and back of the venue, standing clear of the dance floor’s no-man’s land. The audience had no problem getting close to the stage with chairs available up front.  Also, with the quick turnaround time of an acoustic show, more acts were fit on the bill, and audience members stayed seated for performers they hadn’t planned to hear. 

Rock revivalists and prodigy musicians Hat Trick Heroes headlined the event. While most of the acts shed band members for the acoustic sets, all three band members sat on stage with Led Zeppelin hair pumping out songs reminiscent of Alice in Chains.  

As is her tendency, Geri X stole the show. She had a leg up on fellow acts as many of her songs were written to be performed with just her acoustic and a microphone. Of course it didn’t hurt that she has the full rock star package: subtly green hair, tattoos wrapping around thin limbs, giving an excuse to stare, and songs that outshined the polished and produced sound of her recordings. I am always amazed with the range and clarity with which her voice swells to fill any space with how much she smokes, drinks and talks shit between sets. A capo chocked-up on the neck of her guitar gave her songs a ukulele sound.  Her performance did not go unnoticed. She was petitioned for an encore and played a foot stomping version of “Kiss on Both Eyelids.”  The crowd started to clap along and so did I. My enthusiasm was soon checked when a friend clasped my hands against my chest for fear that I would throw Geri X off. This is the power of good music. It makes the rhythm-less think they’ve found the beat, it gives the voiceless a voice, it makes the uninspired see the world through a poet’s eyes, and it makes the untalented forget, if only for a moment, that they are not the rock stars, nor do they have the talent to sleep with any.  

E-mail Alfie at shawn.alff@creativeloafing.com

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