One of the most intense things I’ve seen on stage was at a
tiny open mic night at Phyllis' Musical Inn in Chicago. After an earnest girl finished up a
Leadbelly cover, an older man took to the stage. He was probably in his
fifties, with disheveled, wiry gray hair. He was sweaty, twitchy, and agitated.
He didn’t necessarily look homeless, but it seemed homelessness might one day
be in the cards for him.
The man began banging a soup pot with a metal object, maybe a
wrench or a hammer; he banged so rapidly I couldn’t really tell. As he banged he screamed:
STARING OUT THE WINDOW!
WATCHING THE CARS GO BY!
WAITING FOR DRUGS!
WAITING FOR DRUGS!
WAITING FOR DRUGS!
WAITING FOR DRUGS!
… he repeated “WAITING FOR DRUGS!” for a solid minute with loud
bang punctuating waiting and drugs.
The performance ended as abruptly as it began, and the man
stood there, now even sweatier, receiving applause and nervous laughter. No
one seemed to know what in the hell had just happened, but we all
believed him: This guy wasn’t faking it. This guy really wanted some drugs.
When we talk about recurring themes in art, we tend to focus
on the sweet or bittersweet stuff: love, loss, yearning, redemption, letting go,
et cetera. To that list, let’s add waiting for drugs.
There’s a sizable gulf of time and culture between the two following songs, but note how they both begin:
There’s a sizable gulf of time and culture between the two following songs, but note how they both begin:
Tell it to Me:
Well I'm ridin' down Fifth Street, I'm comin' down Main
I tried to bum a nickel for to buy cocaine
Cocaine's gonna kill my honey dead
I tried to bum a nickel for to buy cocaine
Cocaine's gonna kill my honey dead
Waiting for the Man:
I'm waiting for my man
Twenty-six dollars in my hand
Up to Lexington, 125
Feel sick and dirty, more dead than alive
Twenty-six dollars in my hand
Up to Lexington, 125
Feel sick and dirty, more dead than alive
… really, the most noticeable difference is the price tag.
No comments:
Post a Comment