Monday, July 25, 2005

I, too, Was Born In a Small Town

I was just in my car and had the stereo up so loud it now feels like my ears have been crammed full of oatmeal. I love loud music and always have. As a kid when we visited my grandmother, I would sit on the porch and listen to mixtapes on my Walkman (including classics by Heart, Michael Jackson, and Dolly Parton, a combination that has probably never been duplicated) until inevitably, her mailman would come up and point to his hearing aids and tell me that headphones left him deaf in both ears. Even at that young age, I was perceptive enough to realize that his problems had less to do with his affinity for Judas Priest and more with the fact that his mother drank throughout her pregnancy. Loud music won’t cross your eyes, Josh.

Speaking of music, on Friday, I had eighth row seats for the John Fogerty/John Mellencamp concert in Raleigh. I bought our tickets in advance because I am a longtime member of Club Cherry Bomb, the official John Mellencamp fan club, providing yet another reason why I never had a prom date. Hell, why I never had A date through most of my high school years, unless you count the time our gym class went swimming at the Y and a guy named Phil was matched up as my swim buddy. Good thing I could tread water, because he was more interested in Chera and her surprisingly buoyant D-cups, leaving me to fend for myself in the corner of the pool with the Jehovah’s Witnesses who weren’t allowed to wear bathing suits and were barely able to keep their heads above water because their sweatsuits got real freakin’ heavy when they got wet.

But I digress. Back to the concert. John Fogerty tore through loads of Creedence songs and sounded absolutely fantastic. I love CCR because no one, including Mr. Fogerty, has any idea what the actual lyrics are other than the choruses, but dammit, they are still great songs. I was basically reciting my grocery list to the tune of “Down on the Corner” but it worked out just fine. He was also rocking a denim on denim outfit, proving again that when you are a Rock Star, you may ignore the fact that the only other people who dress like that have a name patch sewn onto their shirts, generally something like “Dwayne” or “Critter”.

There’s something irresistible to me about a man with a guitar. I found myself finding Mr. Fogerty incredibly attractive, despite the fact that he is 193 years old. During one song, he mouthed the words “after the show” to a woman in the front row and I was overwhelmed with jealousy and curiosity. What’s after the show, John?

Confidential to John Fogerty- Please email me and let me know what happened after the show. I think you are very handsome.

Generally, there’s nothing that can kill crowd mojo like a classic artist who wants to sing new material. It’s basically the equivalent of during sex when your partner says “so, when are we going to see your parents?” But JF proved this wrong when he did a new song, “Déjà Vu (All Over Again)”, which I immediately downloaded when I got home, using iTunes because I only illegally download songs from artists who no one will care about in 4 months (Read: Most rap stars. That includes you, Webbie).

After the set was changed, it was time for John Cougar aka John Cougar Mellencamp aka Dances with Cougars aka Mellencougarcamp. Now, I was very excited about this because I have had a crush on him since I was in elementary school. It was not as intense as my obsession with Huey Lewis, who was absolutely my first love. I remember when he was on the cover of People magazine I threw a tantrum in Elliott’s grocery store until my mother would buy a copy, which I immediately took home and hung on my wall. It seems like maybe this would have been a warning sign to my parents when all of my friends liked Kirk Cameron and Corey Haim and I was in love with Huey, a 38 year old married father of two. But John C. Mellencamp was absolutely the guy in the on-deck circle and would have assumed “Main Crush” duties had Huey been eaten by scorpions or something.

So, I was whipped into a frenzy when J M’camp came out in a blue suit--which in the 99 degree heat probably felt like he was walking around in a Muppet's ass--and smoking a cigarette which for a heart attack victim is totally badass. I’ll admit, he’s still hot (with optional second t) but he’s aged into a hybrid of golfer Tom Watson and Michael J. Fox, with the swagger of Uncle Jesse from “Full House”. He does have about 850 great songs and he played most of ‘em and played ‘em well, meaning he didn’t tinker with the arrangements, or have a harpist come out while someone did an interpretive dance to “Small Town”.

Um, let me interject here that there was some harmonica playing, an instrument that I place in the same category with the bagpipes, in that it can be played very well or very shittily and still sound exactly the same. There was also an accordion player who was making Serious Musician Expressions. Sir, you are playing an ACCORDION. You can’t possibly brood while doing this. I’m willing to bet if you hadn’t hooked up with J-Mel, you’d either be in the lobby of an Olive Garden or you’d have a monkey and a tip jar at your feet.

For most of the evening, I remained in love with John Mellencamp, save for on several occasions… He ditched the suit jacket early and was wearing a white t-shirt (hot) which was tucked in, which just about killed the hotness factor. The gesture that absolutely gave the hotness factor an overdose of sleeping pills and then held a bag over its nose to ensure it was dead was when he kept grabbing his belt buckle and pulling his pants up, again and again, until eventually his waistband was resting on his collarbone. Despite the swagger, the dance moves, and the voice, that was it--he may as well have put on a robe and slippers and started eating a bowl of All-Bran, cause my lust couldn’t have been any more extinguished. That said, it was still a great show and if he pulled into my parking lot in his tour bus, I would still probably try to ravage him. Especially if he’d promise to be my swim buddy…or could give me John Fogerty’s number.

3 comments:

The Bird Man said...

Lets be honest...John Fogerty is not that much older than your actual boyfriend.

J-Money said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
J-Money said...

OK, I just deleted my own comment, which read: Good point, Uncle Conor. Now if I can figure out how to use both of them for their Social Security checks...