April 22, 2004 - 3:30 p.m.
Well folks, Buggy Roche and I had a super time at the Sleepy LaBeef show. Just kidding, I managed to get an escort and she brought a friend so it was a regular party by my standards. The Rodeo Bar is mostly a restaurant, so the show room is set up like a dinner theater, with schmancy tables in the front and then a narrow cramped area for people to stand in. When I got there I was unable to secure any place to sit down or even lay my beer down, but I stood next to a Japanese rockabilly couple in hopes that they would at some point launch in to "Elvisu. Carl Perkinsu. Elvisu…" As I was reflecting on how much like royalty the people with tables were, and how much like lepers the peanut gallery was (there literally are peanut shells everywhere), my friend arrived and it was revealed that the pushy lady negotiating with the waitress to get a table was my friend’s friend, and that I was about to be comfortably up front like a princess.
Sleepy is known as "The Human Jukebox," and with good reason. The two sets were mostly long long medleys of hits, with Sleepy at times walking off stage and having the guitarist or drummer sing for a while. At some point I felt like I just had to start writing the songs down, so I’ll share with you. I Walk the Line, Working in a Coalmine, When the Saints Come Marching In, Jambalaya, Tennessee Waltz, Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door, Goin’ Down the Road, Unchained Melody (?!this seemed to be the drummer’s favorite), These Boots Are Made for Walkin, Blue Moon of Kentucky, That’s Alright Mama, Tore Up, Big Boss Man, I’m a Man (and other Bo Diddley), Neil Young’s "Lonesome Me" done Rockabilly, Folsom Prison Blues, Ring of Fire, etc. etc…
Sleepy’s backing band is pretty interesting. He has this guitarist/bassist/singer who, as J. pointed out, looks like he’s in a movie about himself. Western suit jacket, hair a perfectly stabilized wave, seeming to be wearing stage makeup. He’s the one who sang Dylan and Coalmine, which I forever attribute to Devo. At first we thought the drummer looked like Eric Clapton, but later he came to bear a spooky resemblance to the organist at my parents’ church, down to the lilting ambiguously gay southern accent. The second bassist had on sunglasses and gold lame separates and looked like he stepped out of the Bar-Kays; in fact Sleepy said he had been in War(!) back in the day. Arguably the oddest member was the saxophonist, who was a ringer for James Carville, including the square navy blue suit. I had seen him talking to this lady his age earlier, and perhaps the best moment was when she walked up to the stage in the middle of a song and made the "call me!" gesture to him and waved goodbye. No, maybe the best was when that hair metal dude went up to the stage and one member at a time, pointed and then swung his hair around in circles at them. No, maybe the best was when I hugged Sleepy during the intermission. He’s just so cute and enormous and smiling and silly, I just had to hug him instead of taking his proffered hand. J. and R. got t-shirts, and he signed them. What a super time. But please, be a good friend and if you ever see me trying to drink a margarita again, knock it out of my hand. Even a little bit of tequila seems to make me violently ill. It really only was a little bit, I swear.
