Living Hell Extra! ================== Ice Cream --------- "A capella, a capella..." - Barney Fife, singing a capella Friday night at the A.J. Fletcher Opera House, one of the additions to Raleigh's BTI Center, the Artist's Alcove Formerly Known as Memorial Auditorium and long-ago Fayetteville Street bookend, back before the ungainly Civic Center was constructed between it and the Capitol build- ing farther north. Septuagenarian scents assail the senses as we shuf- fle into the darkened theater, fleeing the late, lingering light of the first day of summer. The snow-capped crowd is casually, conservatively dressed-- parents and grandparents and maybe a great grandparent, all in short sleeves and slacks. Lots of plaid. Some (softer) Hawaiian prints. And precious few tight dresses. You know the kind-- those skin-clinging skimpies that so dominate the summer months in the South. Nope, no tacky attire or overt eye-candy to pass the pre-concert min- utes. Not that there's that much time before the curtain rises, what with a orchestra triangle struck mere moments ago by a man in a wheel- chair announcing to the lobby "Ten minutes! Ten minutes!" Row J, seats 104 and 105, but not *aisle* seats as the ticket seller assured. My companion, the purchaser, is idly frustrated, half disap- pointed and half apologetic. I'm unfazed, save for the slight fear of a two-seater plotting down in seat 103. (You know about two-seaters; they're the ones radio host Neal Boortz has affectionately labeled as "lard asses" in his recent reports on Southwest Airlines new per-butt check pricing policy.) The program book isn't particularly slick but contains an address slip for a door prize promised by the elderly ush- er. The venue is new, maybe brand-spanking, but the cool, still air reeks neither of new chairs or freshly laid carpet. Instead, it's old- lady perfume and mothball cologne that invade the nostrils; oppressive, blue-haired scents that please only in the context of remembered grand- parents. (North Carolina author Reynolds Price, appearing at a Cary Barnes and Noble last week, spoke on the subject of blue hair in the context of *his* coif, white, and noted the origins of those tinted roots as involving nicotine and the cumulative effects of cigarette smoking.) The stage is now occupied by thirty-five singers-- all men, all (or mostly all) well-aged, and all attired in dapper turquoise vests over long-sleeve purple shirts. With blue bowties, of course, and black, pressed pants. Four rows of smiles, swaying and harmonizing and some- times twirling umbrellas or performing chorus-line kicks. Each cres- cendo climax generates enthusiastic applause-- by they choral serenades or songs sung by the sundry quartets that occasionally occupy center- stage. Oldies but goodies, like ________________, ___________________, and _________________, perfectly blended and nearly absent any vocal acrobatics. Props are brought out for ________________, piled in a wheelbarrow and pass among the chorus members. Hard hat, hand saw, paint roller, pipe wrench, etc. And a pair of plungers the length of ski poles. Cute. Turning and looking around, a quick survey shows satisfaction on the faces of audience members. 'Tis a droll, maybe dull show, but certainly agreeable on a Friday night, fresh from work with nary two hours of transition time in-between work and play. (And, for Yours Truly, which involved tuning into a plane crash in southern Wake County, with a grounded pilot using his cell phone to tell rescu- ers that he's [a.] in a tree [b.] some X yards from the runway he did- n't reach. And, with the help of a State Police helicopter, the wreck- age is located within forty-minutes. Neither the pilot nor his wife is seriously injured. Lucky them!) Comedy now, two members of the latest foursome sauntering on stage and joking with the emcee. We're also told about select chorus members and the various singing awards they've won. They're wearing white coats. White coats and white hair. The quartet's collective age: two-hun- dred plus. Another expertly sung and utterly bland oldie. Is it time for intermission yet? Now an anecdote about Louis Armstrong and his one-take recording of "What a Wonderful World." Roy Clark sings same on a wacky new compilation called "When Pigs Fly." Released last month on Xemu Records, the twelve-track platter serves up such strange covers as Don Ho doing Peter Gabriel's "Shock the Monkey," Herman's Hermits reinventing Billy Idol's "White Wedding," and Lesley Gore advertising AC/DC's "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap." (Yes, the versions are expect- edly hilarious, if a little *too* intentionally awful sounding.) Get- ting sleepy now. Another smooth, sharp edge-less song. Good God. It's like a concert of lullabies. Everyone's clapping. My companion's moved to tears. But for this lifelong music lover, it's all horribly under-exciting. Which, I guess, is why I'm the only person writing while listening, while also *fidgeting* while doing both. Copyright 2002 by Michael J. Legeros   Home Search Mike Legeros Copyright 2023 by Michael J. Legeros