cry if you want to

In March 2013, when my son E. and I went to see our third concert by the indie cult band eels, we didn't know what to expect from the opening act that was mysteriously billed as "Puddles Pity Party." Last night, we were a bit more prepared... or so we thought.

Puddles Pity Party is a... well, I'm not sure what it is. It's sort of a multimedia "event" featuring Puddles, a six-foot-eight pancaked "sad clown with a golden voice." And what a voice he has! Powerful, commanding, gut-wrenching. But he only uses it for singing. Otherwise, he remains silent, expressing himself only with pantomime and sparse stage props.

The floor of the venerable Trocadero (or "The Troc," as it has been nicknamed by Philadelphia locals), an ornate one-time vaudeville theater, was arranged with tables and chairs as though the place had been booked for a wedding reception. E. and I grabbed seats at table up front and we chatted until showtime. When we saw Puddles Pity Party last time, he was an opening act and his short set could only accommodate five or so songs. We wondered what he would do, besides sing of course, to fill an hour. The house lights dimmed and our questions were about to be answered.

For the next 75 minutes, we witnessed a full spectrum of entertainment. The performance, dare I say spectacle, showcased shtick, karaoke, audience participation, slapstick comedy and singing. Singing the likes of which you have never heard. What a set of pipes on this guy! Between short, comical interactions with the audience, including serenades to a few with a personal message of "Happy Birthday," Puddles reclined across a makeshift set of stairs and prowled the massive stage, all while unleashing his rich multi-octave vocals to the joy and bewilderment of the crowd. Sure, the act is gimmicky and the entire concept is unusual, but there is no disputing the sheer beauty of Puddles' voice. He treated the audience to renditions of The Bee Gee's "I Started a Joke," Leonard Cohen's reverent "Hallelujah," and his interpretation of Lorde's "Royals," which has become an internet sensation. His heartfelt delivery of "My Heart Will Go On (The Love Theme from Titanic)" was inexplicably enhanced by a slideshow montage of scenes from Kevin Costner films. He even transitioned the song into a take on Metallica's "One." During his tearjerking cover of The Flat Duo Jets' "Lonely Guy," Puddles showered the front row with dozens of spent tissues, dampened with his own tears.

Perhaps "spectacle" isn't the right word. Maybe there just isn't a word to describe Puddles.

At the show's conclusion, the clown graciously posed for photos with each member of the audience. 

Those prone to bouts of coulrophobia, proceed at your own risk.

Here's little taste of Puddles... and that voice.

* * * * * UPDATE * * * * * 

Acknowledgement from the big man himself.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

tears of a clown

I've seen a lot of concerts and I've seen a lot of opening acts. I saw Kenny Loggins open up for Fleetwood Mac. I saw Duran Duran appear as the opener for a five-band, all-day festival. I saw Uriah Heep warm up the crowd for Jethro Tull (see how old I am?) I have also seen my share of unusual opening acts. In 1978, Elton John had a comedian open his show. I saw Tony Bennett's daughter warble out a couple of songs as preparation (and I suppose to form a greater appreciation) for her headlining father. But when it comes to really unusual opening acts, none compare to the ones lined up by Mark Everett.

Everett, who answers to the mysterious moniker "E.," fronts the eclectic band eels (spelled with a lowercase "e"). eels released their debut in 1996, following a couple of solo efforts under the name "A Man Called E." The band's (mostly Mr. Everett and a rotating group of players) songs offer a mix of pop melodies and melancholy, often painful, lyrics. So, with such a wide range of combined emotions, not just any opening act will do for their live shows.

The first time I saw eels, they performed at Philadelphia's First Unitarian Church. The church, which still holds regular worship services, offers its facilities to a local concert promoter. As anxious fans sat in the pews waiting for the music to begin, a large white bed sheet was lowered in front of the pulpit and a public television-style documentary about Mark Everett's father* was shown — uninterrupted — for the next hour. Needless to say, the crowd was bewildered and a little less than receptive.

For another tour, a rapper named MC Honky was billed as the opener, in support of his Everett-produced album I Am The Messiah. It is widely believed that MC Honky, in reality, is Everett himself in heavy disguise. Everett has denied this claim.

In 2010, as eels toured in support of their late summer release Tomorrow Morning, a ventriloquist telling corny (and decidedly risqué) jokes took the stage for twenty minutes before the band came out.

Last night, eels brought their current tour to Philadelphia's beautiful World Cafe Live. The lobby posters proclaimed "Puddles Pity Party" as the supporting act. Venue doors opened an hour before showtime and the room filled to capacity within ten minutes. With the house light still burning, the low murmur of the crowd was momentarily silenced as a hulking figure appeared and descended the stairs at the rear of the venue. Standing at well over six feet tall, a pancaked-white clown cut a path through the packed bodies. With a glowing hurricane lantern held at arms length and a large suitcase gripped in the other hand, he made his way to the stage. The lights dimmed and the clown hoisted his considerable bulk onto the stage from out of the crowd. He was dressed in a Pagliacci-style costume of shimmery satin with puffy black buttons down the front. A small bent gold crown was perched on his bald pate, held in place by a thin length of elastic encircling his skull. The crown was inscribed on the front with a large, hand-drawn capital "P." He deposited his suitcase and lantern on the stage floor and silently surveyed the crowd. Then, accompanied by the strains of a pre-recorded orchestra, the clown began to sing. The snickering crowd was immediately stunned and captivated by the rich, operatic tones emerging from his black lip-sticked mouth. His powerful voice and the gut-wrenching lyrics held the audience in bewilderment for a full three minutes. At the song's conclusion, the audience erupted in approving cheers. He produced a smaller suitcase from the original and placed it on top of the first one. From that one, he removed a comically large plastic flower and began the Leiber-Stoller tearjerker "I Who Have Nothing." Once again, the audience was perplexed by the dichotomy of this clown-suited vocalist. Suddenly, another figure moved in shadows of the darkened stage. An obviously female figure in a frilly dress maneuvered her way through the instruments and microphone stands on the pre-set performance area. The clown kept singing. The figure stepped into the spotlight. It was a girl, alright — but she was wearing a grotesque rubber chimpanzee mask and clutched a bunch of bananas in her curled fist. And the clown kept singing. The girl hunkered down simian-style and peeled a banana, tossing the peels into the crowd. Producing a third, smaller suitcase from the second one, the clown burst into "The Love Theme from Titanic (My Heart Will Go On)." His majestic voice soared. It was beautiful, despite being accompanied by a girl in a monkey mask. He ended his set with "Cry Cry Cry," during which he tossed sheet after sheet of Kleenex into the crowd after dabbing his non-existent tears. The Monkey Girl fondled a large inflatable banana which she had exchanged for her real ones. At the song's conclusion, the clown climbed off the stage and exited through the dumbstruck crowd.

My son turned to me and said, "I guess it's not good enough to just have a good voice."

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

*Everett's father was Hugh Everett III, a Princeton-educated physicist who first proposed the many-worlds interpretation (MWI) of quantum physics.