Where Everywhere’s a Stage
Nashville. A country music wonderland, where everyone wears high falutin’ Western wear and cowboy boots and carries a guitar slung over the shoulder just so.
Okay, that’s not really how it is at all. Tonight, I saw the Mel Brooks musical “Young Frankenstein.” The song “Puttin’ on the Ritz” did not have a country twang.
What IS striking about this place is the, ahem, number of creative places they find to put performance stages. We found a nice one today in a random city park. Of course, the hotel bar has one. In a local coffee shop? A stage AND an upright piano. With lighting. We even walked past a grocery store that sported a stage of decent size. Wherever I look, I see opportunities to jump into the limelight with my very own version of “Don’t Come Home A’Drinkin’ With Lovin’ on Your Mind.”
Dear God, that would be dreadful.
Still, encountering random performance spaces in unexpected places has me a little off kilter. It’s weird. I keep wondering if they exist for patrons of an establishment to get up there and perform? Or if one must reserve a slot? Or does one audition? Or is it the expectation in Nashville that EVERYONE must perform? Sometime. Someplace, I might sit in the wrong seat and be foisted up there against my will, forced to warble a dastardly version of “Stand by Your Man.”
If they gave me the bouffant blonde wig and the Tammy Wynette makeup and a sparkly dress………I think that might be kinda fun.
I think the preponderance of performance stages in strange places is merely a way of saying that the Andra-Dites need to take their show to Nashville.
Think of it, Carnell doing performance art with trains and Triumphs, Cheryl singing and Vera crocheting. The lovely MTM can do cheesy things that he learned in Wisconsin and Angie can be the lead Supreme with her 2 boys as back-ups.
Queen Andra was just scouting out the place for our performance debuts.
Too much is just enough: Andra-Dites in all the wrong places.
The world needs a Cheatin’ & Crochetin’ song.
And the crocheter gets drunk and stabs the cheater to death with the crochet needle and goes to prison…….no, wait. That might make crocheters look bad. Or BAD. Or something…….
Singing from a prison cell adds to the pathos.
I know. Prison and country music just go together.
My brother and I did write a country song when we were little. It was called “Rosanna’s Baby Honkeytonk.” Definitely should be performed in Nashville. If only I could remember the words………
Somehow I missed this yesterday – and I may be glad I did. Trust me my friend, you really do not want to hear me sing. Really….
I bet you could do some Hank Williams Sr……….
I can already see today’s comment section becoming a perverse stream of Cootchie Mama-inspired Country Music lyrics and song titles. Should be fun….
You don’t have to call me Cootchie
Darlin’
You never even call me by my name.
Love it!
Voulez-vous Cootchie avec moi, Darlin’?
Oui oui!!
Je parle Francais.
I didn’t know you did, Lou.
Je comprende aussi.
It is perverse that anyone would speak French on this post.
The entire world *is* a stage! At least in my version of it, it is!
I love that world view.
It reminds me of the joke:
What happens when you play country music backwards?
You sober up and get your dog back!
That’s great.
I have always loved that joke.