I found a butterman.
So I was sitting here reading this review of Sarah Slean's annual two-night holiday concert. She actually played "I Want to be Brave"! I don't believe she's ever played that live before, how magical would that have been? Whilst reading this review, I found myself thinking about how I would've given anything to attend this concert... But then I realized, no I wouldn't have. Saturday night I had my own once-in-a-lifetime concert/event take place. And I don't think there will ever be something so magical ever again.
Donna and I hosted a Yuletide gathering.
For the last few months, the plan had been to host a gathering that would alienate all of our friends. We're just weird like that. We have several high concept, low talent bands, and our 90s cover band "Butterman" was slated to perform. The setlist was to contain Matchbox Twenty's "3AM", Third Eye Blind's "How's it Going to be", Train's "Drops of Jupiter", Blessed Union of Souls' "Hey Leonardo", Bush's "Everything Zen", Semisonic's "Closing Time" and Pearl Jam's "Betterman" bastardized to become "Butterman".
Donna on vocals - which means Donna screaming the lyrics out of tune and at the top of her lungs, and I on piano chords. It was an exercise in alienation and I even carved an effigy out of butter.
About a couple weeks ago as invitations were being handed out, we decided to maybe make Butterman less crazy and ask our friends to bring instruments if they played so that we could have a holiday jam session.
As it turned out, only half of the guests invited attended (in total there was six of us) and no one brought their instruments. Everyone looked amazing though, as I had stipulated formal wear (damned if I got any pictures though, and it's too bad because I looked freaking fabulous!)
We ate Southwestern style goodies as prepared by Donna - we called the party the "Southwestern Solstice Hoedown", and played pictionary, drank and were merry. We played a game that Donna and I had invented earlier. It was called "Dick Move". I had 30 labels with "dick move" written on them, and the idea was that everytime somebody did something assholic, we'd award them with a sticker and they'd have to wear it on their Sunday finery. If we ran out of stickers, the person with the most would be sent out to the garage to spend the night.
As it turned out, Donna and I tied with 4 each, and another friend got 3. Fortunately, no one ended up in the garage.
But there was that looming issue of Butterman. Eventually I was seated behind the piano, playing what little I could of Sarah Slean's "Sweet Ones" and Regina Spektor's "Chemo Limo" and threatening vocals. And then the most amazing thing happened -- or what I thought may've been the most amazing thing; A friend of mine who earlier in the week was telling me how he despised karaoke and would never get up to sing, asked me if I had the chords for a particular song, and if I did, he'd sing. And I did. He sang. It was magical.
But the magic kept coming. Soon after, Donna joined me and we sang that Pearl Jam song that we lovingly renamed "Butterman". We moved onto "Hey Leonardo" and within moments, everyone was behind the piano. We all sang Semisonic together and I think it may've been my favourite moment of the year. If not of all time.
It was like a Charlie Brown Christmas, but with 90s pop.
There are no words that can quite encapsulate the moment. It was more than incredible. And the most perfect, bizarre way to end a very bizarre year. "And this is the weird part" indeed.
Jac.
Donna and I hosted a Yuletide gathering.
For the last few months, the plan had been to host a gathering that would alienate all of our friends. We're just weird like that. We have several high concept, low talent bands, and our 90s cover band "Butterman" was slated to perform. The setlist was to contain Matchbox Twenty's "3AM", Third Eye Blind's "How's it Going to be", Train's "Drops of Jupiter", Blessed Union of Souls' "Hey Leonardo", Bush's "Everything Zen", Semisonic's "Closing Time" and Pearl Jam's "Betterman" bastardized to become "Butterman".
Donna on vocals - which means Donna screaming the lyrics out of tune and at the top of her lungs, and I on piano chords. It was an exercise in alienation and I even carved an effigy out of butter.
About a couple weeks ago as invitations were being handed out, we decided to maybe make Butterman less crazy and ask our friends to bring instruments if they played so that we could have a holiday jam session.
As it turned out, only half of the guests invited attended (in total there was six of us) and no one brought their instruments. Everyone looked amazing though, as I had stipulated formal wear (damned if I got any pictures though, and it's too bad because I looked freaking fabulous!)
We ate Southwestern style goodies as prepared by Donna - we called the party the "Southwestern Solstice Hoedown", and played pictionary, drank and were merry. We played a game that Donna and I had invented earlier. It was called "Dick Move". I had 30 labels with "dick move" written on them, and the idea was that everytime somebody did something assholic, we'd award them with a sticker and they'd have to wear it on their Sunday finery. If we ran out of stickers, the person with the most would be sent out to the garage to spend the night.
As it turned out, Donna and I tied with 4 each, and another friend got 3. Fortunately, no one ended up in the garage.
But there was that looming issue of Butterman. Eventually I was seated behind the piano, playing what little I could of Sarah Slean's "Sweet Ones" and Regina Spektor's "Chemo Limo" and threatening vocals. And then the most amazing thing happened -- or what I thought may've been the most amazing thing; A friend of mine who earlier in the week was telling me how he despised karaoke and would never get up to sing, asked me if I had the chords for a particular song, and if I did, he'd sing. And I did. He sang. It was magical.
But the magic kept coming. Soon after, Donna joined me and we sang that Pearl Jam song that we lovingly renamed "Butterman". We moved onto "Hey Leonardo" and within moments, everyone was behind the piano. We all sang Semisonic together and I think it may've been my favourite moment of the year. If not of all time.
It was like a Charlie Brown Christmas, but with 90s pop.
There are no words that can quite encapsulate the moment. It was more than incredible. And the most perfect, bizarre way to end a very bizarre year. "And this is the weird part" indeed.
Jac.