I Hope I Diet Before I Get Old
Being a local celebrity of sorts had its hazards. The show business world of Houston was certainly not the cauldron of LA or New York, but having chosen the life of being onstage and seeking publicity, I found that often eyes are trained on you that you might never realize. And that people might feel free to comment on you, your life, and your appearance.
There were a few times when I walked into a club to see a band play and found that, politically, I wasn’t supposed to be there. Isn’t that strange? For instance once, The Voices- the group I was in- had played a big gig at the Music Hall. After our show, I went to the Ale House to see another band play. I discovered that I was not particularly welcome because…wait for it…
I was stealing their thunder.
Apparently, the fact that I had come from this high profile thing to the Ale House was simply a ploy to draw attention to myself. Don’t you see? It wasn’t that I liked the band or wanted to be with friends or didn’t want to just go back to my place. I was being an egomaniac. And a clueless one as well, I might add. In my naiveté, I never even considered that quirky aspect of celebrity, but it was there, nonetheless. So eventually you watch what you do.
Gossip in that intimate kind of scene was to be expected, of course. We didn’t have fan magazines as such dedicated to the Houston Music Scene but there was an active gossip line. What I did or did not do, said or implied, something I made a joke about often found its way back to me. It was like the old whispering game. You say one thing to someone., they pass it on to someone else, and it expands geometrically. By the time it gets back you, it barely resembles what you said. So eventually you watch what you say.
Who I talked to or hung out with or took to breakfast would be information to be passed around that relatively small group of people. Everyone would then, of course, make their judgments on the appropriateness or the worthiness or on whatever values they chose to apply. Said judgments would in turn be passed on to others I cared about. So eventually you watch how you act.
We had a couple of local music papers which covered the music scene to varying degrees and abilities. Buddy, Houston Music News, Wireless, and Public News were the most important. They served the need for publicity and spreading the word with reviews, pictures, and articles. As they grew in circulation and influence, power began to corrupt- as it always will. The papers would heavily promote the groups they liked and completely shut out the ones they didn’t. The group The Missiles once issued a great tune called ‘I Can’t Get No Respect from the Public News’. It still cracks me up.
One issue came out once, from which paper I won’t say, that had an article about wish lists for local bands. It was meant to be humorous and witty.
What they wished for us and me, in particular, was a membership in a gym and a diet plan. That little gem, coming unexpectedly and out of left field, brought me up soundly. I am certainly genetically predisposed to being short and squat and I was always worried about my weight. Now I should say here that as an adult, I know I’m overweight. But I’ve looked at countless photos of me from that time and I certainly was NOT fat. In no way. I couldn’t even consider it as, in the words of John Lennon, my ‘fat Elvis period’. It’s hard to be all that chunky when you’re playing and sweating as often as we were. But what I was, was not skinny. And in the fashionable days of speed and cocaine, looking well-fed was definitely not chic. But there it was in newsprint, for all to read, laugh at and comment on. My embarrassment knew no bounds.
In the end, I dealt with it as humorously as possible. We were scheduled to play Fitzgerald’s the next week, so we took out ads calling it ‘Fat Tuesday with the Voices’. Everyone who came was required to weigh in at the door and we took the appropriate amount off the ticket price; someone weighing 150 pounds paid $1.50 less to get in. The fatter you were, the better deal you got. And to complete the joke, we put pillows under our shirts and performed as the sweatiest, most corpulent band you have ever seen. It was all a good laugh and took some of the sting out of the article. But afterward, I joined a gym, watched what I ate, and lost some weight. So eventually you watch who you are.
And gradually you realize that it’s all a joke, it all passes away, it only means what you allow it to mean.
There were a few times when I walked into a club to see a band play and found that, politically, I wasn’t supposed to be there. Isn’t that strange? For instance once, The Voices- the group I was in- had played a big gig at the Music Hall. After our show, I went to the Ale House to see another band play. I discovered that I was not particularly welcome because…wait for it…
I was stealing their thunder.
Apparently, the fact that I had come from this high profile thing to the Ale House was simply a ploy to draw attention to myself. Don’t you see? It wasn’t that I liked the band or wanted to be with friends or didn’t want to just go back to my place. I was being an egomaniac. And a clueless one as well, I might add. In my naiveté, I never even considered that quirky aspect of celebrity, but it was there, nonetheless. So eventually you watch what you do.
Gossip in that intimate kind of scene was to be expected, of course. We didn’t have fan magazines as such dedicated to the Houston Music Scene but there was an active gossip line. What I did or did not do, said or implied, something I made a joke about often found its way back to me. It was like the old whispering game. You say one thing to someone., they pass it on to someone else, and it expands geometrically. By the time it gets back you, it barely resembles what you said. So eventually you watch what you say.
Who I talked to or hung out with or took to breakfast would be information to be passed around that relatively small group of people. Everyone would then, of course, make their judgments on the appropriateness or the worthiness or on whatever values they chose to apply. Said judgments would in turn be passed on to others I cared about. So eventually you watch how you act.
We had a couple of local music papers which covered the music scene to varying degrees and abilities. Buddy, Houston Music News, Wireless, and Public News were the most important. They served the need for publicity and spreading the word with reviews, pictures, and articles. As they grew in circulation and influence, power began to corrupt- as it always will. The papers would heavily promote the groups they liked and completely shut out the ones they didn’t. The group The Missiles once issued a great tune called ‘I Can’t Get No Respect from the Public News’. It still cracks me up.
One issue came out once, from which paper I won’t say, that had an article about wish lists for local bands. It was meant to be humorous and witty.
What they wished for us and me, in particular, was a membership in a gym and a diet plan. That little gem, coming unexpectedly and out of left field, brought me up soundly. I am certainly genetically predisposed to being short and squat and I was always worried about my weight. Now I should say here that as an adult, I know I’m overweight. But I’ve looked at countless photos of me from that time and I certainly was NOT fat. In no way. I couldn’t even consider it as, in the words of John Lennon, my ‘fat Elvis period’. It’s hard to be all that chunky when you’re playing and sweating as often as we were. But what I was, was not skinny. And in the fashionable days of speed and cocaine, looking well-fed was definitely not chic. But there it was in newsprint, for all to read, laugh at and comment on. My embarrassment knew no bounds.
In the end, I dealt with it as humorously as possible. We were scheduled to play Fitzgerald’s the next week, so we took out ads calling it ‘Fat Tuesday with the Voices’. Everyone who came was required to weigh in at the door and we took the appropriate amount off the ticket price; someone weighing 150 pounds paid $1.50 less to get in. The fatter you were, the better deal you got. And to complete the joke, we put pillows under our shirts and performed as the sweatiest, most corpulent band you have ever seen. It was all a good laugh and took some of the sting out of the article. But afterward, I joined a gym, watched what I ate, and lost some weight. So eventually you watch who you are.
And gradually you realize that it’s all a joke, it all passes away, it only means what you allow it to mean.