Richard Cheese held my hand. He looked deeply into my eyes and sang about some chick in a green shirt named Vanessa's hoo-ha. It was such a highlight.
At Webster Hall, there is always this big Big big Black dude security guard named Lowes. Lowes sits stone-cold and bulging biceps cross-armed in front of the stage. For entire shows, he steely eyes the crowd and keeps us in line via the silent promise of Unilaterally Assured Destruction.
Not even once, have I seen Lowes succumb to the merest facial twitch. But when Richard Cheese broke into a little swanky Vegas-style Shake Ya Ass by Mystikal, I spied full-on, teeth-baring, LOLing. There is something inherently fabulous about a very white man in a tiger-skin tuxedo sahaying around crooning X-rated gangsta rap.
In light of his musical genre, Richard "Dick" Cheese's stage show was not unexpected. Nonetheless, I wouldn't have predicted the hijinx. The man is hotly smarmy, brazenly greasy, semi-sober, yet broadly captivating in his bountiful array of flashy tuxedos.
The band was "the tightest we've seen in this place," according to Tom. The drummer's ernest Patty LaBelle impression may have tipped off the compliment. Or the height of the piano player's vertical leaps. Or maybe it was the lingering impact of Cheese's inspired selection of moi for some audience participation.
From my standpoint, there was one vital flaw. If the guy standing in front of me was my superhero nemesis, he would be named "The Pendulum." People, don't you realize if you toggle your torso back and forth like a drunken demon, everybody standing behind you of equal or lesser height is forced to rotate in the opposite direction lest we stare at the back of your bald sweaty head all night?
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