Harpies and harmonies

Just finished watching the third episode of American Idol, and I think I have an early favorite: Tanya Juliette Schwartz (I think that was her name). She had a really nice smoky voice, even though Simon says he didn’t think she was a star. (But he also said the same of Kelly and Clay, so whatever.)

Watching the show reminded me of the Rockapella concert I went to this weekend with W. I saw them years ago in New York and Va. but half the group is new so I thought I’d check it out and drag someone to go with me. They sound as awesome as ever (maybe even better with the new people), but only one thing threw a wrench into the night of wholesome family entertainment: the Screaming Suburban Housewife biotch behind me who was ruining my experience.

First of all, I have nothing against suburban housewives. I may even be one someday. But this lady was one of those really annoying suburban housewives. Not the nice kind who bake cookies for the PTA or carpool to soccer practice with a smile on. She was the kind who knocks on your door to complain that your grass is too long, or starts fights on the Little League sidelines by yelling at the umps, or who swears that Scotty is a perfect angel and would NEVER pull his pants down in front of the other kids. I grew up with these kinds of parents having taken my brother for many years to baseball, soccer, and taek kwon do practices. They are self righteous and bitchy and think they are entitled to everything because they serve on the f#*%ing community board or something.

Anyway, I was quite surprised at how rowdy and fanatical many of Rockapella’s fans are. Because they are an a cappella group (most famous for singing the Carmen Sandiego theme song) and have something of a family-friendly background, the audience is mostly adults, some with their kids, and some youngish fans who are probably mostly nerdy music majors (think the kind who join college a cappella groups—I can say this because I was one, sort of). The group has a loyal following, most who seem like good people. I never expected to want to bitch slap one of their concertgoers.

First of all, the show was scheduled for 7 pm. W and I were seated at 7.05, and Screaming Suburban Housewife was complaining that the show hadn’t started yet, and the guys were running late, those bastards, and of course she had to ask the attendants when the show was starting. IT’S 7:05. Calm down! Just because you had to drive through a bridge or a tunnel or whatever to get here, probably got here half an hour early to find parking, and then paid $25 bucks for a garage because you couldn’t find parking or couldn’t parallel park, doesn’t mean you take it out on everybody else.

I knew right then she was trouble. Then she proceeded to yell at her kids a few rows back to move into the empty seats next to her as soon as the house lights went down. When they did go down, she did that annoying whisper-yell that fakes being quiet but is even more annoying than had she just yelled using that harpy voice of hers, to tell her kids to move down. (If you’re the mom you give your kids the better seats, selfish bitch!)

But the worst was when SSH would sing along, LOUDLY, to any song she knew (UNDER THE BOARDWAAALLLKKK!!!!!nngarrgagrrrr), would scream constantly as if drunk, say very loudly OH HE SOUNDS JUST LIKE BARRY WHITE!!! and would keep knocking my chair whenever she got hot and bothered. Midway through the show I did a full turn in my chair and gave her the annoyed evil eye. This might have stopped her for about two seconds and then when the next song she recognized came on she started harpy-singing again.

W and I were very close to asking her to shut the fuck up, but I felt kinda weird doing it. This isn’t the Anger Management tour, after all—I would have felt weird getting into a fight with a women while some very nice gentlemen are singing “My Girl” on the stage. Not quite the same as fighting while Eminem is rapping about killing his wife. Other folks were annoyed too but they weren’t saying anything and trying to be civil about it. So we took the high road. Plus, I could tell she wasn’t the kind who would just shut up and apologize—she’d go on forever and be like “who are you to tell me in front of my kids to be quiet SQUAWK SQUAWK SQUAWK!!!!” so I left it at the annoyed evil eye and just tried to drown her out. But you don’t go to a freaking a cappella concert to hear other people sing!!!!! Especially if you sound like a screaming harpy. I did get satisfaction out of seeing her husband sitting at the end of her row. When his eyes weren’t rolling they were closed—the defeated expression of a man who must come to grips with the reality that he has to wake up next to this woman every day. He looked like he had a huge headache for the entire show.

Other than that though, I had a very lovely time—I even got used to seeing the guys dance on stage, which they hadn’t done in shows I’d seen, but apparently they’ve come up now with choreography for every song. One girl bumrushed the stage to dance with them during the encore and it was almost a train wreck; I had to watch through my fingers. It was precarious there for a while. But they played along and were quite nice about it. They seem like pleasant fellows and are very nice to their fans. Interestingly, though I went to their concert to appreciate their vocal abilities, probably the most intriguing part of the show is when Jeff the percussion section does his “drum” solo (he is the human beatbox guy who never gets to sing). He’s got to be the best white-boy beatboxer ever. So even if I have to fight off screaming suburban harpies I’ll probably try to go see them the next time its convenient.