I love what a freak show this town is, people, I really do. Just when the doldrums set in-that Santa Fe thing that occurs between seasons with the regularity of a juniper attack, wherein for two weeks it seems everyone you know is moving to a different city rather than the City Different-some crazy-ass shit occurs. There's always some timely, sublime moment of surrealness, and you realize: There's a reason I live in this town, and I ain't goin' anywhere.
For instance, just this weekend a man with whom I was speaking during an early sober morning at the Aztec began his sentence with the phrase, "I had a whore once tell me…"
A whore?
I thought.
I'm just trying to get a smoothie. What is this, a Charles Bukowski novel?
The impartation of whore wisdom notwithstanding, the smoothie was tasty enough, the breeze chucking gently through the screen door cleansing enough, the post-whore conversation friendly enough, that I was lulled into a genial comfort zone, wherein giant piles of dreadlocks and secret chai recipes and conversations generated by quotes from the margins of society become normal and everyday. So everyday, in fact, that by the time I returned to my companion sitting with me on the porch, I completely forgot to tell her I had just had a conversation about "whores," which is something, in retrospect, I think she'd have wanted to know.
But the scene at the Aztec this particular morning was nothing compared to the scene last Monday night at the Cowgirl for the finals of the karaoke contest. Now, even before the contest began a couple months ago, Cowgirl Karaoke was always an odd assortment of freaks and geeks: The punk rock kids who sing classic country songs with love, not irony; that goth guy who always brings in his own obscure songs and really
gets into it
; the borderline homeless guy stumbling through…some song no one recognizes. It's one of the best shows in town.
So it was no surprise the contest boiled down to two of Santa Fe's biggest hams as the finalists: Donnan Sutherland, perhaps best known for his excellent gig as Hedwig in the local production of
Hedwig and the Angry Inch
several years ago; and Rod Harrison, better known as "Jimmy the Carrot," also known as the guy who works at Whole Foods who does the crazy voices over the intercom, the guy who can make even the phrase, "cleanup on Aisle Seven" interesting. How could this not be awesome?
I admit I was there as one of the two-judge panel that would decide the fate of these two men. One, the winner, would head off on a Cowgirl trip for two to New York. Runner-up received a trip to…Durango.
I also admit I would have been there anyway.
The Cowgirl was packed, and not just ordinary packed, but packed with everyone facing the stage, with a thick, sweaty collective intensity that indicated they were there specifically to witness the glories of the finals. It was nerve-wracking.
The minutes ticked down…Jimmy the Carrot had been working the crowd earlier, but now I could see him pacing outside on the patio. I couldn't spot Sutherland anywhere, an indication that some sort of costume was being donned, some sort of grand entrance planned.
Sure enough, in Sutherland swooped, dressed head to toe in an older Judy Garland get-up: black top, black wig, false eyelashes, very tight skirt-for the record, this is a man with very nice legs. I cringed a little, thinking the stereotype factor might be a little too much for me. Yet, as Sutherland, after stumbling a bit on the first high note, found his confidence and ease with "Over the Rainbow," he really started to
sell
it. Sutherland found his stride and started treating the high notes like his bitches, vibrato echoing off the wooden floors and walls, his Adam's apple working up and down like the needle on a sewing machine. The thing about doing Judy is, if you're gonna do her, you have to do her right. Nail it. Which Sutherland did, stumbling at just the right moments, selling the camp, slurring into his drink.…and then slipping offstage to prepare for his second song.
Them's was the rules: Two performers, two songs apiece, two chances to woo the crowd. Clearly Sutherland had chosen to swing hard and early, to go for the knockout punch (and Judy) in the early rounds.
With his first song, Jimmy the Carrot punched back, but it appeared that Sutherland's head-to-toe drag, his excellent vocal talents and his enthusiasm had stunned him. Clad in his trademark dark suit, sparkle-y Western tie, Buddy Holly glasses (minus the lenses!) and a giant ring the size of his entire hand that read "ROD," he gamely swung into "Sweet Caroline." Jimmy the Carrot's strengths are usually his stage-trained voice, his weirdness and his ad-libbed interaction with the audience; this night he had the latter two in spades, but his voice was just a touch strained, as if he knew the ante had been upped and he too had to nail it. I've seen him sing karaoke many times and I've heard him do this song much better, more relaxed.
Still, two songs to go. Sutherland reappeared in dark suit and kicky fedora and launched into "The Banana Boat Song," a more subtle choice than the Judy bit. He performed it admirably, standing shakily on a chair and nimbly avoiding a slow decapitation via the lazy ceiling fan above him. But he was banking on Judy.
Was it enough? The audience seemed torn. So far I was leaning toward Sutherland, but I knew the heights JTC was capable of. Would he be able to grab the lead for good? What was Jimmy the Carrot going to pull out as his grande finale?
"The Humpty Dance," of course, JTC's signature song. At this point I considered Sutherland ahead by a hair, but it was by no means over, especially considering that JTC often manages to make the goofy Digital Underground tune his own. If he pulled out his top game, it was going to be a tough call.
Jimmy the Carrot's only costume change was the addition of the largest fake nose I've ever seen. It must have been custom-made, the size of a small potato-he had brought out the big guns. Gyrating, jumping about, moving his hips, playing with the audience and rapping, JTC was working as hard as he could. A random young lady jumped up and started dancing with him, and he made the best of it off-the-cuff, dirty dancing and basically spazzing out.
But, therein lay Jimmy the Carrot's downfall. The strain was showing and you could hear it in his voice. Whereas Sutherland's set seemed effortless-he was having fun with the whole thing-Jimmy the Carrot's exertion proved conscious and tense. It was what pushed Sutherland into first place. My fellow judge agreed-Sutherland was the winner.
After the show, when the tension had settled down and was swept into the dusty corners, the random dancer approached me and asked sadly, "Was it my dancing that blew Jimmy the Carrot's chances?" I had to laugh. Of course not. It was a close race, a photo finish with two karaoke thoroughbreds. But, more important, it was a confirmation, an assertion that none of us should go anywhere else, not for a long time.
