Members of the Hartz 4 Orquesta.
They mean well, really…

Q: What do: a German bongo drummer and his gorgeous, animated Italian boyfriend; an overacting Caribbeana with bad blonde weave; a camera guy playing Where’s  Waldo; a ginger Justin Beber wannabe in a chair; a malnourished French Mick Jagger; a stoned woman in bondage-worthy vinyl; a middle aged German wearing Neo’s black trench and playing air viola; a troupe of pretty, gay, Mexican boys dancing in skinny jeans, smiley face t-shirts, and one white glove; too many bow ties and bandanas; microphone feedback; multi-lingual lounge music; awful choreography; 70’s rock; and a dash of 80’s pop, all have in common?  

A: Trash Cinema turned live musical Cabaret and taken on a world tour.  That’s the only explanation I can think of.

For roughly two hours last night it felt like we were trapped at karaoke night on a seniors’ cruise in the Twilight Zone, with lounge music blaring at us and European cabaret rejects doing their best impersonations of Old Blue Eyes and Tina Turner in various languages.  And, of course, we had great seats: right on the aisle, three rows back, exactly at eye level with stage-crotch.  They could see us laughing…

“Don’t laugh.  Just breathe.  Keep it together. They can see me.  They can see me…”

It was hilarious and fun…fun in the way that pulling off a bandaid or picking a scab is fun.  It kind of hurts, but you can’t help being mesmerized.  It was a train wreck in slow motion, with a soundtrack of pure auditory-defilement.

Given that I was expecting to be bored to tears by a stuffy orchestral concert, I’m actually not complaining.  I have a deep, abiding love of awful but heartfelt schlock, and those folks on stage really, really meant what they were doing. Last night’s adventure with Pepita and Jennifer (who lives here, too) was the most fun I’ve had since I got here.  I loved every minute of it, but thank the gods it was a free concert!

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