'Plaint of the Playwright

'Plaint of the Playwright

[ Monday, April 15, 2002 ]

So all the ladies in the house say yeah, yeah. Come on you motherfuckers, say a prayer, prayer. When you fight, you gots to fight fair. You motherfucker, ho, you motherfucker. You know what time it is. Tenacious D time, you motherfucker go. Fuck yeah. We ride with kings on mighty steeds, across the devils plain. We've walked with Jesus and his cross, he did not die in vain, no! Kyle's fingers be silver. Jack's voice then be gold, but lest you think we're vain. We know it's open mic night and we don't care. Tenacious D, we reign! We reign, supreme, oh God! Burrito supreme, and a chicken supreme, and a nacho supreme. Supreme, yeah. Go now Kyle, go now Kyle. Supreme!

Yeah, so this last weekend, Betsy and I go to see Tenacious D in Milwaukee.

(Insert "Laverne And Shirley" theme here, to be interrupted by "What're we doin'?!?! We got tickets to see Tenacious D!!!")

We lucked out, too. We got there a little early, so I was going to kill some time by writing an outline for the final act in my next show.

Then, of course, the security guy took away my pen.

"Well," Betsy said, "I guess it could be used as a weapon..."


We get into the Eagles Ballroom.

Initially, we were in what could be called the third row center--which sounds great, except it wasn't the kind of situation where there were seats--we all were standing.

I'm 5'6".

My wife is 5'4".

We had to move.

Amazingly, we find a spot in the front row. It's in front of one of the speakers, but luckily, since The D is an acoustic two-man band, we don't get the tinnitus we were expecting.

Once the place got filled up, our little space on the fence keeping us from the stage got smaller, and I spend the whole show with my arms around Betsy, or rubbing her back to the beat.

I have never thrown the sign of the devil so many times in one night in my life.

I actually yell "K.G. ROCKS!!!" at Kyle Gass when he comes over near us (he's about five damn feet away, yo).

They play for about two and a half hours.

Oh, yeah, there is an opening group, by the way, called "Home Town Hero." They're pretty good, but aren't received well.

I often wonder why there has to be an opening act--especially when the main band is playing for over two hours.

The problem Home Town Hero had is that the were everything that The D isn't: skinny, young, classicly good-looking, power guitars, thumpin' bass (there's that tinnitus we were waiting for)--and the crowd didn't react well.

During their set, the lead singer throws some of their CDs out to the crowd.

One CD is thrown back--almost hitting the lead guitar.

"Man, that's harsh," my wife says.

Still, back when The D played Madison, the opening act was a band named "DuVall," and they were received worse.

"Why do you even remember the name of that band?" Betsy asks me.

Because someone up front screamed "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU PEOPLE?!?" at the show, during their set.

DuVall leaves the crowd curiously unrocked.

Anyway, The D plays great--this is my second time seeing them, and both times they seem geniunely shocked at the amazing response they get.

What's really astounding to me is two things:

1) I can't think of the last time an all acoustic group got this kind of reception.

2) The whole point of the Tenacious D tv show was that no one liked them--and now, everyone loves them!

I pretended that this was The D's cream dream, and that we were all in it.

Which is why, I think, they're so much fun live.

They showed two short films with them, one about Jack and Kyle going into the desert to take LSD, and another about how Jack makes extra money, why Kyle never has any money, and how the two are disturbingly related.

Afterwards, Betsy and I head back to the hotel, and then spend an hour looking for this place:

The secret password to get into The Safe House is 'Why Don't You Blow Me, You Fuckin' Cop.'

The Safe House, one of the coolest bars in Milwaukee.

There's no front entrance.

The outside is not labeled.

You need to know the password to get in.

If you don't know the password, the security makes you do something embarrassing to get in.

Betsy knows the password, so we enter, unscathed, through a bookcase that slides open, revealing a hallway.

Down the hallway, there is another wall, which, after triggering an automatic sensor, opens the wall, revealing the interior of the bar.

Inside, there is a dance floor, and cool spy and gangster paraphenalia, including lots of James Bond stuff.

"I want to take Raymond here sometime," Betsy says, "He'd love it."

She's talking about Raymond Benson, who's the current James Bond novelist and an old friend of hers. No big suprise, he's a huge James Bond fan. She keeps telling me we have to meet up.

A woman wearing something tight, black, and low cut, comes over with a platter, offering us shots. She speaks with a British accent.

My wife gets something called "Sex On The Beach," which is orange and served in a Nyquil cup. There are also Jello shots, as well as something in a Safe House shot glass that's blue. The server tells us that we can keep the glass if we get it. It's called "The Silencer," and it's five bucks.

Betsy goes for the Sex On The Beach. It's a buck.

What's in that?

"I don't really know," Betsy says. "It's citrusy."

She has two more before we leave out the secret side entrance.

When we get to the hotel, it's after two in the morning. We sleep until 10am.

I don't know how Dave Attell does it.

posted by Rob on 8:12 AM | link



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