Outlaw Operatics

Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

Outlaw Operatics

A recent music review assures the reader that a genre known as outlaw country is alive. Presumably someone else thought it was dead.

Outlaw music is an interesting concept – does the guitarist pull out a Colt Navy revolver and rob the audience in E-Flat?

The reviewer at one point mentions that the singer wore blue jeans. Now that’s a surprise, a country-and-western singer in blue jeans. Do you suppose it’ll catch on? That’s rather like observing that James Levine wears full evening dress (a dinner jacket would be so declasse’) while conducting Aida.

Now if James Levine were to conduct Aida in blue jeans and Lucinda Williams were to sing about country lovin’ while wearing white tie and tails, there would be something worth reporting. Since her specialty is outlaw, maybe she could steal the ensemble from James Levine: “Hands up! Gimme them dudey duds, ya varmint!”

Outlaw country – does that mean that the musicians don’t mind if the impresario robs them of their percentage?

Occasionally you see on a pickup a bumper sticker that reads “OUTLAW.” And then you notice that the tags and inspection sticker are up-to-date.

And squeaking of outlaw music, last Saturday night a man in Portland, Oregon sat down in front of the police station and played the violin. Naked. No, the violin wasn’t naked, the man was.

Maybe he lost his G-string.

The genre of the violin music scraped out wasn’t specified – perhaps the creative soul was channeling Charlie Daniels.

The police, trampling on this performance artist’s special need to express his authentic voice through the empowerment of his, like, y’know, specialness by privileging (“Privileging” as a verb – ya like that? I heard it on NPR the other day. Now I feel smart.) his authentic self through nudity, told him to put on his britches and stop acting the fool…um…existentialist.

The man refused, and the police carried him away. Perhaps to a penile colony.

Imagine the thoughts of the lucky officers detailed to cuff and stuff a naked gentleman. The pat-down would have been most interesting. Were there concealed-carry issues?

These officers can tell you what life is really like on the street then there’s a full moon out.

“There are eight million stories in the naked city…”

Sometimes, in a less savory wish-fulfillment moment, one imagines a touch – a mere soupcon - of inappropriate harshness. If Mr. Music doesn’t want to man up and trouser up, Officer Thibodeaux could make a point of reading to the naked perp both his rights and the instruction sheet that comes with an electric cattle prod. And then, one at a time, perhaps even counting them down, Officer Thibodeaux loads a series of batteries – “Three…two…one.…”

And if the free spirit still refuses, then spectators would be treated to the sound of a new invention, the electric violin.

“I dunno, maestro; that sounded a little high-pitched to me.”

Eek.

“Y’know, officer, I’ve seen - and felt - the error of my ways. Would you be so kind as to hand me my dressing gown?”

The only real surprise here is that the exclusive-of-ornamentation street artist was a violinist. Generally, that’s the sort of thing you’d expect from trombonists and trumpeters, putting their brasses all out there.

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