Marty Allen: Perched on high at his mixing board with an eight-foot-tall American flag towering behind him, Eric gave us our first proper sound check -- doing an amazing job really paying attention to what we needed and what we were doing. He loved our crazy act and was particularly moved by the subtlety of the puppeteering and our grossly-inappropriate-for-a-tour-with-Harry-and-the-Potters cover of Oingo Boingo's 'Little Girls.’ Eric, we already miss you!
Jesse: During the show, toward the end of the set, Marty comes up to the puppet stage to talk to Uncle Monsterface. “What’s that Uncle Monsterface?” he asks, listening intently to the little green puppet. “You have something for us? Something super awesome which is going to give us magical powers? Well, where is it?” Showboat that he is, Uncle Monsterface needs to be cajoled by the audience into coming out.
“Do you think Uncle Monsterface should come out?” Thunderous cheers. Uncle Monsterface shakes his head no. “It’s okay, Uncle Monsterface. Come out!” As the puppet ducks inside the theater, the band assures the audience that they should be perfectly safe, but warns them not to look Uncle Monsterface in the eye, and also not to touch his giant, gnashing teeth, and also that in the case of an accident they should indemnify the Monsterface organization and sue the Potters instead.
There are gasps as Uncle Monsterface steps out, gingerly; hands held out in front of him like a child planning to steal cookies, or a shy T-rex. He’s nervous and excited at all the faces there to see him in the crowd. “What do you have for us, Uncle Monsterface?” Marty asks. Uncle Monsterface scratches his head and then it hits him; he pantomimes “A-ha!” with an outstretched index finger, then begins his run around the room, through the crowd, at people, veering wildly, running in place. “Go, go, Monsterface, go!” the band sings as Uncle Monsterface finally finds his prize: three children’s bedsheets that he returns to the band.
“Oh,” Marty says, masking his confused disappointment like a child who’s just gotten socks for Christmas, “You got us some . . . old laundry.”
“It smells like childhood,” James says. “Mostly urine.” Uncle Monsterface holds up a finger: just wait. He lifts a He-Man sheet up and, with great reverence, gently places it over Marty’s shoulders. Marty and the audience “Ooohh!” in sudden understanding.
“They’re capes!” Marty exclaims. With one word, the ordinary has been turned into something magical. The crowd “ahhhs” at the sudden revelation. Sure, it’s supposed to be funny, but didn’t it also really just happen?
Watching them onstage I see the moment -- I hear it when the cheer comes up -- when the audience goes from being entertained to becoming fans. It’s a sense that everyone involved, band and audience, are participating in something bigger than themselves.
It’s a feeling that won’t last too long.
Joe: We arrived at Aunty Kathleen’s house a few hours ago. She squared us away with some of Uncle Joe’s food because he’s out of town. Yum. I’m on the couch. Everyone else is recording the vocals for our songaday. They try to get me to do it but I’m unconscious and thusly uncooperative.
