The Ever-Loving Virgin Prince

My dear, dear devotees and special spuds,

     Three weeks sober and looky-here! I’ve found my lost post from two months back…



     Oh yes, I've gone and done it. We made it to see DEVO!

     As of a few weeks ago I bought the tickets to the upcoming DEVO show in Oakland and to my very good fortune The Magnificent M came along with me! There we were, up in the front row, against the stage, counting the leg hairs on Mark Mothersbaugh and so close in fact that even the lead singer from Bow Wow Wow (whom I’d prior believed to be dead, but is considerably healthier, even maintaining a fit and attractive body) was looking us in the eyes and making smiley faces at us. Indeed, we were close enough to have been able to see Boojiboy shoving forks into toasters in full detail, if only he had made an appearance; regretfully he did not, save for in the short film the band projected before the show. O, most excited was I; I've been waiting a long, long time to see DEVO. Quite a few years now in fact. I've seen Beck and White Zombie at their peak, I've thrilled to the musical stylings of Allen Ginsberg, I've rocked out with The Who twice, and seen countless other bands along the way, some good, some not so good. My only regret is that I never was able to take in a Johnny Cash performance. More incentive to go to prison I suppose. But now I’ve finally seen DEVO and now my greatest want is finally taken care of! Oh yes!

     My Gomez Addams suit is finally finished as well and I'll be looking damn good for Halloween, which has always been my most favorite of all holidays. I absolutely must give complete thanks and praise to my amour The Magnificent M, who is quite the masterful tailor and seamstress. I can't wait to run around with my black combed and parted hair and mustache (and cigar), and cry "Cara Mia" to all the ladies lurking about so I can watch their hearts melt. Ah, to be young and Gomez; 'tis a good life.

     But that’s not all. No no. Being that I’m always a most prepared individual, I also have a rather swinging backup costume in the form of a new and updated Riddler uniform, considerably much nicer than my Riddler costume of years past. A spiffy new domino mask, a stylin’ green tie and simply smashing new purple shirt, and of course, a sophisticated and rather debonair green derby. It goes without saying that however I may dress on this All Hallows Eve, I’ll be dressed in style and puttin’ on the Ritz. And so I give a warning to all of you: if you don’t want to look thoroughly outclassed and outshined this Halloween, you’d better shower, shave off your unwanted stubble, comb your hair, and put on your Sunday best in addition to your fright masks and devil-horns. Women go crazy for a sharp-dressed man, and The Virgin Prince is the sharpest around! Huzzah!

     Ah, but I suppose you want to hear all about DEVO. Very well then, here goes.

     I left work on the Friday night prior to the concert despite pleas from my friends and coworkers to stay and party with them after work. Normally, on a good Friday we all like to head over to Fiddler’s Green for Bass and Blackbush and a small bit of drunken revelry. As Irish pubs go, Fiddler’s Green isn’t a bad one, even if they don’t carry Middleton’s Irish whiskey. There’s a house band that plays every Friday that never fails to please the audio-receptors of all in attendance, and generally tends to rile up the crowd into a stomp-along of old favorites. I’ve had many a fun eve there, but this night would not be one of them. Sorry old chums, but I had to meet up with The Magnificent M so that we might prepare ourselves for the coming DEVO show.

     Bobo the Virgin Chimp was of course safely locked within his cage, deep within the belly of the Fortress of Fortitude, safely incapacitated by a steadily streaming loop of Oingo Boingo videos, booming forth from the monitor of the Virgincomputer. Even if my simian pal could somehow slip free from his bonds and then manage to pick the locks to his literally gilded cage, he still had to contend with a back-up deterrent of New Order videos set to project on the walls of my lair and blast throughout the cave’s speakers. Even then, if ape still managed to persist on his way to freedom despite all these measures, he still had pass through my trophy room, The Hall of Powdered Wigs, on his way out of the Virginlair. Surely there he would be felled by a never-ending barrage of Tears For Fears, with a particular emphasis on the video in which Roland Orzabal prances around without a shirt. Ha ha, clever ape, The Virgin Prince is more clever still!

     Do I need to mention that once passing that obstacle, Bobo would still have to face Gung-Ho, Bazooka, and Alpine? Probably not.

     As for the Magnificent M’s sidekick, he was with us in her lair, nowhere near as incapacitated. Birdy the Magnificent Cock was happily chirping along, loudly and boisterously as the Magnificent M and I rocked out to Queen. We were all loud, and the beers we sipped and the bottle of Bushmills I polished off to numb my sore throat didn’t help matters any. Okay, so maybe we kept the other tenants of the building up until 4 in the morning. Maybe. No one said anything to us after the fact, however, so I’ll not lose much more sleep than I already did on it.

     We woke up the next morning (or afternoon) much too late. Though we planned on spending the full day before the concert in preparation of total DEVO-tion, by the time we’d gone through our waking ritual and had ourselves breakfast (or lunch) it was pretty much time for us to leave. So we hopped into the M-Mobile and headed off for seedy, shady Oakland.

     We had initially had a rough start as we headed off on our trip to Oakland. The streets around where M resides are winding, circling, and confusing to say the least. We must have made three different starts and then ended up back where we began before we decided to just go the way we knew best. By this point the Magnificent M was starting to go apeshit and the car was running low on gas, so I directed us towards a gas station and bought gas, in the hopes that any sort of nice gesture might calm her down. Not that it did really; I have a really bad habit of hooking up with mentally-unstable ladies with short tempers and an inability to remain calm and rational. With emphasis on the inability to think rationally.

     So we headed off again, back towards Oakland, with my soothing words calming the beast beside me. I did a pretty good job on the navigation, and my tranquil-Buddhist influence helped to keep M level-headed for the rest of the trip, though by this point I was feeling a little stressed, and the inhalation of cigarette smoke had become a necessary thing. We were going to see DEVO, and NOTHING would get me down.

     We made it into Oakland, located the theater and drove around until we found parking a block or two from where the show was. We paid our parking fee, and walked towards the theater to pick up our tickets, passing along the way a homeless man that cried out to us how he’d cut open his thumb on his crack-pipe upon noticing my lit cigarette. Cars passed us by playing DEVO loudly. Oh yes, I was home.

     We picked up our tickets and found that we had still managed to arrive early, and so the Magnificent M suggested that we go back to bar that we had passed a few minutes earlier for drinks. I was in no position to disagree; a shot of something would no doubt completely drive any remaining feelings of tension (caused by the drive over) from me. So we went into the packed bar and restaurant and ordered two Long Island iced teas. As we stood there waiting we noticed there were a ton of DEVO-tees surrounding us, including a noticeable collection of men in lab-coats at the far end of the bar, no doubt dressed to match The Beginning Was the End.

     We arrived back at the theater only to find the show still hadn’t started. There was an area set up for selling drinks downstairs and so the Magnificent M suggested we stop by there too. I was still completely clear-headed at this point and our seating was guaranteed, plus the show still hadn’t yet started so I was inclined to agree. We stood in line, amongst people in energy domes too numerous to count, until finally we were able to buy ourselves a couple of cranberry, orange, and vodka drinks. Along the way I gave M a small lesson in manners (“please” and “thank you” being some of the most unused words in the English language). It was at this point we heard music start to blast throughout the theater and so I knew that Bow Wow Wow had finally hit the stage. I wasn’t there to see Bow Wow Wow, and so I wasn’t too bothered at the thought of missing some of their performance. We stopped into a waiting room and finished our drinks, picking up along the way a small flyer for a DEVO after-party.

     As we made it to the entrance to the performance, an usher took my tickets and led us by the hand up to the very front of the theater and showed us to our seats. Now I knew I’d gotten us good seats, being quite willing to spare no expense, but I had no idea just how good the seats I’d gotten really were. There we were, right in the very front row, practically pressed against the stage, close enough that I could see the drummer giving me the evil eye as we sat down. My DEVO pin was no doubt (heh, that’s an accidental pun. I’ll get to why later) quite visible to all members of this opening act.

     Now I should preface this by saying that when I think of Bow Wow Wow I have but one thing in my mind: just a bunch of skinny, teenaged kids with Mohawks dancing around on the beach, as most of the world knows them due to their I Want Candy video, the only big hit they ever had. As I sat down and looked up, I noticed quite quickly that these were not teenaged children. These were middle-aged men, some mohawked and some bald, bigger and wider than their teenage counterparts, as tends to happen to men as they reach middle-age. This applied to all on stage, save the drummer, as the lead singer hadn’t yet appeared. As for the drummer, I recognized him instantly, due to the fact he was onstage in his underwear, and from the characteristic evil look in his eyes. It was the drummer from No Doubt. The bastard stared me down for a good chunk of the performance, I don’t know why, but I hadn’t received an evil eye like that since Sean Lennon had glared at me while I was dancing in the front row of a Cibo Mato show I had attended some years prior.

     What is it with no-talent hacks always staring me down when I go to see them in concert? Can they tell I see them for the mediocre frauds they are?

     Anyway, to my surprise, I had recognized the drummer long before M had, which was strange in itself, as I’ve never been able to stomach No Doubt, while she, on the other hand, has idolized Gwen Steffani and her crew for years.

     “Hey, is that Adrian Young?” she started asking of the ushers near us. They merely shook their heads and said they didn’t know. With good reason too I suppose: they just worked there; why should they care? We WERE in Oakland after all.

     The music was good however, and I was impressed by the ability of the two guys on guitar. I found myself to be quite surprised, in fact, that Bow Wow Wow had remained only a one-hit-wonder. Before long, the lead singer had joined the band on stage, still quite attractive and in a revealing outfit. As she performed, she constantly smiled at M and myself. I hadn’t received that many smiles from a performer since I’d been in front of the stage at a Greg Kihn performance, he grinning at me with his contorted Yoda-face as I boogied down and got my groove on.

     It was at this point that I started to realize that the booze had hit the Magnificent M considerably harder than myself; I, still clear-headed while she was all over me, an affectionate little monkey with roaming hands. I knew she MUST be drunk, for she was never this happy and friendly generally, and I commented on this matter. Still, I appreciated the affection and enjoyed my company; this was a definite step up from when I had to swat away the drunken, roaming hands of Rush Girl from my genitalia a year or two prior. This was nice affection, clean affection, and most of the activity that followed was appropriate in public.

     As I sat with my hugging, kissing lass, Bow Wow Wow did a rendition of These Boots Are Made For Walking that completely put Jessica Simpson to shame. For that matter, Jessica Simpson isn’t all that talented and that’s not so hard a claim to make; there isn’t a song out there that Jessica Simpson has covered that someone else hasn’t done better. But Bow Wow Wow’s version was rocking and fun, and when they finally got along to doing I Want Candy, the whole audience sang, hollered, and screamed along with them. Once they were done, it was finally time for DEVO.

     Sitting there, waiting, I noticed to my surprise that the Magnificent M and I were younger than the majority of people in attendance. I hadn’t expected this. Though I could understand why older members of society would appreciate DEVO, I simply could not rectify in my head just why more members of the younger generations don’t recognize good bands when they see them. Can you understand part of the reason why I despise such crummy acts as No Doubt?

     After a brief wait, during which some members of Bow Wow Wow came out into the front where we’d been sitting and reacquainted themselves with old friends (which I assumed to be former groupies) in the row behind us, the lights went dark and I knew it was time for DEVO. Oh yes! The familiar DEVO theme music began playing and as the curtains opened, images from throughout DEVO’s entire musical career began being projected on a screen above the stage. There were snippets from videos and old movies, clips from Honda scooter commercials, and random bizarre imagery that DEVO had created themselves. It all began with the beginning scene of The Beginning Was the End, in which Boojiboy came running, and General Boy addressed the public. We were warned to “give the past the slip” and “eliminate the ninnies and the pins”, a message as true now as it was 20 or 30 years ago.

     The members of DEVO burst out onto the stage in their bright yellow paper suits and glowing red energy domes, rocking out in full force. I knew what to expect with them, having already seen their live performance from Lollapalooza 1996, so I knew they would be older, and bigger. But to tell the truth, they didn’t look that bad. Bob 1 was still as thin as he’d ever been, Mark was still in shape and didn’t look as though he’d aged at all in the past 10 years (though bare in mind, in the 10 years prior, he’d aged a lot), though his hair had gotten grayer. Bob 2, whom age had probably most adversely affected, remained mostly quiet to the side, and still didn’t look half as bad as some of the guys from Bow Wow Wow, who were, in actuality, considerably younger. And Gerry… well Gerry I have to comment on.

     This is going to be one of those “spirit of rock and roll” rants.

     Aside from Bob 1, Gerry probably had the youngest face in the band. But here’s the thing: Gerry had a major back injury, a herniated L5 disc to be precise: and what’s more, he had continued to dance and perform with band up until this point, risking paralysis itself. Can you imagine risking permanent paralysis itself, merely to please the fans and rock a little ass? That IS rock and roll. Britney Spears could never touch this.

     So anyway, Jerry was strapped into this giant, lit-up, monolith-looking thing that held him mobile and in place, and allowed him to continue rocking out on the guitar.

     The boys came out and they performed! If they were older, they didn’t show it; they were running up and down the stage and performing like a bunch of energetic youths. Like the Who, they hadn’t allowed their age to mellow them out any, or to dull their ability to perform. They stood up there on the stage before us, rocking out, and I was before them, dancing madly, straining my muscles, singing every last lyric along with them, pounding my fists against the stage until they were sore and numb. As the rest of the audience crowded to the front, behind us, and we all danced madly, it became apparent that we could feel the floor moving back and forth. It was rocking beneath us like an old, creaking buccaneer’s ship, bouncing unsteadily beneath us in response to our movements, almost as if we were jumping on a waterbed.

     It was just me, my favorite band, a few thousand like-minded people, and an affectionate girl on my arm. Life was good.

     DEVO played pretty much all my favorite songs, a few from their early hardcore years (though not as many as I would have liked), and even one song which I didn’t recognize (which caught me by surprise). I called out to a few of the band members during the show, knowing very well that they heard me, and occasionally making eye contact. Mark was energetic on stage, engaging the audience and employing props when necessary. As the show went on they tore their yellow suits to bits and tossed their red hats out into the crowd. The pieces of suit were tossed out as well, and I caught the very last chunk thrown out, which was quite sizeable. At the time, I believed it to have come from Bob 1, who was the only member of the band to have much of any suit left, though I could be wrong on this one. The members of the band likewise threw out their guitar picks every time they finished playing guitar, and the Magnificent M was fortunate enough to fetch herself Bob 1’s personalized guitar pick, complete with his name upon it. This was a quite fortunate find, as Bob 1 is DEVO’s guitarist-extraordinaire.

     As the show went on, the members of Bow Wow Wow kept sticking their heads out to watch DEVO perform. The Magnificent M, on the other hand, had begun making friends with some of the special spuds around us, giving one of her special home-made DEVO pins to a guy in a blue energy dome beside us. When finally the moment I’d been waiting for arrived, that being the playing of Jocko Homo, I was fully entranced. If Mark Mothersbaugh was to come anywhere near me, I would most certainly be screaming, “we are DEVO!” into the microphone. As luck would have it, I happened to be in just the wrong position and so he narrowly bypassed me, but as it would turn out, a lot of people missed their turn. As Mark moved into the row behind me and began climbing on the chairs, I suppose he didn’t realize that all us privileged few in the front row were granted fold-out chairs as opposed to stationary ones. About three chairs in, Marky took a tumble and disappeared from sight. The band kept on playing however, and Mark picked himself back up with a big, wide grin on and hurried back up to the stage.

     Now I know why they wear kneepads.

     O, it was grand, and I didn’t want it to stop, but eventually it was time for them to stop. They put down their guitars and walked offstage, and as they unstrapped Gerry from his platform I felt my heart sink a little. The show had been great, I had no complaints, and I had certainly received my money’s worth; it was just that I didn’t want them to stop. So as the curtains came down I made with the chants, pulling from my mental library one which they probably hadn’t heard since their days playing at San Francisco’s long-gone punk rock super-club Mabuhay Gardens back in 1977.

     “DE-VO, DE-VO,
     We love DE-VO!”

     The Magnificent M quickly joined in and then so did a few others. Quickly, the band ran back out onstage, and Gerry was strapped back into his rig and handed his guitar again. DEVO began playing Come Back Jonee, one of their most punk-rock songs, but Mark was nowhere to be found. After a moment had passed Mark jumped out onstage, in a giant red cowboy hat, fake Yosemite Sam-mustache, and large stuffed red shorts. As he started singing into the microphone, he occasionally smacked himself in the groin, causing small rubber bouncy-balls to fall out from between his legs. They flew all over the stage and rolled towards us, and what didn’t come flying from his shorts, he threw out at the audience. It was a mess of rubber bouncy-balls everywhere you looked. Before long, he’d thrown out his hat too. Our friend in the blue energy dome even helped push M onto the stage so that she might fetch one of her own rubber balls.

     When the show ended, I thanked our buddy in the blue hat for being so cool and helping out M. As a friendly gesture, I tore him off a sizeable piece of my DEVO suit, which I knew he’d appreciate. I didn’t need that much anyway. My large pal, on the other hand, graciously thanked me and gave me a large hug. Well, the Virgin Prince does delight in creating smiles everywhere he goes. Anyway, The Magnificent M and I headed out through the side exit, past the members of Bow Wow Wow, who were still milling about. The way we figured it, we had a DEVO after-party to get to.

     Now I knew from keeping up on my reading that DEVO has a tendency of hanging out with its very special DEVO-tees after shows, and I wanted to go hang with Marky. So M and I found places to urinate, bought some water at a gas station as we were both dehydrated, and I narrowly avoided getting into a confrontation with a homeless man that M was carelessly provoking. My, it must be nice to be the girl sometimes.

     Anyway, after a short bit of driving and looking for parking, we found ourselves at The Radio Bar, which was where the flyer we’d found for the DEVO after-party had directed us. We muscled our way in, and crammed through the many bodies surrounding us up to the bar. Two Coronas later, we squeezed into the back of the bar and tried to get a full gander at where we were at. There was little doubt in my mind that DEVO was not here, and fairly certain feeling that they would not be coming at all. The music being played was most definitely not DEVO, and didn’t even touch on DEVO-esque. I might very well have been completely disappointed, were it not for the bar being lit on fire. M and I danced a bit, smoked a cigarette, finished our beers, and were off.

     I later found out that there had been several after-parties scheduled all in conjunction with DEVO’s performance. Don’t know why the promoters do it that way, but as it worked out, we picked the wrong one. The REAL after-party was in The Stork Club, which was also where DEVO went. I also later found out that had I just followed my buddy in the blue energy dome into the parking lot, I could have simply met DEVO there. Oh well, I wasn’t terribly broken up about it; I will be seeing DEVO again, and there WILL be further opportunities.

     Tired and exhausted, the Magnificent M and I headed for a Denny’s. It was a good night; a fun night. As we sat there eating our cheese-sticks and commenting on what a great time we had, it was decided then that next time we would have to drag the Caroling Canuck and the Red Rightwing with us, as they would certainly have a time they would not forget. Around this time, we noticed the restaurant around us filling up with young kids in System of A Down shirts. Clearly we hadn’t been the only ones at a concert that night. I felt particularly bad for a kid being helped by his friends to the restroom; he’d no doubt done his ankle some damage out in the mosh pit. I know ankle injuries well, an unfortunate byproduct of crime-fighting. After our meal, I paid the bill, tipped the waitress, and we were off, once more, on our way at last to glorious, glorious rest.






     See? Here’s me in the shirt that The Magnificent M handmade for me, plus the homemade DEVO pin she’d given me, and my chunk of DEVO suit in my hand. Jealous aren’t you?

Be seeing you,
The Virgin Prince