Vexation Lullaby (13 page)

Matt Powell

Dear Matt,

Great artists reinvent themselves. Do they do this in order to disorient their fans? No. They do it so that they don't die. They do it to keep their eyes and ears open. Why do so many great bands emerge when the members are in their early twenties? Because the musicians have just invented themselves. Why do so few of those bands endure? Because they try to maintain the status quo.

I am not the frog in your analogy. I am the pan. Cross is the fire. Think about it.

Best,

Arthur Pennyman

Pennymaker,

What are the chances he'll play “Fountain-Headed Mistress” again? You said he played the opening bars last year in Savannah. Do you think that was a mistake or a tease? I've been eyeing the Ann Arbor stop. I keep thinking about that line, “
she twisted her neck on Minerva Street.
” There's a Minerva Road in Ann Arbor! I used to live right around the corner. If I can swing a cheap flight I might go. Your thoughts?

Your friend,

A. R. Muniz

Dear A. R. Muniz,

I don't think anyone expects him to play “F.H.M.” again. Before Savannah, he stopped midway through at the Vancouver Music Fest (8/12/95). Some people think he finds the song too painful to play. But he plays “Hours of Trespass” all the time and that's about his brother's death. I tend to think he doesn't trust the song. I haven't heard anyone place the song anywhere before, so I suppose Ann Arbor's a possibility. If he plays it and you're not there, you'll kick yourself.

Best,

Arthur Pennyman

Fellow Traveler,

When will Mr. Cross come back Japan? It has been a very long time.

Sincerely,

Yukio

Dear Yukio,

You're right. It's been too long. I don't follow the Japanese economy very closely, but hasn't there been a recession? Perhaps the Powers That Be are waiting for the economy to rebound.

Best,

Arthur Pennyman

Dear Mr. Pennyman,

My name is Teresa South. I'm doing Performance Studies in the Anthropology Department at the University of Utah. Currently I am conducting research on fanatics (fans). A colleague directed me to your site. If you have a few moments, would you please answer the following questions? Your answers, unless you specify otherwise, will be anonymous. Thank you in advance:

1. How long have you been a fan of Jim Cross?
   
2. How many hours a week do you spend on activities related to Jim Cross?
   
3. Are you personally acquainted with Jim Cross?
   
4. Has your fandom affected your personal relationships?
   
5. Do you follow sports?
   
6. Do you think Jim Cross would recognize you on the street?
   
7. Can you imagine a circumstance that would cause you to stop being a fan? Describe.
   
8. About what percentage of your income do you spend on Jim Cross-- related activities?
   
9. (Optional) Have you ever been treated for or diagnosed with a mental illness?
   

If you have any questions or concerns, I would be glad to answer them. If you wish to speak with my faculty advisor, I'm happy to put you in touch with them.

Thank you.

Teresa South

P.S. My middle name is Calico. And, yes, after “Calico Floozy”! My parents didn't realize that most people know the song title, but aren't aware that Calico is not a floozy, but very chaste.

Dear Teresa,

What an interesting subject. I am more than happy to respond to your questionnaire.

1. Like most people, I can't really identify a time before I knew Cross's music—it might surprise you to know that I haven't always been a fan. In fact, I didn't connect to his music until I saw him perform a live show.
   
2. The short answer is that I spend all of my hours on Cross, easily seventy to eighty hours each week.
   
3. I met Cross for the first time on 4/26/91, at a Mexican restaurant called La Noche in San Antonio. Sadly the restaurant has since been renovated into a cat hospital. He was having dinner with his stage manager and a woman I didn't recognize. He was very friendly.
   
4. I don't have space (and you don't have time) for me to answer this question. The short answer is: profoundly.
   
5. I watch football games on occasion, but I would not say I follow the sport.
   
6. On the street? How about from a few blocks away. As of today I have seen Jimmy perform 2317 live concerts. He would probably recognize me even if I wore a disguise.
   
7. In 1996, I was in a car accident outside of Flagstaff, Arizona, that fractured my left tibia. I saw the show that night and the next day I drove a rental car to Las Vegas. Not to be insensitive, but the closest I've come to missing a show was after 9/11. Cross played Chicago on 9/10 and flew to Miami that night. I was scheduled to fly at midday the next day, but, of course, the flights were canceled. I would have missed that show, but Cross didn't perform—there was a feeling that six thousand people under one roof for a concert would be disrespectful; plus we'd be sitting ducks for the terrorists.
   
8. I spent 100% of my personal wealth following his tour. More recently, I have spent approximately 60% of an inheritance to continue this project. Should Cross tour into his eighties, I will almost certainly be destitute.
   
9. I think you should reconsider whether you want to ask this question of your subjects. For one thing, if a certain number of people happen to answer in the positive, then you will find yourself in the position of reinforcing what I think to be a rather hurtful stereotype (that fans are nuts). Second, I don't see how it relates to the other questions. It comes out of the blue. Has your advisor looked at this questionnaire? Does he or she approve? And why, if you're going to bother asking, do you say it's “Optional”?
   

Sorry if that the last question triggered such a strong response. Please don't get the impression that I resented your email. This was a lot of fun!

Best,

Arthur Pennyman

There are also a number of emails that I do not respond to. I've included some below:

Jimmy smokes dog cock. Neil Young Rules.

(A bully, my father used to say, is a person who punches someone when they want to punch themselves. Neil Young Guy is a man in Oklahoma.
¹⁹
He emails at least once a week. “Don't point at the monkeys in the zoo,” was the advice offered by Captain Bisquick,
²⁰
my informal tour mentor during my first year on the road. In CB's formulation, a “monkey” was anybody not on tour, while the “zoo” was the cage everyone's life tended toward. One didn't point because reminding the monkeys they were caged only inflamed them.)

Dear Mr. Pennyman,

We are writing to update you on our continued search for Kathleen Potts, our only daughter. As you may remember, she has not been seen nor heard from since July 8, 2002. Credit card records show she purchased a ticket for the Jim Cross concert that night (like you, she is a big fan of the musician). We know also that she had rented a hotel room within walking distance of the concert hall.

My husband and I have attached a picture of Kathleen to this email. If you see her, please call us immediately. There is a $15,000 reward for information that leads us to her. If you'd be willing, we'd like to send you more copies of the Missing Person poster.

Thank you again for your time,

Ellen and Dale Potts

(Maybe something terrible happened. Or maybe she doesn't want to be found. I've looked at the picture many times. If I saw her, I believe I'd recognize her. But what I'd do then, I can't say. Though they don't mention it in their note, Kathleen was twenty-five when she disappeared. She'd be thirty-three now. I don't reply because I've got no news for them and the last thing they need is for me to feed them hope.)

26

At ten the next morning, Peter said good-bye to his condo and his charmless car and took a cab to the Regency. He brought a large roller suitcase stuffed with clothes and personal effects. A smaller carry-on contained—in addition to the memorabilia—basic medical supplies: nitrile exam gloves, gauze and tape, burn dressing, two compressions bandage, a glucose meter, an IV kit, one bag of glucose, one bag of sodium chloride, one bag of Hespan, one bag of sterile water, a blood pressure cuff, a penlight, two insulin pens and two epinephrine pens, heat packs and cold packs, an intubation kit, a suture kit, a portable pulse oximeter, a stethoscope, a CPR mask, Ativan and tramadol, ibuprofen and Ambien, an infrared thermometer. He had enough space left over for the portable defibrillator that the band's insurance rider required travel with Cross.

Peter had agreed to meet Bluto in the hotel's lobby at ten-thirty, but the manager was nowhere to be seen. The elevators kept burping out people in suits and ties.

A few minutes after eleven, the elevator shuddered to a stop and a bellhop wrestled two overloaded brass carts into the lobby. He towed the luggage past the front desk, out a side door, and parked it beside the valet station.

“You been here long?” Bluto wore a maroon tracksuit that made him look like a tick. His smooth cheeks looked slapped.

“Not too long,” Peter said.

“You ready to get your cherry popped?”

“Something like that.”

“I'll tell you when we're ready to go.”

Peter looked toward the hotel's entrance. A glossy black bus had pulled up to the curb. As he watched, the driver went around unlatching the side compartments.

“You want a hand?”

“Don't be a Boy Scout.” The tour manager rolled Peter's luggage outside, shaking his head.

At eleven-thirty Peter's phone buzzed. Bluto asked, “Where are you?”

The driver waited by the door of the bus, gray curls stuck out beneath a Greek fisherman's cap. Peter introduced himself. “Okay,” the man said, “don't make us late.”

Two booths and a deep leather sofa constituted a little lounge at the front of the coach. Bluto sat in the second booth, a sheaf of spreadsheets and a laptop in front of him. A heavy blue curtain blocked off the rest of the bus

“Is it just us?” Peter asked.

Bluto hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “The rest of the inmates are getting some undeserved rest.”

“Should I say hello to Mr. Cross?”

Bluto checked his watch. “Mr. Cross is in California.”

Peter wished he'd brought a magazine.

The driver took his seat and closed the front door. “We clear for takeoff?” he asked.

Without looking up, Bluto said, “Kick it.”

A few miles outside of Buffalo, a barefoot kid in a chef's hounds- tooth slacks and a black T-shirt emerged from behind the curtain. He slid into the booth across from Bluto.

“You need something?” the road manager asked, still tapping away at his computer.

The kid pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and flattened it on the table.

“I'm not reading that,” Bluto said.

“Bj
ö
rk's percussionist has a donkey jawbone. I want one.”

“Where do I find something like that?”

“I don't know. Iceland?”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, who's the golfer?”

The manager cleared his throat, turned ever so slightly toward Peter. “Dr. Silver is a friend of Jimmy's.”

Peter said, “Hello.”

“Is he cool?”

“He's a board-certified doctor, if that's what you mean.”

The kid pulled at his lip. “You're not a journalist?”

“I'm a hospitalist.”

“I sit behind the plates,” the kid said. “Name's Albert.”

Bluto took the kid's note and shoved it in his pocket. “If you show the doctor around when we get to the joint, I'll have Wayne track down your thing.”

Albert slid out from the booth, stopping in front of Peter. “I'll see you later, donkey bone.”

•••

Bluto said, “His girlfriend is a famous Polish conceptual artist.”

“I don't know any Polish conceptual artists.”

“I've met her a few times. She looks about fifty because she was born under communism.”

“How old is he?”

“Albert turns twenty next month.” Bluto looked up and smiled. “Not bad for a kid who was homeschooled in a van.”

The bus started to rattle as the driver swung them toward an exit ramp.

“Should we talk about your expectations for my role on the tour?”

Bluto closed his laptop. “Let's be clear, I don't
have
any expectations. I do, however, have a rule: don't make us late. I'm paid to babysit the band. People not in the band need to be self-sufficient. Wayne will give you a copy of the itinerary each morning. Don't lose it.”

“Is there an itinerary for today?”

“Don't take this the wrong way, but we sort of overlooked you.”

Martin had warned Peter that the music industry was, in many ways, the inverse of the health care industry. While the health care industry valued order and discipline, the music world revered disorder and risk. When he was on his way to a gig with the Steel Retractors, Martin made it a point not to wear his seat belt; he believed that acts of self-preservation were fundamentally antithetical to strapping on a guitar. Of course, Martin's car weighed five thousand pounds and, in the event of an accident, he'd find himself cocooned in ten Teutonic air bags. If Martin wanted to embrace the rock-and-roll spirit, Peter thought, he ought to buy a motorcycle.

“Do me a favor,” Bluto said, “don't tell Jimmy that we forgot about you.”

Peter asked when he might see the musician.

“You're having dinner with him.”

The bus shuddered to a halt alongside a row of hooded parking meters. The driver turned on the intercom: “Welcome to Buffalo, Lake Erie's asshole.”

27

I've been looking forward to Buffalo ever since the show was announced. Cross is appearing at the Stanley Opera Center, a refurbished Beaux Arts showplace.
²¹
The building has a great story. In the sixties, in disrepair, the original Wurlitzer organ was entombed in a plywood box, while the stage (where Caruso sang!) was walled off to create a movie screen. But a few years ago a new ownership group set about restoring the place. They brought in artisans to repaint the house-sized frescoes that bracket the stage. From the crimson velvet wallpaper to the soap powder dispensers in the washrooms, the place is period correct. The brass pipes of the organ give off a nautical gleam.