A Magical Night with Susan Boyle
By Trey Humphreys
To my recollection, I only saw two music shows this past year. Just two. One was the TomorrowWorld Electronic Music Festival with over 300 DJ’s and a billion dollars in lasers, pyro, glow sticks and speakers. The other was Susan Boyle at the Atlanta Symphony place in Midtown. I swear to God.
Ol girl played here in Atlanta about a month ago, which happened to land on the exact day I was having a few beers, conveniently. It was a Sunday afternoon and I was winning a pumpkin-carving contest at a local watering hole when it hit me like a ton of woman…..
I remembered the Susan Boyle concert was that night in Atlanta. How did I know this wonderfall of information? Because of a fantastic phone call with my Aunt Betty whom I had not spoken with in 25 some odd years. The phone call conversation included: 30 dogs, a house fire, Curves, Asperger’s disease and the Susan Boyle Fan Club. However, that is another story for another time.
Fast Forward to the pumpkin contest…
Deep into the carving, I dialed up the only other human being
dumb cool enough to go to the concert with me, Melanie. Thankfully, she owns a delightful sequins dress and one of the most fantastic middle-age-woman wigs on earth. A real gem of a hair piece.
With the pumpkin contest under my belt, I headed home to grab my white tuxedo (with tails). I assumed that is what most folks wear to a Susan Boyle concert. I was wrong.
We got all dolled up and Ubered down the show. We got dropped off at a restaurant called TAP where we ordered two grilled cheese sandwiches and two dirty martinis. Chicken soup for the soul.
As I was consuming vodka and eating a cheese sandwich, an elderly woman in a fantastic half-sequins sweater asked if I was Lance. I assumed she was lost and thought I was her grandson. That or she was the oldest prostitute on earth trying to find her date. Things were looking up…
Post awkward conversation with the old woman, we strolled down to the show and entered the lobby area, which was filled with wheelchairs and Medicare. It felt like I was riding a white horse into the bingo section of a yarn convention. We got some stares.
We hit the box office and made our way to the cheap seats, which were somewhere around 1200 feet above the stage with limited oxygen. It was a miracle the elderly could mange their way up that high with out the aid of sherpas or cranes.
The Curtains unfolded and BOOM! There she was. Except she was a he. And then he sang. LANCE. Whoever that is, sang two songs. He was the opening act and not the 90-year-old prostitute’s date or grandson. Life comes full circle. What?
Side note: Lance, full of spray tan and amazing hair, was the opening act for Susan Boyle. Let that sink in for a moment. That man tours with Susan Boyle.
And then, like a Build-A- Angel from Heaven, she appeared. The crowd exploded. I scanned the audience for heart attacks. She wore a sleeping gown with flowing feathers on the shoulders and a beaming smile. I think. I was pretty drunk and 80,000 feet above the stage.
With the voice of a Scottish angel and the stage presence of a dead plant, she opened with Somewhere over the Rainbow and then Winner Takes All by ABBA. She moved her right arm up and down which was the extent of her choreography. There was no dancing, or moving for that matter. She stood, sang, sat, sang, repeat. Literally.
The guy in front of me played backgammon on his phone.
She even sang the Sarah McLaughlin animal cruelty song. If only the dogs could hear her. Or cats I guess. Cats. What a disaster of an animal. Nevermind.
While half the audience watched her and the other half watched us, we decided to dip out after 10 unbearable songs. I wanted to find her, or get a picture with her, or kiss her on the lips but never got my chance.
Until next time Suzzy, until next time.
Lance’s best friend