Word: jobriath
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Sighing, the reporter goes back to his seat. It's the third night for Jobriath and his lead-in act, Sweet Pie; the Performance Center is half full. The stage is set with lucite/chrome drums, a piano, and various microphones. Stage-rear--for no apparant reason at all--stand three plaster choir boys, cherubic and smiling. The lights 'dim, and a body walks on. It's a man dressed in a morning coat, sandles, sunglasses, hat, and G-string. Period. Sweet Pie holds up an "Ike/Nixon '54" button: "This just shows there were things queerer than me a long time...
Sweet Pie's act lasts a long 45 minutes. Finally it's time for Jobriath. 2001 sounds humm from the amps--combinations of jet planes warming up and the Magical Mystery Tour. "Jo - bri - ath," whispers a cosmic voice. Everything connected with Jobriath is cosmic--metallic frequencied vibrations. The sounds amplify, the ear drums quiver, and suddenly he appears...
From the audience, Jobriath's face looks like a beautiful witch queen's. The blonde hair is short, the profile, feminine. His cheeks are hollow--the envy of any Vogue model. He wears white pants, a silver choker, and white earrings. The stage lights make his skin and body-stocking gleam lavender...
...voice does not match the face. Against the crescendos of two guitars, drums, and piano, Jobriath's voice is strong--Jagger-like in its harshness. "Wherever you are, ahoooooooooooooo." The guitarists, rocking along in giant ski-boot clogs, fill in the "yeh, yeh, yeh's." Jobriath gestures. The movements are familiar: mouth in a circle, eyes wide, the elbows cocked, the wrists limpid, the fingers splayed. The music rises in scintillating shimmers. Jobriath leaps backstage, and returns as a "Space Clown." Pink ruffled mask coyly over his eyes, pink satin G-string in place, Jobriath mimes juggling. He pirouettes gracefully...
...stage is wet with human sweat. Costume change again. Jobriath has less than a minute to peel out of his leotards. Johnson's Baby Powder eases him into a skin-tight, black leatherette suit for the finale. The lapels point upward, framing his face in devilish horns. Gyrating in simulated pain, Jobriath gasps out the words: "Take me, I'm, I'm yours." He collapses against the piano, and the audience applauds. Jobriath gives a usual entertainer's farewell: "Thank you, thank you. Have a nice night. Have a nice life...