Village People
I often find myself in bizarre situations. While most people spend their weekends hanging out with friends, having a beer or a lot, and generally just being well-adjusted, normal adults, I tend to stray from the norm. Take this weekend, for example; I hung out with friends, indulged in some beers, and…assisted the Village People. The real Village People. Like, the Indian, Cowboy, Construction Man, Policeman, Army Man Village People. The YMCA, Macho Man, In the Navy Village People. You get the point, but seriously, my life is weird.
If I was asked to envision my weekend in advance, I’m pretty sure the Village People would not have entered the exosphere of my brain. The last time the Village People made a real impact on my life was during roller skating parties in elementary school, where YMCA was used in some sort of musical chair-like game that involved 7-year-olds scrambling across the rink like intoxicated, one-man wrecking crews. Flash forward 20 years, and instead of fighting my uncoordinated peers to win extra tokens at the roller rink prize counter, I had to fight my way through 20,000 drunk, gay people to safely get the Village People to the stage and dressing room. It’s funny how things change.
At first, it seemed like the Village People were going to be a giant pain in my ass (I struggle to use that term, as they were performing at PrideFest). I really wanted to drink and not worry about the logistics of getting a bunch of near-elderly, costumed men to various locations in Des Moines. They also had a lot of complaints: it’s too cold, the food is not here, the microphones aren’t right, I’m 60+ years old and still dressing up like I’m participating in the longest, ongoing game of Cowboys and Indians. But, after the initial imperfections, I really warmed up to the disguised geriatrics. Plus, their bus driver did disappear, and they had to be cabbed to the stage instead. They dealt with the odd situation very respectably, so props to you, Village People.
My friend and the Indian
When all was said and done, I walked away with a feather from the Indian and some autographs that *might* be worth $5 (seriously, throw out your best offer, but I’m keeping that feather). Also, I can cross “Watch the Village People Perform at a Gay Festival from Backstage” off my bucket list. Phew. I was really worried about that one. Plus, PrideFest was really fun.
Village People Sing YMCA at PrideFest
Related posts:
Well done to you, I’m not sure I could cope with moaning camp pensioners. Glad that they didn’t literally turn into a pain in your ass – what with their failing eye sight it could have all got very nasty for you…although perhaps at their age they might not be that fussy any more
P.S. that is not intended to be an insult, although it does alarmingly sound like one. I would try and explain more but I figure I’m already digging my way into a big enough hole as it is…. So moving swiftly on, or as swiftly as aging pop stars with Zimmer frames can.
Now my question is….was it the original Village people or an alternative – I’m a bit suspicions as the picture on the ticket shows 6 villagers, when there was only ever 4 of them. It might be like “The Drifters”, I heard at one stage there were around 25 “original” Drifters bands touring simultaneously…in order to qualify as “Original” one member of the group you were seeing had to have played alongside one or more members of the original – original drifters (I guess they got through a lot of members in their time).
We seem to be going through a pop time warp at the moment – we almost saw Duran Duran a couple of weeks ago (hope it is rearranged before they die) will be seeing Blondie and Bryan Ferry in July – limbs, teeth and other aspect of their health willing.
There were 3 original members and 3 add-ons. It was definitely easy to pick out the original members; they were the oldest ones. Haha.