The Mutaytor - 2/10/05 - Avalon

at the side entrance to the club, crunchy was there handing the crew list to security. I rushed up and laid my chin on her shoulder. she pet my head and crossed my name off the list. “everyone’s downstairs,” she said. the stairwell was riddled with hula hoop shrapnel and slumbering fire staff paraphernalia. various mutants primping in rockstar VIP rooms decorated in zebra stripes and long mirrors with big movie star light bulbs, put down their hair falls and glow paint and attacked me one by one with hugs and yelled at me for more hugs which also served to get some paint and make-up from every last one of them on my cheeks and lips. every mutaytor show is like a family reunion, such an exciting sea of acceptance, insanity, talent and love~ I helped with costumes, claimed a corner, laid out my photo gear and lip liner
the lines began forming outside… a lot of civilians who eventually would be leaving as rockstars, no doubt. more mutantz arrived to the dressing room. amy glued a blue star to my forehead. anita showed up with bright purple hair and we all hug her and yelp our love of it as she smiles so wide that her eyes turn into tiny moons. I ran around brattishly whispering into the lenses of the video crew “on fire like…THIS!” “on fire like…THAT!” a photographer from some big magazine was there and posed the girls for a shot, “gimmee sex… sex, you know…” he said… puke and bother and bleck and all thingz bog of stench-like!!!! if EVER I say any such thing like that to a model during a shoot, please someone kill me with a butter knife!
Dj wolfie revved up the house inside as crunchy reigned us in and shut the doors for a pre-smashinating pow-wow. we closed our eyes and breathed. I peeked to snap a few shots of my PRM’s (Pre-Rockinating Mutantz) and then it was AWN! pirates to all masts. Kenny to his aerial rig. drummers to their drums. performers to their axes – hoops, ass gongs, what have you… sex, you know… roo & bryan front and center. Russell ignites them and they become spirograph incarnate, a whirlwind of spinning sexy fire in a routine that I have long since memorized. brady and I wink at each other and then it’s my turn to rock… crunchy would later call me a ninja as I skulk about and creep around under cymbals and between drums trying to steer clear of rushing people on fire coming from all directions, fire in the biblical sense as well as energy wonder… everyone was just flickering inside and off everyone else… it is amazing to watch… mutaytor is a team of grand performers, alive in their reverberating skin, glowing their inner six-fingered circus with precision, reckless abandon and love… I am stirred among them, inspired by not just their antics but their friendship. my camera drinks them like plum wine…
The first set ends and I retreat to the dressing room to recharge my camera. a bottle of scotch is being passed around, cans of energy drinks as well. I drink nothing. I am a camera.
“is that hambonio?” someone asks… and by god, the first performance of the second set is already on… I grab my ax, for better or worse, and fly to the balcony…a frenzy ensues and before I know it, I’m a trigger happy fish, changing memory cards like flapjacks. amy’s flying through the air on a swing like some cracked-out goddess… kate’s now on ass gong…. I can’t click fast enough… mutantz flying from all directions now… whoooosh!
the set ends… everyone is sweating from slapping djembes and playing with fire like children in sandboxes… the curtain falls and rayray walks by us with green maracas. I go crowd hunting. strangers talk to me as if we met before… unsure, I play along… one of them hugs me and says I smell like childhood. another says I smell like candy… must be coming through my pores now, I suppose… candy, that is… and perhaps a touch of childhood…