Carnival of Psychos in San Francisco was absolute madness!
Like a camel with two heads pulling in opposite directions, I was faced with a decision after performing in Oakland. I could either take Carnival of Psychos to San Francisco or Los Angeles. After six months of bobbing and weaving, false starts and late night rendezvous, I found myself talking to The Great Star Theater, and the decision was made.
The response from the cast and band to run Carnival of Psychos in San Francisco was overwhelming, again, in two different directions. The circus performers flipped with glee, and half the opera singers and half the band quit the show. In a crazed state, I booked the theater knowing it was a bigger gamble than before considering I was bleeding talent and I only had six weeks to sell a mountain of tickets.
Why The Great Star Theater? It’s an opera house, it has amazing acoustics, a real lighting grid, and, and, and, all the things a ballroom does not. Rehearsals started and I immediately knew things were going to be different. Minor changes shined out. I replaced a tenor with a rapper. I replaced big lungs for a demonic laugh. I replaced a young saxophonist with an aged-like-a-date saxophonist. And it worked. I also threw myself on stage because we were short people and time. Bruises be damned.
Saturday night was absolute madness. All the before mentioned attributes of this theater were on full display and the show lit up like a spinning carousel in the night sky. A psychotic dream emerged—the story of Carnival of Psychos coming to life.
The band blew loud and clear, the opera singers were deadly accurate, the silhouettes multiplied in number and the circus stunts were more bombastic and hilarious. Everyone in the cast and band brought extra sauce and squirted it out on stage. All the hats I wore melted into one glorious wig and the show flew from the insane asylum to the traveling carnival and back again like hungry vultures floating on the desert wind.
After the show an unidentified clown left us a bouquet of dead flowers and a serrated gardening knife tied with white cotton ribbon. “A clown left this for you.” they said. The only other person to give the Hiss dead flowers was the late jazz man, Rob Reich, after the performance of Poison Circus, where he sat in the front and cheered us on—he was supposed to play with us, but didn’t. He brought dead flowers instead. RIP old friend.
The two-headed camel has finally come down from his performance high and the swiveling heads are now seeing eye to eye. San Francisco was the right choice.
The size of the cast and band have proven too large and pricey to tour. Carnival of Psychos will not be visiting your town. In your dreams.
Thank you to all the free and familiar labor who helped stage Carnival of Psychos in San Francisco. You came kicking and screaming and then left speaking gibberish and humming cacophonous tunes under your breath.
