London, Wolfman, two friends of theirs, and I joined the throngs at Freak Train last night. As I remembered from my first and only other foray thither, the emcee was the best reason to attend. Most of the performers were bad and not in a good way: rapper Dave, who was permitted two sets, did not enunciate, shoved too many syllables into the wrong cadence, and prolonged about three discrete ideas into each of his five minutes. The emcee followed: "So to sum up, bring the troops home, Dave doesn't give a damn, and Bush doesn't care." A "singer" asked for a reverb(eration) chorus on the microphone, and told the audience he makes his music on his computer and has been showing his CDs around town but had had no response. When he left the stage (after telling us he was looking for bandmates; good luck with that) the emcee described as a mix of Thomas Dolby and Oscar the Grouch, minus the talent. Two stand-ups, one full of fish puns and the other by Bigfoot who finished his act by adapting Michael Richards's recent tirade to the conflict between Sasquatch and human, were laughable but not as they intended.
The best acts were three guitarists, who were okay, and, far surpassing all others, "I Smell Puppets." This last consisted of a seated man with a puppet on each hand, the three of them lip-synching a sped-up electronic version of "Bohemian Rhapsody."
The female emcee I remembered from two years ago, but the other (the one on the left) was new to me. He looked a lot like Topher Grace as Eric Forman in build, hair, face (but not expressions), and some mannerisms. (It was Eric's role as straight man, his faux deference and facial expressions, that reminded me of PLT.)
As at the dog show last winter, the primary purpose of attending Freak Train is to mock. Perhaps, until I get on that stage, I shouldn't. Ha! Of course I will.