Rosencrantz on the skins

Caught the Jerry Lee Lewis concert last Friday at the Folly. And now it is that time in the post for me to tell you that the name of the series of which the concert was a part is Cyprus Avenue Live. (Sorry, an inside-KC joke, and inside-KC public radio, no less.)

We arrived too late for host Bill Shapiro's pre-show chat, but the crowd at The Folly was in great spirits and primed for the Killer's arrival. And since I'm no reviewer I will make no attempt to assess the show. My ears were buzzing at the end of it, which I'm given to understand is the desired effect and why Mr. Crankypants sees so few live rock shows. Past 70 and a teensy bit wobbly, Jerry Lee still managed to whip the crowd into a frenzy. For their part, the crowd didn't seem to want it to end, but that could be because, after 40 minutes they thought there would be a whole lot more shakin' goin' on.

I will foist this appraisal: The four-piece backing band of Memphis musicians was excellent. They came out and warmed up the crowd, each singing lead on a series of songs that were hits before your mother was born. They were loose and tight and hot and very cool. Then the headliner came out and the drummer got me thinking about English literature.

Tom Stoppard wrote a play called Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead about two minor characters from Hamlet. Both characters die in both plays, but in Stoppard's they spend the bulk of the play waiting for Hamlet to show up and pondering their place in the scheme of things.

Up until Bill Shapiro announced Jerry Lee Lewis, the drummer, a big burly guy at least 25 years younger than anybody else on stage, was all over the drum kit and having the time of his life. Once the legend arrived, our hero became a more of a metronome, restricting himself mostly to the snare and the hi-hat. He was a damn fine metronome, but a metronome nonetheless. He also punctuated Jerry Lee's blurry stage patter with the occasional much-needed rimshot.

After the piano bench was summarily kicked (and I mean kicked, the thing rolled over twice, prompting JL to give it the "stay" signal) and the Killer left the stage to wild applause, the drummer came briefly back to life. Once again he was full of pep, all over the kit. He and the rest of the band played out the last song and bolted, grabbing their guitar cases etc. Clearly there would be no encore.

Out, out, brief sideman! Life's but a backing drummer, a poor player
That taps and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.
At least until the next show.