Sudetenland Tales by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Sudetenland Tales

Page 74

of “We lived the history, sonny!” A lone harmonica player began a melancholic version of “Green Tambourine” as a confused nurse mistakenly booked Emerson, Lake, and Palmer for next week’s entertainment, not knowing that Emerson and Lake bit the dust more than a decade ago, and the cycle of chaos began anew.

The atmosphere shifted dramatically as a psychedelic fog machine misfired. It’s actually just someone’s humidifier set to “Max,” but it’s illegal to say that. And from behind the curtain draped in tie dye came a fragile but triumphant harmony. The Lemon Pipers had arrived! Velvet jackets, paisley scarves, and one tambourine glinted under a disco ball that still rotated from 1976, working as well as a pre-chipped washer-dryer.

The crowd erupted in ecstatic gasps and spontaneous clapping. Many residents who hadn’t stood up in years were suddenly doing the mashed potato. Billie Joe, nursing a bruise shaped suspiciously like the defunct USAID Peace Corps logo, squinted from backstage as the Pipers eased into “Green Tambourine,” the vibrations of nostalgia palpable, bending time itself.

One resident, who moments ago swore he’d never listen to “these new rock bands,” shed a tear and shouted, “They still got it!” Someone tried to climb onto the stage to offer organic raisins. Billie Joe, ever the punk rebel, returned to stage center and