Boxcar Willie
Boxcar Willie, my friends, was one classic son-of-a-bitch. That train whistle noise he makes...that puts the whole thing over the top. You hear that sound and it's all you can do not to jump up and head for the door. Whooo Whoooo! That sucker has got that particular sound effect learned.
Moreover, his fashion sense is ahead of it's time in so many ways that go completely over the head of the whole balcony section of this Branson theater. The badges and buttons that go down the lapels of his jacket combine with those pinned to the brim of his old fishing hat. He's sort of dressed like a hobo but he doesn't look at all like a hobo. He looks like somebody who is trying to look like a hobo, but just barely succeeding.
I'll tell you, John, if you ever get in the mood to hear a train song, just go in my closet and get my copy of his Greatest Hits album and play it in repeat mode for a few hours. You're craving for train songs is going to have it's limits tested, and I put my money on you not wanting to hear another train song for the rest of your life after it's all over.
If you're going to one of Willie's shows you'd better prepare yourself. If you DON'T like train songs I suggest you bring your iPod inside with you so you can tune them out. You'll know them by the powerful and dynamic train whistle blowing skills of Boxcar Willie.
You really get your money's worth when you attend a Boxcar Willie show. Not only do you get the down-on-his-luck train riding miscreant, you also get a shit hot backing band. Second to none in the Branson circuit, these musicians have the talent to pull off this whole train song tribute show that Willie's incapable of doing otherwise.
Boxcar's either a really cool guy in real life, or he's a wife beater. He has a smile that seems inauthentic and it taints his whole expression. It gives him the look of a wanted man. But every time he tries to tell a joke you can practically feel the tension of those in the audience who are wondering if it's appropriate to laugh during some point in this debacle. Someone needs to tell me. I see him smiling. I can tell he's pleased with himself.
Then again, it is just as easy to imagine him as the tough guy in situations which revolve around the torture and physical abuse of a very pretty woman. His raw, bleeding knuckles didn't get there by themselves. He puts on the oxygen mask and breathes in the nitrous oxide, everything looks fine now. It all seems so much nicer. But he breaks the hushed, awed quietness of the moment by screaming at the top of his lungs:
"CLOSURE! CLOSURE! CLOSURE!
No comments:
Post a Comment