As I sped along the mighty CA-22 last Friday, en route to the lovely Sun Theatre of Anaheim, I found myself deeply immersed in thought. Here I was about to see the 1980’s relic known as Tom Tom Club, whose eponymous debut record was so brilliantly vibrant and so delightfully different from the scads of pop records that came before and after. The Tom Toms’ sound was so hip and funky, I reasoned, that surely a new generation of listeners would have picked up on the group, and would not condemn me to an evening surrounded by decrepit, old fogies, desperately reaching out to grab ahold of the long-lost counterculture that they had corporatized so many years past. However, a greater part of myself knew the latter scenario to be more likely, a part of myself that is seldom wrong when applied to such pessimistic musings.
So the club began to swell to about half-capacity, and lo and behold, I personally represented about 25% of the room contingency that was below the age of 40. Comprising the other 75% was the cryptically named trio Livehuman, who had the pleasure of warming up the lightly-wrinkled crowd, although it must be presumed that approximately 100 freshly squeezed tubes of Ben Gay had a hand in that task as well. Livehuman, which consisted of a DJ combined with live drums and a standup bass, pinched equally from the jazzy hip hop stylings of Check Your Head-era Beastie Boys and the primordial grandeur of UNKLE, but provided an entertaining if not somewhat repetitive set. I had the pleasure of sitting across the table from two overly sauced baby-boomers, one of whom showed her affinity for Livehuman’s performance by providing them with a one-woman standing ovation.
At last the house lights dimmed to a mysterious purple hue, and the Tom Tom Club, consisting of Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz, rhythm section of the lamented, legendary Talking Heads, and five other somewhat aged musicians, rolled out onto the stage to the great appreciation of the audience, most of whom left their walkers with their nurses and began shuffling down to the stage, condensing into a sort of geriatric dance pit.
I had the privilege of being seated in close proximity to a kindly, middle-aged gentleman who felt the rhythm beating so fiercely in his bones that a, dare I say, tribal urge possessed him to tuck his golf-shirt into his slacks and begin dancing like crazy in the middle of the aisle. He busted out every move that his arthritic skeleton would permit, and really let his receding mullet of graying curls hang out. This, perhaps, is a tribute to the quasi-magical properties of the Tom Tom Club’s rollicking melodies and get-down grooves, for they obviously were responsible for lighting the kindling of long-dormant feelings in his loins that set off a burning inferno in his booty.
When the Club burst into their classic hit, “The Genius of Love,” everybody that was left sitting had to get on the dance floor. I spotted one woman dragging her reluctant (and thoroughly embarrassed) son along with her. All the excitement sent several of the octogenarians reeling back to their chairs at the song’s close, summoning the eagerly compliant waiters to bring them tidings of strawberry daiquiris and Super Poli-Grip.
Deep into the performance, Weymouth rhetorically asked “do you feel sexy?” and was answered with an ambiguous murmur. Unfazed, the group tore into a rapturous rendition of Hot Chocolate’s disco-staple, “You Sexy Thing,” to which the folks on the floor showed their gratefulness by launching several flabby arms into the air.
The Tom Tom Club closed out their set with a frenzied version of the eccentric “Wordy Rappinghood,” and by now there was another thoroughly drunken old codger seated across from me and providing a wildly animated interpretive dance from his chair. Feverishly applauding and chanting “we won’t stop,” the audience coerced the Tom Toms back onstage for a brief encore medley, which interpolated a cover of ? and the Mysterians’ “96 Tears” with Al Green’s provocative “Take Me to the River.” The second tune was probably more of a send up to the spirit of the Talking Heads than to Green, but the crowd was willing to take it on either term.
With that, the Sun Theatre began to empty, as everybody grabbed their canes and spectacles and got ready for the trip back to the convalescent home.
By Casey Lombardo
Long Beach Union
Originally printed 10.30.00
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