Andrea Rocks To The Planet Rock

[Remember how I told you that my parents were going to see Andrea Marcovicci at the Friendly Neighborhood Cabaret this week, but that I'd dodged that particular off-key bullet? No such luck. Dad, who'd rather eat rancid tuna salad out of his own ass than endure cabaret, told Mom that he wasn't gonna go, so Mom invited me. Hey, there was free dinner and drinks in the deal, I like hanging out with her anyway, and I hadn't spent any time at the FNC in the months since Sean left.]

[Dinner was consumed at Brick, the new small plates n' cocktails joint down there at Larkin and Sutter where the venerable dive Tappe's Bar n' Grill used to be. I ate many a hungover breakfast at Tappe's ("Joe's Scramble, hash browns, rye toast, O.J., and keep the coffee coming..."), and can't quite believe how the new proprietors have upscaled the place while keeping the same basic multilevel floor plan. My parents are very into the small plates/tapas concept, and I'm sorry my grandmother died before it really got going; she'd love these places, except for the music. I liked the music OK, especially when "Planet Rock" came mpstmpmpstmping out of the speakers. KFRC, 1981, and me counting down the top 10.]

[Anyway, two Ketel Citron cosmos (me), one hefty gin martini up (her; she was driving back to Sonoma that night), cilantro fries, skate roulade with crabmeat, fancy mac n' cheese (not enough cheese, too many breadcrumbs, and is it just me or should the pasta not be al dente in this dish?) and pork tenderloin medallions with "beet spaetzle" (!) later, we were in a pretty mellow mood. The topic got to sex, which is always weird with one's parental unit. Mom assured me tipsily that, at 64, one does not necessarily dry up. As reassuring as I found that news, I moved quickly to mentioning the safe factoid that Paul McCartney is now 64. Apparently Heather didn't need him, and did leave him.]

[On to the FNC, whose doors I hadn't darkened in many months. As Mom and I stood in line to be seated, I thought of the years I'd spent working in this building, including the months at the host station whither we were making our slow way. It will have been a year next week since my position was eliminated, and it's been surprisingly easy not to look back. I'm not exactly good with change, and tend to hold on to the past more than is good for me, especially when the past seems like it was more fun than the present.]

[Part of what's made letting go of the FNC easy is the fact that I know hardly anyone who works there anymore. Dominic, who tended bar while I was there, is now the bar manager, and we chatted a bit, and I smiled at the sound & light guy, but that was it. I made lots of little, bitchy asides to my mom about how in my day we did this or that differently, but I have to admit that the new production company in charge of the room is making it pay, something we never managed to do. But I think we had more fun.]

[One performer I never thought Rrazz would book is la Marcovicci, since her run last year was a bust, and we all told them how high-maintenance she can be; however, here she was, in all her sentimental, ragged-voiced, horse-toothed glory...and the show appeared to have sold out! She was celebrating twenty years at the FNC, and went out of her way to tell us several times during the show that she was going to be observing the same anniversary at New York's celebrated (overcelebrated, in several performers' opinions) Oak Room.]

[Eh, it was Andrea. I've seen her too many times. There were some good points, but I'll admit my attention wandered. While she did do Sondheim (a pretty good "Send in the Clowns") she omitted her musical version of The Diary Of Anne Frank. (Sandra Bernhard fans will know what I mean.) Mom seemed to enjoy it, and it made a good circle when Andrea broke into "When I'm Sixty-Four." I didn't stick around afterwards in the lobby to see if she remembered me, though.]

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