My friend went to a birthday party, and Shania Twain was the entertainment!
And the guests seemed...nonplussed? Disinterested? Rude?
The other night my friend Tim texted me a short video clip with the message, “Guess who?” I clicked and up popped a video with the familiar strains of, “Still the One” sung by the legendary Shania Twain, accompanied by a lone backing guitarist. She looked and sounded amazing.
But this short video clip was not from a concert at some ‘enormo-dome’. Rather, my friend was texting me from a lavish birthday party he was attending, a party thrown by a good friend of his who has the means (and good musical taste) to hire a top-shelf star to serenade the crowd for 30 minutes of hits.
But as I rewatched the clip I noticed something disturbing. It was the unmistakable sound of people chatting, loudly. Kibitzing, if you will, schmoozing, at full volume. I got more annoyed as I realized this din seemed to suggest a callous indifference to the fact that Shania Twain, the real Shania Twain, the grammy winning, hit song machine Shania Twain, had been flown in, at great expense by the host no doubt, to entertain the very guests who were treating her as so much background music.
That’s where my friend’s video ended.
But in the fantasy video that follows, I imagine something like this:
The host storms onto the stage, drink in hand, taking the mic from Shania and saying:
Host: “Hey! Hey! (loud microphone feedback) Hey, everyone. Hey! (still some clanking and murmuring) Everyone shut up. Now! (Finally, awkwardly, silence.) Listen. I’m so happy you all came to my party, truly. As you can tell, I’ve gone all out. It’s my birthday.
(A few claps and whoops). No, no! Shut up. Shut up!
Host: As you can see, I invited my favorite artist of all time, Ms. Shania Twain to perform. For you. For all of you to enjoy. And I swear to fucking God, I can’t believe it. Almost all of you are acting like she was some third-rate lounge act offering background music while you stuff your faces with crab cakes, bacon rolled shrimp and top-shelf booze. Are you kidding me? There was only one other person, excluding myself, who was actually listening to the music.
[At this point, the birthday boy points to my friend, Tim, the one who sent me the actual clip of Ms. Twain].
Hey Tim get up here. [Tim looks around, and then realizes he’s the one being summoned]. Come here. [Tim ambles up on stage.] Ms. Twain, this is Tim. Tim, Shania.[They shake hands] Now, everyone else, and I want to make this clear: I am grateful that you all came to my party, but: Everyone: Leave. Except Tim. Tim, don’t go anywhere. The rest of you: Do not take your gift bags, do not grab another drink. Get. Out. See ya.
(A palpable, “Is he serious? Umm, I think he’s serious” vibe ripples through the crowd. In a hush, the guests exit. Shania and Tim stand around, smiling at each other. There is barely a peep. After everyone leaves the host grabs the mic.)
“Hey, catering staff: Come on up to the front. Come on. Please, Ms. Twain, I apologize but please, continue. Everyone: grab a drink, grab a slider. Enjoy! Ms Twain, I believe you’ve got a few more songs to sing before you jet back to Nashville. And if you can throw in ‘Happy Birthday, I’d be grateful.”