all words and photos: Mitchell London
…And so it was, dear reader, that our protagonist Madloops Hemerlein revealed the third variation of his musical persona. Gone were the pearl snaps and oversized belt buckle of phase one; in closets the eye glitter and boho ponchos of phase two. This Madloops, clad in the Deep V and chest hair of his native H Street, wore the lessons of his recent spiritual ventures through the untamed jungles of Southeast Asia and slightly-less-untamed countryside of Western Europe right on his beard. Brandishing his holy violin bow like a needle plucked from the pin cushion of God himself, he set to work, manipulating his namesake with his bare feet, adding layer upon layer upon loop upon loop of slow-burning kindling to build his slow-burning mood fire.
And just – dear reader – at the moment of climax, Madloops reduces the hypnotic fire to but a bare arpeggioed glow and whispers something sexy to us in his best sexy singing whisper. Hearts lurch. The masses nearly fall sideways out of their foldable chairs. Madloops, with road-tempered professionalism, spends the next three minutes toying with his prey, adding flashes of guitar and orchestral string flourishes just to rip them away.
Throughout the evening, Madloops was joined by his trusty wizarding accomplice Sorcerer Smith. Sorcerer recently moved from DC to the northern hamlet of Brookland and regaled his audience with many tales from his adopted home. Apparently, the following obstacles stand between Sorcerer and total wizarding enlightenment: TVOTR fandom, white women, gay clubs, the perception that he is not merely an arty wizard but a homosexual, etc.
Sorcerer was characteristically animated throughout his thorough regaling, making full use of the small stage space, gesticulating wildly and pitching his voice high and low.
Also there to entertain were professional-grade court jester Andy Haynes, whose fifteen minutes on engagement, drug use, penury, Machu Picchu, and AA absolutely murdered the audience (if he’s ever near you, go see him), muse and precocious acoustic songstress Cecelia Jeffery, whose songs came from a soulful depth that I could not guess at her age (much less perform), and ivory tickler Terrence Cunningham, whose deep croon and expert ivory tickling brought forth a warmth deep in the souls and loins of the audience.
If you have been to FamHem, the whimsy might make a little sense.* If you haven’t, sorry for the confusion above, but it’s your fault. You’re the one who’s doing it wrong.