I sing in a classic rock band that plays in various bars and casinos. We try to do material that is danceable. Mustang Sally works well in this context. It has a bluesy feel and rarely fails to get people up to dance. The best way to describe the atmosphere surrounding this music is with this true story of our band's last gig.

I was getting ready for a gig and deciding what wear. I wanted to put something on that was venue appropriate. Normally, we play at a higher end casino in Shoreline, but this week the venue was a rustic bar in Ronald, WA. I wasn't sure what to expect. It did occur to me that something too flashy had potential to stir up trouble with a local redneck. Ultimately, because I'm vain, I said, "screw it" and put on a long sleeve button down shirt with some nice threadwork that caught the light a bit.
To get to Ronald, it is a one and a half hour drive from my home in Sammamish. I took I-90 up over the pass and down the other side past Cle-Elum (1,890 people) to Bullfrog Road and wound around through Roslyn (900 people). Ronald is 5 minutes further down the road and one-third Roslyn's size. Since I have an ankle condition that makes it difficult to manipulate the accelerator and my foot is unusually heavy, I was able to shave quite a bit of time off the drive.
As soon as I walked in the door, I noticed Joel, who is one of our guitar players. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt. He looked as if spiders were crawling up his back. What you have to understand about Joel is that he is "cool." He is a good looking red blooded guy with a relaxed demeanor. He isn't going to complain about anything or criticize, because that is how he rolls. But, I could see his "cool" meter was malfunctioning. The needle was fluctuating somewhere between "put out" and "sever panic" like it had a loose wire.
Then I saw our keyboard player. He was wearing a skirt and a blouse. The blouse was very open in the front with a skin toned shirt underneath, presumably to show some cleavage, and some modest padding underneath. Let me tell you, all concerns about my own choice of attire were completely forgotten.
Now Joel was clearly trying to fight back the anxiety that was struggling to percolate through his usually calm demeanor, but you got the sense he was one distraction away from grabbing his guitar and ducking out the door.
After a short discussion, we decided we were going to get our asses kicked. It didn't take long and Joel was asking questions of our band leader. It is confusing, because three of us are named Steve; the keyboard player, myself, and the band leader who plays lead guitar and adds some vocals. I am the other singer and debatably the lead vocalist.
So, our band leader is a recently retired construction worker who could have been a hippie in the 70's and still wears his hair long. He has played in many classic rock bands over the years, but also plays in the church band with Joel, our regular drummer, and myself Sunday mornings. He and the keyboard player have played together for years. So, motioning over toward the keyboards, Joel asked him, "Did you know this was going to happen?" Steve got a funny look on his face, paused, and said, "I kinda had a feeling..." with his voice tapering off. Joel responded, "You knew. You knew and you didn't tell us!"
We have played quite a few gigs together and rehearsed, but I never saw this coming. It is true, Keyboards Steve has a haircut that is a bit fuller and more bowl shaped than you would usually expect to see on a guy, but real musicians never seem to know how to dress. They are caught up in an audio world. "It is all about the music, man!" Unless they are professionally managed, they usually fit in like a penguin in a barnyard. So, I never thought much about it.
Well, we were about done setting up, and a couple more people came in who were clearly guys dressed like women. The bar was also a restaurant. There was a family finishing their dinner at a table right in front of the small stage we were on. The family had two children that were maybe ages 10 and 12 looking around trying to make sense of everything.
Eventually, there were about 30-40 cross dressers there and maybe as many locals. There were also some suburbanite looking out-of-towners who had vacation cabins and such. The place was full of people and some confusion. The locals were confused about the cross-dressers, the cross-dressers were confused at a primal level, and Joel was confused at the lack of communication. But, if Steve had given Joel and I a heads-up, one of us might not have come, and he knew it.
I like to mix with the patrons of the establishment and get to know my audience. So, I talked with some of the locals and bar staff. I found out this particular event had been running each year for the last 10 years. The week after labor day, they celebrate the birthday of a certain ex police chief of one of the local towns who happens to be a cross-dresser. There is a "Marilyn Monroe" show halfway through where one of the guys, dressed as her, sings some songs including the Kennedy version of Happy Birthday.
I was told the cross-dressers were a sort of support group for each other. The wives usually came too. Supposedly, the guys were all straight who just like to put on women's clothing. I had no idea if this was really the case. But notably, they seemed to favor older women's clothes that might have been fashionable in the 60's and managed to simulate double chins. I had to wonder how their wives felt about them rooting around in their closet and putting on their clothes. I wouldn't know if the discovery of their proclivities was a particular concern to them, but I'm sure they were pissed when they realized why their clothes were all stretched out.
But, the Monroe group wasn't the only ones misbehaving. There were two vacationer couples that came in together. The wives were wearing tight figure hugging black shirts. One of them said, "Sorry guys, I eat..." Well, let's just say it implied she was a lesbian. But, I think the slogan was simply meant to ward off attention from the male gender.
The two woman danced in front of the stage with their husbands a bit, but mostly grinded up against each other and sometimes Joel as he played guitar by the door. The stage was too small to fit everyone on and I think he preferred a closer proximity to his car anyway.
A local named Sully had struck up a friendship with a visiting college girl and her friend. They took off together in a four-wheeler to look at his shop. He seemed to be a sort of mechanic, and was very complimentary and grateful for our music. He told us they rarely had live music in town and when they did it was nothing like this. He wanted us to come back and play in his large shop reassuring me we would be paid and everyone in town would come out.
Eventually we ran out of material, so we announced we were done. But, the audience demanded an encore. So, we dredged up a couple more songs before tearing down our equipment. The women of the suburbanite couples told me they really liked my voice and invited me to their cabin. I'm not sure where that was leading, but I declined as graciously as I could. My reasoning could easily fill a book. I know the singer is supposed to be the one that misbehaves, but in truth I rarely do.
It turned out the bar did quite well that night, so we actually got paid. The patrons were very cordial. No-one got in a fight, and Joel, Steve, and I showed up in church the next morning. I don't know what else to say here, but if we are still together next year, I can assure you I will still be dressed as a guy. Till next time.