Rock And Roll Will Save Your Life - Plot & Excerpts
The Boris McCutcheon Story In the spring of 2003 I went to a Mardi Gras party at the Somerville VFW Hall. These guys started playing. They sounded like a Confederate marching band set loose inside a New Orleans brothel. There were, by my count, only four musicians on the bandstand, but that seemed impossible given the clamor. The drummer kept capping his runs with a sharp clack on the rim of his kit and the result was a delirious urge to bump butts with the person next to you. The hall was sweltering, but the lead singer wore a Sherpa hat with the earflaps down. He had chubby cheeks and a slightly stunned expression. Strangest of all were his lyrics, which he delivered in a drawl of indeterminate origin. Why can’t the whores (clack) blow the dandelions?Why do the girls (clack) always pass me by?I was hurt in an unusual way It made no sense. Except that the melody was a thing of such unbridled goofiness that this final line, serving as a refrain, began to infect the crowd, awakening in each of us the comic potential of our own self-pity, the conviction that we’d suffered some unprecedented romantic injury which our friends and family were simply dying to inspect.
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