I thought I'd never get to see this. If it hadn't been for Jim F. (thank you!), I would never have known it was available here. I knew there was a "Live in Tokyo" concert released on videodisc in Japan, but not until very recently did I hear The Nylons had started selling it on DVD at their concerts. I jumped on eBay. There it was. I ordered it, waited impatiently for it to arrive, got it last week, waited even more impatiently for an evening I could sit down and watch the darn thing.
Then I worried--not much, but a little--that I wouldn't like it. I'd gotten into The Nylons at thirteen. A lot changes in eighteen years. And besides that, could it possibly live up to my expectations of The Only Chance I'd Ever Get to See Marc Connors in Concert?
I'm happy to report I found the DVD unspeakingly wonderful. In fact, I appreciate it more than I would have had I gotten hold of it in my first blush of fandom. Then, I would have tried to defend every aspect of it as High Art. Now I can see how it is sublime and ridiculous both at once. It is breathtaking. It is very, very silly. And that's what makes it so great.
Everything from the paint-splattered matching suits (with neon shirts and shoes to match the shirts) to the pantyhose trailing down the mike cords creates a playful, let's-put-on-a-show spirit--fitting for a bunch of actors and a Platter. But even though they're done with a wink, the performances are unbelievable. Take the first song, "Me and the Boys," a history of the band in four-part harmony. Each of the boys--Paul Cooper, Marc Connors, Arnold Robinson and Claude Morrison--take a turn explaining how they came together to make a little noise. It's a study in miniature of the band's strengths. Paul wrote it; the words, melody, rhythm, everything are full of verve. It's such a great number I've heard a cover version (which is silly because it's Nylon-specific, and specific even to these four Nylons, none of the other incarnations of the band)! Marc shows off his versatility by purring some lines and powerhousing others. Bassman Arnold goes basement to rooftop and Claude hits notes only dogs can hear. And you never miss hearing a backup band, nor do you notice they're working without a net. It's just the four of them, just their voices and their moves, they've got nothing to hide behind, but they nail it. No cheesiness to their presentation can disguise what brilliant performers they are.
Not to say they'll quit being cheesy. They do "Bop 'Til You Drop," another Paul original, with what I can only call a waggle dance at the "shake it 'til you break it" bit. Oh, it's hilarious--but you know what? It's also irresistible. I was watching it with an eight year old and she HAD to dance.
A few songs are done without a wink. One of them is "Up on the Roof." Most people reading this already know how I feel about this song. Not even the puzzling addition of a stars-racing-past-your-spaceship digital effect can break the spell. Marc finds and delivers every nuance of every line; he is not singing so much as inhabiting a meditation on everyday grace. And now that he's gone, it's a song about mortality too, about how fragile and vulnerable beauty is. At the end the lights go out and everyone breathes and only then can they start to clap.
And then there are songs that are neither campy nor serious, nor are they like anything else anyone else could ever do. As many times as I have heard "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," it will always sound like it's from another planet. "Up the Ladder to the Roof," though its ending is shakier than on record, is exuberance embodied. "Don't you wanna go? Don't you wanna go? Don't you wanna go?" they sing, but they don't have to ask more than once, and to tell the truth--from the first note, we're already there.