G: Bring the Kids - PG: Approach With Caution - PG-13: In-Laws, Coworkers Keep Out - R: Wife, In-Laws, Coworkers Definitely Keep Out - X: Probably Something Involving Robert Logan


July 2005

The Man In The Cape

One part of The Mechanics mystique was that we were never seen at any local bands shows. Truth be told, we were more comfortable hanging out with friends at our studio, but it added to our 'top dog' status that bands came to see us, and we never saw anybody. This mystique was thrown out the window when it came to The Man In The Cape. It's now twenty five years later, and I can't recall his or his bands name, but when he played, we were there.

The Man In The Cape was a huge guy, about six foot four, two hundred seventy pounds, with frizzy hair that went just past his shoulders in a pyramid shape. The look was cool, but the cape was the thing. Every show produced a different silk cape, usually with some kind of garish Chinese dragon on the back. The anticipation of what cape he'd wear next was like being a week away from Christmas. It was that heavy.

Our singer Scott and I heard he was playing a huge cul-de-sac party, so in celebration, we consumed two fifths of Jack Daniels, a vial of hash oil, plus four tabs of purple microdot acid. When his band hit the stage (think Dio meets British prog), it was majestic. Paint-peeling shrieks, orgasmic facial gestures, and leaping and landing so hard on the makeshift riser that it almost broke in half.

During their break, Scott and I sensed our chance. We ran up to him like he was in that months Tiger Beat and got right into it. We questioned him about the capes, his sense of style, the 'musk' scents he doused himself in, everything. His face was a study in terror. He kept twisting his body like he had to be somewhere (anywhere) else, made an excuse and took off. We would not be denied our moment with greatness. Knowing we had a better shot if we split up, we took off in opposite directions. At different times, we both caught shots, still in our memories to this day, of him spotting one of us through rows of people, lurching his body and fleeing the other direction. Sadly he was too quick and got away from us. Disillusioned, we spent the rest of the evening under a freeway overpass, drinking more Jack and discussing the merits of his greatness.

Robert Logan, The King »