1 of 10
Photographs by Byron Kerman
2 of 10
3 of 10
4 of 10
5 of 10
6 of 10
7 of 10
8 of 10
9 of 10
10 of 10
There is perhaps no more quintessential artifact of ’70s culture than The Gong Show. It not only makes no sense now, it made no sense when broadcast in the '70s. Noted loon and alleged CIA assassin Chuck Barris acted the fool, introducing pathetic variety act after act, while quasi-pseudo-demi-celebrities like Jaye P. Morgan, Arte Johnson, and Rip Taylor physically fought over whether to strike a gong and end the transitory pain of the moment. Whether it was the Unknown Comic or a pair of young women sucking suggestively on popsicles, the acts on the Gong Show were magnificently tragic.
Tony McCain, bartender at Central West End anchor Herbie’s Vintage ’72, was tasked with creating an amusing open mic night for the bar crowd once a month. He came up with a tribute to the The Gong Show with the key elements of the original: three (local) celebs, a gong, and acts with—ahem—a range of talents.
McCain spoke to me and said, “You never know until the last minute who shows up.” His words would prove prophetic, as the 9:30 p.m. start time inched closer and closer, with but a single act signed up to take the stage.
The evening’s guest host, versatile area trumpeter and ball-of-energy Dawn Weber, canvassed the diners and drinkers with singular purpose.
“Do you have a special talent for The Gong Show? Can you do stand-up? Play the spoons? Do something funny with knives?” she queried table after table, desperation in her voice.
One young father dining with his wife and baby girl responded, “I can changer a diaper.” Please don’t go onstage, I prayed.
Weber accosted me, and I admitted I sometimes sing “Old Man River” in a Caucasian basso profundo while in the shower. She enthusiastically tried to get me to perform. I politely informed her a riot would be bad for business. She said she understood, but informed me that my refusal would have dire consequences: she intended to yank people from the audience onstage without warning, as forced volunteers, to do just about anything. The evening’s desperation would breed an even lower brand of pathos. I licked my chops.
McCain recruits not only amateurs, but actual musicians to serve as a backing band, and local celebs to serve as guests hosts and judges. Last night’s band was a Johnny Cash tribute band called the C-Box Prophets, and the judges were Kelsey Templeton, a manager at the Llewelyn’s Pub across the street; Staci Static, a DJ at HOT 104.1(and McCain’s sister); and Mark Gray, the owner of the Famous Bar.
It was 9:30—time for the show. The C-Box Prophets did slowed-down, twanged-up versions of songs by Creedence Clearwater Revival, the Bee Gees, and Men at Work. Joined by Weber, they did a version of the torch-standard “Fever,” in which she both sang and played the trumpet.
And then, amateur hour: Somehow, McCain and Weber had managed to scare up around a half-dozen acts. One by one, they approached the microphone like a guillotine.
Backed by the band, audience member Tammy did a passable version of Patsy Cline’s “Walking After Midnight.”
Local comedian Alan Oxenhandler pretended to be an Italian with a thick accent named “Tony Vitale” and sang an Italian folk song a cappella.
Mark Youngbauer, “the former winner of a Harry Potter look-alike contest,” played some chicken-scratch R&B guitar with the Prophets.
So far, so average.
But then, we were treated to the one contestant who actually got gonged. “Steven,” one of Weber’s unfortunate last-minute recruits, told three misogynist jokes before getting mercifully gonged by Templeton. He was booed offstage. A sigh of relief issued from all present.
According to Weber, they’re usually a lot more gongings at these things, which is encouraging. I couldn’t have been the only one there hoping to rubberneck at a train wreck.
Each Gong Show features an appearance by Chuck Barris himself. Okay, it’s actually accomplished local actor Joe Hanrahan in one of those fishing caps that Barris wore. Hanrahan introduces an act in the corny Barris style, complete with manically enthusiastic gesticulations, and that act… is none other than Gene, Gene, the Dancing Machine!
Fans of the actual Gong Show will remember the portly gent who danced a slippery dance to fast-paced music in every episode. If Gene didn’t make you smile, you must have been impaired, either with taste or with vision problems.
Gene is portrayed by a man whose name I didn’t catch. He hobbled offstage after his jiggly dance (which was, inexplicably, to a marginally appropriate Led Zeppelin song), clutching an ice bag. He later explained he had fallen on the way to Herbie’s, and was thus unable to really let loose as “Gene.” It was that kind of a night.
Gene was followed by the final act, a belly dancer named Cora Camille, who performed the standard undulations.
Weber announced that Oxenhandler, aka “Tony Vitale,” was the winner. He had already left the building. It was an appropriately “meh” moment.
Where was the horror? The screeching hillbillies in overalls who regularly trod the boards at the televised Gong Show? The breakdancer slowed to uselessness by Quaaludes, the scourge of the ‘70s? The wide-eyed jailbait jiggling her bazonggas to a bouncy beat for a shot at a terribly modest prize and a golden moment of humiliation?
This Gong Show was not good, but it was also not nearly as bad as it could be. McCain would do well to recruit some Krap acts with a capital K. Surely some area hobo can remove his dentures to play “Dixie” on a kazoo, or some such. In retrospect, even a young father changing his baby’s diaper onstage might have set a kind of freaky standard.
The whole thing took just an hour, which is by design. McCain said he wanted the whole evening to be over and done with in an hour’s time each month, and mercifully, it was.
December’s Gong Show (on December 11) is special: it’s a final competition for past Gong Show winners, it’ll last 90 minutes, and it features guest host Jasmine Huda of KMOV Channel 4 news.
Maybe, god willing, someone will fart the “Star-Spangled Banner”—and maybe it will be you.
The Gong Show at Herbie’s Vintage ‘72, second Tuesday of the month, 9:30 p.m. 405 N. Euclid, 314-769-9595, herbies.com.
Photographs by Byron Kerman
