Ain't got no mind, etc.

Henry is seriously into Hair. Not the keratinous filaments sprouting from your head, you charming scamp! The American tribal love-rock musical! And let's get this out of the way—yes, I bought the CD of Hair: The Movie with my own well-earned money; yes, I have been known to sing along; yes, I'm a dirty hippie. But you knew that already.



I got him into Hair: The Musical: The Movie to get him out of the Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack, which was his father’s fault, and so here we are. And yes, I know that half the songs are about sex and drugs and sex while on drugs and making drugs while having sex, but we zip right past those songs. I do allow the occasional "orgasm" or "virgin" to slip in there. I'm probably asking for trouble. But then, he's already listened to Bowie; he'll be hooked on drugs before the year is out. I'm pinning all my hopes and dreams on the cat.

Anyway, a while ago Scott pointed out that the lyrics in Hair consist almost exclusively of lists. And now this is all I can think about when I listen to Hair, which we have to do every time we're in the car. Now instead of grooving on the mellow vibes and rock-by-way-of-Broadway stylings, I can only think about the lists. The lists! Why? If Charismatic Hippie Treat Williams isn't naming his many bodily and spiritual assets, then Righteous Black Hippie is tallying the various derogatory synonyms for "black," or Nell Carter and Another Hippie Who Kind of Reminds Me Of That Guy From Ashford and Simpson are specifying all the items they do not have, which come out to quite a lot. One thing they do have in abundance: scarves. That’s why they’re so cheerful!





Because musicals often mirror reality, it’s clear to me that hippies were deeply into itemizing. It was how they kept from slipping into a hashish-induced paranoid funk. "I love a lot of things, man. Brother, I'm gonna enumerate the many things I love, while swooping around with my fan-freaky-tastic Twyla Tharp moves. Dig!"



I love peace and birds!

[kick turn lurch arabesque]

I love songs and beats and words!

[graceful fall into a pile of leaves, afro is covered in twigs, no matter!]

I love drugs and love and shit!

[entwining hands with an ambiguously ethnic, macrame-wearing woman]

I love you, let's all say "tit!"

[all the hippies fall into place]

Tit tit titty-tit tits!

Now we'll all sing about our bits!

[incoherent mumbling]

Aaaand... nipple!

War is bad! WAR IS SAD!

War is bad and sad and makes me mad!

Here are 37 more synonyms for negative feelings we have about war!

Aaaand... fade out.

This is how life was.



In conclusion, I love that movie still and you can't make me not love it, even though Treat Williams has actual caterpillars pinned above his eyes, after he lost his eyebrows in a motorcycle accident.