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Text : Kristin Colyar
Corey Feldman is pretty sure he knows what
you think of him. You're there because you saw "COREY FELDMAN
(of the Lost Boys and Stand By Me)" in the paper
and everyone loves a train wreck. He knows you probably chose
between him and the other one when you were nine, eleven,
thirteen. He knows you've read the papers, and he knows you're
making jokes about Michael Jackson.
So you go to the smoky club and you're sure
you need a drink, and the opening band invokes his name and
wonders aloud whether anyone has yet met Corey Feldman tonight.
The crowd is milling in and out of the back room, waitingto
see him too.
And then: Corey Feldman takes the stage
following each member of his band, The Truth Movement, and
stands with his back to the crowd, and then the bass line
starts and Corey Feldman throws his hands in the air, turns
around defiantly and growls the first refrain into the mic
that’s gripped in his fists. He looks to the left to his bassist,
who looks either frightened or surprised under a blond shaggy
mop of hair, and jumps to his microphone like it's an afterthought.
Corey Feldman looks to his right at the guy on rhythm guitar,
who is busy staring at the floor and doing his best to figure
out just what the hell he's doing with this outfit, and then
he turns around and looks at his back-up singer with the big
blonde hair, who looks back at him like they share a secret
and she really wants the whole crowd to know it.
So you're watching the crowd as much as
you're watching Corey Feldman and you watch their eyes widen,
and you watch them look at each other and smile or giggle
as they watch him pantomime all the genuine rock star moves.
Corey Feldman bumps and grinds to a funk-filled backbeat,
he throws kisses, he pulls out a harmonica and blows breathy
screeches through it. His back-up singer wiggles her shoulders
and shakes her ass, and the guy on rhythm guitar continues
to stare at the floor.
Corey Feldman has strikes against him. But
you paid ten bucks to get in tonight, and the house was packed
when he opened his set. You're screaming while he shrugs his
rock star leather off his shoulders and you're hooting when
he strips off his mesh shirt.
There's a song called "De-pressed," Corey
Feldman's big "Fuck You" to the reporters and rags
he holds at least partially responsible for making his career
so difficult to hold on to. There's a song from his new album
that plays a little bit at being influenced by hip-hop, and
as he's in the middle of it, you overhear from behind you,
"Is he rapping? Tell me he's not rapping."
Still, Corey Feldman has a thick skin and
a good sense of humor. He announces his cover of Spinal
Tap's "Big Bottoms" even as he's watching the crowd dwindle.
But half the crowd stays, and Corey Feldman
is either totally oblivious or thinking one or all of three
things:
a.) I know what they think
b.) I don't give a fuck
c.) Fuck yeah, where's Corey Haim NOW?
He gives you an encore of a raspy "Stand
By Me," thanks you, and says good night. Corey Feldman is
living his stoic Rock & Roll Dream.
-- Kristin Colyar
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