beatle bob

David mentioned yesterday that he'd heard a story on KWMU about a soon to be released documentary about Beatle Bob.
I got to know him through Brian, a Soulard musician I was dating. Beatle Bob always seemed to be around. He never could remember my name, but always seemed happy to see me, called me "Darlin'" and kissed me on the cheek whenever I ran into him. When I was riding the Metrolink to work I would see him at least twice a month on the eastbound morning train, sound asleep with his arms around a plastic grocery bag that seemed to be full of notebooks and papers. I would try to wake him for fear that he would end up at Scott Air Force Base. Bob would look confused and blinky at first, then he'd wake up and tell me about the concert he'd been to last night in a rapid, breathy voice. I always got the impression that his personal hygiene habits were not the best.
The funniest encounter I ever had with Beatle Bob was in the late '90s. My boyfriend Brian had given up on the Soulard music scene and formed a touring Dixie show band with 6 of his friends. The band recorded a live CD, I designed the cover, and we pre-sold the recording to pay for the mastering and duplication. A release party was planned at the Tap Room on a Sunday afternoon.
Dear audience, I can just hear you saying, "Sunday afternoon? For a CD release party?" Let me explain. The main audience for Dixie show bands tend to be in the 60-70 year old range. The band was semi-sponsored by the St. Louis Jazz Club, an organization full of folks who all liked to be home before dark. Hence, the Sunday afternoon throw-down.
I was stationed at the back of the room with a table full of autographed CDs ready to hand out to people who had purchased them earlier and to sell CDs to people who hadn't, when Beatle Bob walked into the room. I was slightly, not entirely surprised. Although it really wasn't Bob's scene at all, he had a great regard for Brian as a musician and was happy to support any of his new ventures. Bob greeted me warmly, kissed me on the cheek and stationed himself right in front of the stage. The old folks were all lined up in chairs waiting for the concert to start.
I cannot describe what it was like watching Beatle Bob trying to dance to St. James Infirmary and Wolverine Blues. I can only tell you, dear reader, that it was a vastly entertaining sight and I apparently was the only person in the place entertained by it.
People started to complain. The old folks had no idea who Beatle Bob was and why he was blocking their view of the band to have what appeared to be a seizure right in front of their eyes.
I tried to placate them with phrases like "He's a nice person and he has a perfect right to dance" but it was just not working. When an elderly man stormed up to my table and began yelling, "Who is that asshole and when is he going to sit down?" I finally gave up. I said, "Well, he's my retarded brother and he just loves to dance." The man's mouth snapped shut. With a horrified look on his face he wheeled around and went back to his seat.
For the rest of the concert I could see a lot of people twisting in their seats to look at me.
I didn't get another complaint all afternoon and sold quite a few sympathy CDs to boot.