MY MAGIC CARPET RIDE WITH CLAYBy Shirley Romano
So, the troops are getting restless, are they? The Summer Tour is over, and Clay is off somewhere, resting, enjoying his family, conferring with his management company, putting finishing touches on his Christmas album...who knows? That's his business. I just hope this short time off allows him to rest and catch his breath.
But I'm already hearing questions out there. Questions like, "when will Clay record new music...why didn't he include "Touch" in his concerts? What happened to the shirt tug? Why didn't he do a concert in my town? When will he take off the jacket (even the fugly one that we love) then the tie, and ideally even the t-shirt. What's wrong with dropping the belt a few notches, and showing some belly button?
Let's face it, what you're really saying is, "When is he going to turn himself into Lenny Kravitz? Justin Timberlake? Eminem? I've heard it all before. This is what is known as, "after-the-tour-depression-and-anxiety-about-when-we-see-Clay-again" syndrome.
We've only just started singing the "Without You" blues, and we seem to have forgotten all those incredible ballads, that unique voice, those performances with the charm, the sweetness, the honey-dripped conversations, the anger of "I Survived You", as well as the soaring beauty of "Solitaire", echoing the loneliness and regrets of a lost love, and then the perfect joy of "Perfect Day."
We've suffered pangs of jealousy when a beautiful woman came on the stage with him, and he wrapped his arms around her, we've held our breath like nervous mamas when he plunged 150 feet into a net at a state fair, and we've explored our own sensuality when he growled seductively into Quiana's face.
On his night off from performance (sometimes two or three) we've gone through the anguish of separation anxiety, the sense of a light turned off, the sun suddenly eclipsed, and the realization that there is nothing new to download, because we've downloaded everything that has been offered, so we watch our video tapes (thank God for Jay Leno, Jimmy Kimmel, SNL, Oprah, even way back to AI2 performances so that we wouldn't be deprived of that voice and that sweet presence.
And then..hallelujah!! Something’s up at Gonzo's site or Airplay Central or Measure of a Fan, and we are grateful for the opportunity of watching Clay Aiken perform on a different stage, in a different state, with a whole new audience. And there we sit, watching each musical delivery, laughing at his just-between-me-and-you jokes, and comparing this performance with the last one.
Did he deliver his glory note as we hoped? As powerfully as he did in that other town? Waiting to see him move his hands slowly along the mic...here - there - up - down on the instrument that we see as a living form.
And when he does his growl in "I Survived You", (goood luucck) why he has no need to clutch the mic, but clutches the mic when that growl doesn't happen. Oh yes, Clay, I am a close observer. I have still not forgiven him for not singing the words "you Bebe" when he sang "The Way" on the Early Show. Perfection must not be tampered with.
And here comes "Still the One,” and I wait for “scratch my itch,” and the long, flowing, easy strides across the stage, the head high, delivering the voice that causes the girls to call out, "I love you, Clay!"
And in between the downloads, and the performances, in desperation you go to the message boards to read the reviews, ready to take arms against anyone who doesn't agree that Clay is the best thing to happen to music since Crosby, Sinatra, or Elvis.
I read little items of interest, like "Clay mentioned here...review from Houston...Clay at the buses...stadium claims highest sellout crowd ever" and on and on...and I read them all, see all the clips, download all the fan montages and try to imagine myself in the crowds that Clay greets and touches with his hands.
I recall that awful moment when some woman actually grabbed him as though to hold on for dear life, and Jerome removed those clutching hands and freed Clay. But just between you and me, didn't you identify as much with that woman as with Clay for that one startling moment? Surely, she meant no harm. She just wanted to touch him, hug him, or kiss him, as we all want to do.
I was fortunate to attend three of Clay's concerts this summer, but I never went to the buses. I prefer my fantasy life. I take a break from my Clayworld (for the sake of my sanity and to remember there's a real world out there) so I just turn on my television for amusement and sure enough, there's a commercial with Lenny Kravitz, with his low-slung guitar, his tight pants and high heels, and I wait to see if I can get into his groove.
But I realize that I'm thinking about making a note to tape the Regis and Kelly Show because there is a possibility that Clay will be on, and it occurs to me that I am also obsessed along with all of Clay's fans. I face it and accept it and will continue to indulge my fantasies that consist of Clay on Broadway, Clay with his own TV show, Clay starring in a movie, and finding all the success he deserves and the private happiness that I know he needs to fulfill himself.
So, all you restless troops out there, wanting to see Clay do anything other than his own thing, there's plenty of choices. If not Lenny Kravitz, there's always Justin, Nelly or Usher. You can take your pick. The tabloids can give you all the titillation you may possibly need.
I trust in Clay's career choices. He plans to stick around for a couple of decades, and this is done slowly and with great thought to each step up he takes. He knows whom to trust and has great knowledge of his own abilities.
This is the most exciting musical journey that I have ever allowed myself to connect with. The one singer I remember when I was a very young girl was Judy Garland who rocked my world because of her passionate voice and life. I wanted to be a singer, and she had a voice that touched my soul. So I copied her moves, her sounds and I ended up being a poor imitation of an incomparable performer.
And then it was Streisand, who's voice was a true gift from God. But by then I had learned enough to never want to try to sing like her or be anyone but myself. There was Frank Sinatra, the best of his generation for male singers, but always with a tough, concrete wall around him.
Elvis was adored by millions but for some reason had never touched my emotions. My past is strewn with my musical alliances with giants of song, and while they were passionate, they were somehow distant.
My musical journey with Clay Aiken began the first time that I saw and heard him in a public performance, which was AI, much against my will, I must admit. I despised Reality Shows (and still do) refusing to have anything to do with a show that exploits its contestants.
With weeks of urging from my family to watch, because of a really wonderful singer on it that I would appreciate, I gave in and did watch, to stop the nagging, and found Clay. I was mesmerized by his voice and something else; a kind of vulnerability that made me become interested in him on a very intense level.
To be up there, singing before thousands of people, with a voice like heaven, and looking vulnerable was a combination much to hard to resist. I became interested in the singer and the man, and with the coming months, with fame pointing a seductive finger at him, the story of his life unfolded like a flower bud turning it's leaves up to the sun. I knew I was on the trip of a lifetime.
Now the summer tour is over. I go morosely to the message boards and hear little rumblings and grumblings like, "Clay needs new music...when will he include something more sexy...I wouldn't mind if he shook his booty...should I find someone else to obsess over?"
I understand. That empty, gnawing, worrisome feeling has arrived, and what we are all saying is, "Clay, when will we see you again?" But the day is coming. I can feel it in my bones. Clay is planning something for us that will surprise and delight us, and we will return to that comfort zone where Clay is singing and performing as only he can for the whole world, and how lucky I will feel myself for have taken this magical, musical carpet ride along with him.
Your performances on the tour, Clay, were spectacular, and all the wonderful reviews reflect that. You may not see us, but we are all standing and applauding what you have accomplished and what is waiting for you in that vast, beautiful Clay Aiken future.
Thank you, Clay, for my magical carpet ride.
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Write to Shirley Romano at srthespian@earthlink.net
Copyright 2004 by Shirley Romano. Printed with the permission of the writer.
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