My BF (who lived in Brooklyn, NY at the time & had made a surprise visit) and his best friend appeared on my doorstep one evening, announcing they were taking me to see The Residents perform at a nearby venue! It was during their tour for Demons Dance Alone, which was released in 2002. I quickly got my act together, and off we went.
The show was incredible, of course. There was camo netting everywhere, the singer wore fatigues and a weird half mask. The other members of the group were swathed in such vasty heaps of sheer black material it became opaque, and they had black, gray, white, and silver tubular crin cyber braids
in varied configurations stickin’ out the tops of their heads. Slits musta been cut in the fabric over their eyes; they each wore different strange goggles.
The only dancer I remember was in a devil costume, mask and makeup, like on the cover of the album
I hadn’t heard the album, but the sound was so great I could easily make out the lyrics, and I was dancing my ass off. Far as I could tell, when I’d occasionally open my eyes, only one or two other audience members were dancing. I shook my head, sadly smiling. Dunno how anyone can just stand still when the music is so…moving - rhythmically, lyrically → emotionally, but I was raised by a dancer.
There I was, about ¾ of the way thru the concert, still dancing like mad, eyes shut, transported, when there was a sudden tap on my shoulder. My eyes flew open, and I spun toward whoever it was, only to be met with the devil’s face maybe three inches from mine! We locked eyes, and I grinned. Everyone around us was smiling and laughing, too. I immediately began dancing again, as did he. I closed my eyes again and we danced together for almost the rest of the song.
That was the night I danced with the devil in the pale moonlight.
Or pale stagelight, as my wag of a bassist BF had it this afternoon.
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