I promised myself that I wouldn't put celebrities here, but occasionally when an uncommonly spectacular body steps into the spotlight, "attention must be paid."
There's this guy I saw about a month ago at the Duran Duran concert. Actually, everyone saw him, because he was playing guitar. If you know anything about the band's current line up, you know that this songwriter/musician's name is Warren Cuccurullo...what a mouthful. I mean his name you sluts!
I have not paid much attention to D2 for quite a while, not since "Come Undone." They were moving in a creative direction that strayed from my taste in music. I attended the show because a cute co-worker suggested it, and for the nostalgia value. Besides, one of their previous tours (more than ten years ago?) was entertaining. Every time I mentioned to a friend that I was going, he would invariably say, "You do know that John Taylor has left the group, don't you?" I'm so transparent.
The concert stank, only because the set list was atrocious...too many leisurely paced ballads that no one knew. Virtually everyone in the audience came to revel in the magical hits of the band's past, but the performers were obviously more interested in showcasing the viability of their future. Not necessarily a bad thing, unless you paid for a ticket.
The only thing to save the evening from being a total waste of time and money was Warren Cuccurullo. Did he play well? Did he sing well? Did he have a geranium, in full bloom, sprouting out of the top of his head? Don't ask me. As soon as the boys mounted the stage, all eyes turned to the lead guitarist--a pale Hercules in a black vest. He was breathtaking (a quality that came in handy when they needed the gasp sample for the song "Notorious"). For ninety minutes I saw nothing except SHOULDERS! TRICEPS! PECTORALS! ABDOMINALS!...and more definition than an afternoon with an unabridged dictionary. His proportions were a little off...but in a good way. Some body parts cannot be too big.
He was such a tease about his amazing achievement. Warren's vest afforded only as many flashes of skin required to enslave the entire crowd. Male, female, gay, straight, bisexual, whatever, if he had asked the audience for a blowjob, all of us would have waited patiently for our turn to service him. After the encore as the rest of the band left the stage, Warren removed his black vest, black sunglasses, and black hat then hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his loose-fitting black pants and pushed them to the stage floor. Discreetly censored under a blue, black, and white Speedo, he stood arms up in a glorious pose of victory, absorbing the adoration he deserved.
His body would have impressed me if he were a 25-year-old underwear model. According to his bio, however, he will be 43 in December (1999)! Now that's impressive. He could be the father of a 25-year-old underwear model. I can visualize the whole thing. After the current tour, Dad would fly home to London or Rio. He and his strapping young son would work out together in their fabulously well-appointed home gym, offering fitness tips and the occasional spot for each other. Perhaps a Missing Persons or Duran Duran CD would be playing in the background. The wisdom of the elder Cuccurullo would complement the drive of the son in their harmonious commitment to perfection. Working in close proximity, the authority figure and the eager apprentice would challenge each other to work up a healthy sweat and get a good pump. Daddy would guide the boy...train the boy...help the boy understand that the path to self-knowledge may be painful at first, but the ecstasy that follows will be more than adequate compensation for the initial discomfort. Somebody hand me a fan...or a Kleenex.
As my co-worker and I crept through the post show parking lot exodus, we thought of song titles that we would like to have heard: "A View to a Kill," "Is There Something I Should Know," "Save a Prayer," "New Moon on Monday," "Skin Trade," "Wild Boys." Weighing the disappointing set against one very hot guitarist, I asked myself, "Was the concert worth $35.00?" Certainly, but only if I could have stuffed it into Warren's Speedo, one dollar at a time.
Ranking (9.0-10): 9.5
(Bonus points for a shaved head and smooth torso,
and for co-writing one of my favorite songs, "The Closer that You Get"
when he was in Missing Persons)
Dollar value of an intimate encounter ($200.00-$1,000.00): $200.00
(EEEWWWWW! Groupie germs! He's a musician.
There's no telling where that thing's been.
Manufacturers of prophylactics don't make condoms that are 1/8" thick.
I could raise the amount to $600.00 if no penetration was involved.)
Dollar value of voice ($20.00 per hour spent reading to me): $180.00
(He isn't the lead vocalist for a reason)
Potential for domestic violence (0=make love, not war; 10=dial 911 now!): 4
(I have yet to meet a professional musician that regarded my lack of "coolness"
with anything but contempt.)
For additional observations about life in Charlotte for single gay men, see the One-Man Show.
The Love of My Life--for the month of June
The Love of My Life--for the month of July
No Love of My Life for the Month of August
Lobby/Permanent Collection/Temporary Exhibit
The Tim Kramer Memorial Auditorium/Topiary Maze
Wellbutrin Cafe/Gift Shop
Audio Guide