A Ruby Hill Review: Green Day Still Sucks; Bondage and Drugs Totally Don’t

In all honesty my first reaction upon seeing the television ad for “American Idiot: The Musical” was totally neutral. My doctor later informed me this was because the urge to explosively defecate was canceled out by the opposite action of my body’s attempt to projectile vomit. Nonetheless, the musical was given as an assignment and I strapped on my big-boy booties for a trip to the city. Being a hapless bridge and tunnel person, I found myself at a complete loss when coming off of the New Brunswick train, and took several cabs around the city. This may also have been a result of the amphetamines I had taken to steel myself for the coming task.  I spent quite a time looking for a gigantic banner for the musical, shamelessly advertising it, a tactic that would behoove a band considered “sell-outs” by many ( I also spent an exorbitant amount of time talking to a street vendor who informed me his Gucci bags were in fact real.) Eventually I simply resorted to asking, “Where the show was?”as I’d heard only one musical plays in New York a week. I heard this from a well-informed blog website. I am very internet savvy.

Well, the myths of rude New Yorkers were dispelled when I arrived at an alley in the East Village. A very nice tattooed and balding man informed me that there was a show downstairs. I looked behind him to find what looked like the door to a walk in freezer, graffiti’d to the limit. Oh Green Day! At first I had thought the young men would create some sort of grandiose snooze fest. A stereotypical Bush-bashing cash in with entirely redundant punk tones. But instead this door seemed to show me the rascals had decided to make the event a homey, and personal affair. I gladly paid the man the “fuckin five dollar” entry fee (The ticket prices online were far heftier, but again, I saw this as another every-man salute by a band I thought corporate and soul-less.) and took my seat on a cardboard box next to some men in gas masks.

The show itself was fantastic. America, represented by a slightly overweight woman caked with makeup was brought on stage. Green Day went for a slightly tacky tactic by giving her an American Flag bandanna which was tied around her mouth. The representation was obvious, but I could forgive it for what happened next. With very little fanfare, several men in the front row of the audience stood and surrounded her, the symbol of our country’s face suddenly alert. They were large, bearded gentleman, wearing primarily form fitting leather. My pulse raced as they screamed guttural obscenities that had to have been improvisation. The gas masked audience members  next to me joined in,  moved by the spectacle.  It would be an incredible disappointment to reveal what went on from then, but safe to say, when “America” displayed her gaping orifice, I knew that Green Day had concocted a masterpiece. Here was truly a tale of our history; brutalized by war and inequality, America emerged the victor. Our nation stood as it does now, filled to the brim with the metaphorical melting pot of the immigration era, weeping tears of motherhood. I left the musk filled basement grinning ear to ear, my fist held high in praise to Billie Joe and his fellow band mates. Truly these men are visionaries misunderstood by overly sensitive music-listeners. Let it be known that any lover of musicals, and true performance art would be idiotic not to see this musical immediately. Five stars.

Side Note: I later recovered from what my doctor referred to as narcotic euphoria  and found my way to Broadway. The show was absolute shit.

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