After a tough day of blogging, I slipped into Starbucks for a short Misto.
"Lots of foam," please I teased the cute young staffer, as I flopped into a big easy chair.
A screenwriter - just an acquaintance - sat with his head buried in his Mac as he struggled over turns-of-phrases and plotlines that obviously zig-zagged this way 'n that.
No fun, at all!
I snatched up the latest copy of Frontiers and came across an interesting newsbite.
In the music section, a reviewer was reporting on a Jobriath release.
"Creatures of the Street"
Ah, my head was flooded with foggy memories from the yesteryear.
The glam rocker was signed with Electra Records in the early seventies.
Through a contact (a roadie with a top band) - I was invited to Provincetown to meet with Jobriath (Boone) who was in search of a couple of singers and dancers to round out his upcoming stage show.
Of course, everyone in the "Big Apple" was familiar with the curious pop star, who was being promoted to the hilt.
There were huge billboards screaming from the rooftops - featuring him in an eerie pose with closely-cropped hair (unusual for the era) - and attired head-to-toe in what appeared to be a form-fitting stretch body stocking.
Was this the androgynous male of the future?
The reviewer at the little gay rag referred to Jobriath as the first "openly-gay" musical act signed on a major label.
Well, in retrospect, that may have been true.
When I crossed paths with Jobriath - his private gay life was firmly entrenched in the closet - except for his stage persona which was flamboyant and somewhat reminiscent of that being projected at the time by scintillating David Bowie.
I vaguely recall one television appearance where Jobriath strode out on stage in an other-worldly outfit - which smacked of a space suit - with shades of Ziggy Stardust written all over it.
In one bizarre unexpected moment - as all eyes stared his way in total disbelief - a helmet-style contraption crowning his head popped open - and petal-like leaves fell in unison to the lower reaches of his strangely beautiful neck.
At the Provincetown cottage he was renting for the summer, I sat in on a couple of the music rehearsals, to get an ear for the futuristic sound.
But, truly, Jobriath and I were worlds apart.
He sat there poised and aloof in a far-off world of his own.
In my long shaggy locks - a-la-Peter Frampton - I was an echo from the past.
We eyed each other suspicously as we staked out our territory for the night ahead.
Needless to say, it was an uncomfortable experience.
Jobriath appeared to be attracted to me - but for some inexplicable reason - the performer found it difficult to reach out and communicate on any significant level.
On the one Saturday Night I was a guest of Jobriath - the band and the singer and I - all trekked off to a local bar in town for a cocktail or two.
When Jobriath stepped into the down-to-earth unassuming watering hole, the patrons reacted like an alien had just alighted in the breezy little piano bar.
He offered to buy me a cocktail, but I declined.
It went downhill from there!
I came away from the experience - a bit envious of the fact that his mentor was tossing oodles of money his way - to promote his career.
In spite of it, his new release couldn't get off the ground.
Unfortunately, his "timing" was off.
The reviewer labeled the album an "adventurous experiment".
And, thought it sad that Jobriath's fantastic potential was never realized.
If anything, Jobriath thought of himself - in my estimation - as a genius who would rock the music world.
Unfortunately, life didn't pan out that way.
Intriguing tale, isn't it?
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