Second, you need an idea, any idea at all. As Cathy settles into a blues riff, Keith brainstorms. It doesn't take him long. With a reporter looking on, the obvious thing to do is to turn the tables and sing about her underwear. The song doesn't really have much to do with undergarments; one line wonders, "That little blond bitch / when's she ever gonna get hitched?" Cathy is struck with the entrepreneurial possibilities of such an idea: They could write songs about people and charge them $25.
Keith continues to spew rambling, narrative, occasionally rhyming lyrics -- this time about Cathy and her secret lover, who happens to be, you guessed it, the reporter. Cathy's songs take some planning, but Keith's are almost all improvisational. Cathy usually writes down his lyrics and teaches them back to him. But today, thankfully, everyone is laughing too much to write anything down.
Deron Neblett
Dreaming of a crass Christmas: Slump on stage.
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"I'm kind of hard to work with," Keith admits.
"Yeah," says Cathy, "but I work with children."
Kids say what's on their mind. Kids are spontaneous and open and clever and creative. Kids are also naughty. "It all comes from the same place," says Cathy. "We're just like them. We say 'poop' and then we laugh."
The preschool teacher and the kid who wouldn't grow up started saying "poop" at open mike nights around town, crawling all over each other and making weird noises. At the Westheimer Street Festival, Cathy sold opportunities to touch her G-spot, a giant "G" with a spot on it. Keith sold his five-minute paintings (with a lifetime guarantee) until he ran out of them; then he peddled "magic" pennies for $1. They planned an Andy Kaufman tribute and then forgot about it until a preview of the show came out in the Press. They had to scramble to find women for Keith to wrestle.
But they also continued to perform with Infernal Bridegroom Productions, and some of their biggest crowds were at postplay parties. "We got our start playing for other artists and musicians, playing for 'the scene,' " says Keith. "People who do art now are their own patrons." He thinks this makes the work less marketable but more honest. This honesty may turn out to be the most marketable thing about Slump. Keith and Cathy are getting real gigs now at real bars like Rudyard's, Mary Jane's and the Mausoleum. And Slump's audience is expanding beyond art scene insiders to the general band-watching public.
"Yeah, they sing about a lot of nasty stuff, but there's just a generosity of spirit oozing out of both of them," says IBP artistic director Jason Nodler. "It's supposed to be awful, and instead it's just really pleasing."
This relative success has let Slump dare to dream. If he gets rich and famous, Keith wants to start his own "transgenic corporation," supplying the world with fuzzy plants, tiny elephants and friendly monkeys. Cathy is, as usual, a bit more realistic: Maybe they'll get to be on Saturday Night Live.
Keith says they call themselves Slump because "We're in a slump, and we're celebrating it." But it's not true. Since Keith and Cathy found Slump, their slumps seem to be behind them.
The Slump Christmas Show has come to a rare quiet moment, and Cathy announces in the singsong voice of a Montessori teacher that it's time for Santa to tell a story. Keith pulls out a big picture book and holds it up so the crowd can see its crude, childlike drawings. The story concerns a Santa born with an affliction, a "giant red boner." Keith pokes a long fabric-covered finger through a hole in the book that happens to line up with baby Santa's crotch.
Santa was a friendly guy and everything, but that boner was just more than most folks could handle, and St. Nick spent most of his life being chased out of various countries. Germans, Canadians and Mexicans alike didn't want him around. But Jesus, seeing Santa's plight, came down from heaven and suggested that Santa try the North Pole. After all, the North Pole is the coldest place on earth. Perhaps Santa's boner would shrink there. It did, until he met Mrs. Claus, already an inhabitant of the pole. Then Santa's boner grew and grew. Fortunately Mrs. Claus liked it, and they lived happily ever after. To thank Jesus for his help, Santa gave presents to all the children of the world.
That Keith himself is dressed as Santa is no coincidence. The Slump Christmas story is a bit autobiographical. Keith's affliction is not a giant red boner, but something even more difficult to conceal: a larger-than-life personality and a sense of humor that some villagers would rather run out of town. But in Houston he has found his North Pole, a Mrs. Claus named Cathy and a crowd of over-21 children to entertain.
Slump performs on Saturday, February 3, at Rudyard's, 2010 Waugh Drive. For more information, call (713)521-0521. To get on the band's mailing list, send e-mail to slump@mail.com.
