Stories about exactly what happened last Thursday night around Fitzgerald's, and Andy Dick's "performance" that night at the indie-rock venue, vary by who you talk to. If you were there, you either hated his stream of consciousness performance, or you loved every second of watching a drunk man slowly peel away at his brain like a onion.
Dick headlined Fitz on Thursday night, playing what was billed as holiday show. Local band Delicious Milk, an all-star group of Houston musicians fixated on mammaries and making a joyful George Thorogood-cum-Rolling Stones sound opened for Dick.
Going on around 11:30 p.m, Dick had an acoustic guitarist with him who tried to turn the comedian's jazzy singing into something tangible, riffing along with his "songs" (some about rape, dipping your genitals in vodka, more rape, and molestation from Santa Claus). The crowd mostly seemed to squirm or laugh, while some yelled for the man to be "funny," which is in the eye of the beholder. The guys looking for a linear comedy show were doing more of the latter.
Personally I liked the unhinged performance, in a "this could be the last time we see him alive" sort of way. I could snicker my way around the material, but the whole time I was wondering if the bottom was about to drop out. I even feel guilty for feeling that way too, which is rare.
As I said to a friend later on that night, if this was him putting us on, he was doing a heck of job. If not, then let's all pray for him, because this can't last forever. When he got in drag halfway through the show for his "Christina Aguilera" character it seemed quaint.
"Oh mother, a man wearing female clothes! What shall we do?" said an imaginary man with a monocle and top hat to his wife.
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At the end of the show, or what he deemed as the end, since he more than likely just tired of performing, Dick walked into the crowd for pictures, hugs, and handshakes. At this point a younger guy in his mid-20s screamed that Dick "killed Phil Hartman," alluding to Dick's allegedly integral participation in the late comedian's death by reacquainting his wife Brynn with drugs.
Rumors swirled that when Dick left the club earlier in the night, he exposed himself at Jimmy's Ice House across the street from Fitz. An HPD cruiser in front of Fitz minutes before Dick's stage time seemed fitting, seeing Dick's history with the law. Word from sources around the block was that the visit was because of something Dick had done at Jimmy's.
In fact the call was regarding the loudness of the band playing downstairs at Fitz, Reverend Peyton's Damn Band, an Indiana-based hepped-up bluegrass act that has a tendency for loud live sets. It was a noise complaint, not a call for Dick's dickish behavior. For once he wasn't in trouble, oddly enough
Staff at Jimmy's said that the comedian had a few beers and told some salty stories, a la his live show, but he didn't whip anything out. He actually had a camera crew with him gathering footage for a pilot he is hoping to sell. No word yet if he startled any of the comely girls and genteel boys in brown loafers sipping their ales across the way at Onion Creek.