Elf Shoes

Brought to you by my latest Rockapella road trip.

I went to La Crosse, WI, to see Rockapella on Tuesday. If you're not a Rockapella fan, you really don't care how the concert was, and if you are a fan, you already know: sing, applaud, banter; repeat. Here's the highlights anyway.

It was a relatively easy drive through rain and green fields. I took a wrong turn getting off the highway and had to backtrack, but once I made it into town, I was fine. I found the venue and my hotel in short order. I'd hoped to spend some time exploring the riverfront and the historic downtown, but the weather, like my childhood dancing teacher, was 40ish and bitter, so I did it mostly by car.

My rambles didn't take long, so I spent the rest of the afternoon in my room watching various incarnations of Law & Order. I ate a great burger and fries in the hotel restaurant — more beef than I normally consume in a week — and made it to the venue in plenty of time to snap and e-mail photos of the marquee to friends who couldn't come. Not that I'd rub it in or anything.

In the lobby I met up with some fellow fans who had heard that there were unclaimed seats close to the stage. On their advice, I requested an upgrade. A $6 fee got me from halfway up the balcony to second row center. Woo! It was prime paparazzi territory, but photos were no-nos and my Treo screen was too bright for me to sneak any, so I chickened out. (At intermission, my buddies moved into two empty seats behind me and kicked the back of mine every time the band did something funny.) I ended up sitting close enough to the speakers to take each of the vocal percussionist's plosives personally.

Concert time. As always, the singing was spectacular, the choreography cheeky, the drummer perfect, the bass sexy, and the lead singer clothed in three different (visible) varieties of stripes, not counting the veins bulging in his neck when he went for the high notes. He was also wearing some sort of long, pointy Beatles tribute footwear that looked like nothing so much as elf shoes. Given that said lead singer is a wee sprite of a man, about 5'5" and 130 pounds on a good day, and has been known to refer to himself as a pixie, the image was more than a little funny to me.

Tenor #2, his famous hair so freshly shorn you could hardly see the curl, had to restart an early number after the bass gave him the wrong note with the pitchpipe. This is an a cappella band, you know, so there's no instrumental melody line to get them back on track. If they miss a starting pitch, they take a mulligan, or it turns into a train wreck pretty quickly.

The do-over number was "Dancing in the Streets," one of numerous cornball tunes Rockapella revitalizes with innovative arrangements and damn fine singing. Tenor #2, who likes to take it dancing in the seats, hopped down off the stage and disappeared into the row behind me. I turned to find him, and suddenly my eyes were inches from the back side of a very nice suit. When he brushed against me as he turned, his eyes widened. I gave him a little wave. He stooped to rub my shoulder in quick apology, though he'd certainly done me no harm. His Broadway voice is much more dangerous than his booty. That boy is LOUD up close!

Exactly how good are these guys? The lead elf has crafted an arrangement of "It's a Small World After All" that's actually fun to listen to. True talent.

Image of the evening: Audience participation victim Nicole being chased across the stage by the lead singer's deadly derriere. He was trying to get her to bump hips with him, but every time he threw one at her, she took a giant step backward. He can bump and cover considerable ground at the same time, so she was almost running. "Help! Save me from the tiny tushie!" Or maybe it was the scary elf shoes.

Oh, and I've finally figured out where the bass man stores his hotness: in his dimples. My second-row seat rumbled happily as he showed off his range, starting a verse of "We Three Kings" so low it caused the building to shift on its foundation.

They concluded with an off-mic medley of "Up on the Roof" and "Don't Know Much About History," or whatever that song is. The percussionist, singing rather than drumming for this final number, looked so stiff and concerned trying to hold still that I wanted to pat him on the arm and tell him he could groove again soon. I was able to pick his diamond notes out of the harmony, though, and I have just two words to say about it: SING MORE. You could focus lasers through that voice, it's so clear.

The band signed autographs and posed for photos in the lobby after the show. Tenor #2 squinted at me like he thought he should recognize me, but I didn't remind him he'd been shaking his moneymaker in my face an hour ago. That's just not the sort of thing I can say to a guy who looks like a junior high English teacher.

And that was it. I parted company with my fan friends, whom I probably won't see until Rockapella makes another of its rare forays into the Midwest, and returned to the hotel.

I found a great diner for breakfast the next morning. First, the waitress brought my cinnamon roll. It was at least 6 inches in diameter and swimming in icing. I ate maybe a third of it. Then she brought my biscuits, at least 6 inches in diameter and swimming in sausage gravy. I ate nearly half. Price: $6.33 plus tip.

I had an easy drive home and reached Sensational Acres around noon. The cats were glad to see me, and I was glad to be seen. Then it was time to go check the tour schedule to see when I can do it all again.

BTW, there are rumors (unsubstantiated by official sources at this point) that my boyz may be performing in Jefferson City, MO, in December and Goodyear, AZ, in January. If you live anywhere near either of those places, you should go. Sister-san, Wrong Way Aunties, I'm talking to you.

Today around the world: April 28 is Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day in the U.S. and Day of Mourning for Persons Killed or Injured in the Workplace in Canada. I am not making this up.