In 1984 the movie Stranger Than Paradise was released, & I became a newly-minted Jim Jarmusch follower. Most of his films I’ve only seen once or twice, but was instantly drawn to his quirky-flat quality of storytelling. That first movie introduced me to someone else as well. A song was played that at first I thought ‘Isn’t that a Credence Clearwater Revival song?’ Then ‘No, Nina Simone?’

Both had recorded it, but neither wrote it. I Put A Spell On You was written & recorded in 1956 by Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, & it was his version that was on the soundtrack. His delivery bordered on maniacal, which in turn made me look up info about him. Apparently lunacy’s a draw. Who knew?

What I found out was his shows were like a throwback to an earlier age. He emerged from a coffin all dolled up in witch doctor garb, with many props & outrageous theatrics. Hmm. I tucked that data away in case he came to town. Realizing he’s got to be pushing 60, I didn’t put too much hope in it. Just a few years later his tour announced a date in Seattle. I’d heard some of his other songs by then & was only mildly amused, but I still wanted to take in the show.

If his theme had been anything else it wouldn’t have piqued my interest. I was on a New Orleans kick for a while, frequenting a tiny Cajun/Creole place in the International District called Fran-Glors. They had a great jukebox & posters from jazz/blues shows in The Big Easy on every square inch of the walls. The food was good, definitely artery-clogging (the cornbread came drenched in butter), but I wasn’t concerned about that then. I loved the crawfish stew & etouffee.

He was playing at The Old Ballard Firehouse. Kim was my girlfriend, & I convinced her we needed to see this show. Filled her in about his act, assured her it would be something different, a memorable night. She told a few friends & 5 of us ended up going. I was amazed they were into it. A novelty act like this? Frankly, I was surprised myself that I wanted to go. But then I’m weird, so that made sense.

It was everything the hype promised, an over-the top silly voodoo-themed lounge act, chock-full of visuals. I don’t know how we swung the invite, but our group of 20-somethings were now going to meet him in his hotel lobby & hang out. Not being the most social person, I’m still intrigued by someone who carves out a strange niche for themselves. Plus I’d never read anything to suggest he was Haitian, so I was curious if stereotyping another culture’s belief system made him even a little squeamish?

The TraveLodge on Aurora was where he was put up. Made sense, he didn’t have a huge following. When we entered we were directed at the desk to go directly to his room. OK, unexpected. But there were 5 of us, & he was over 50. No one could imagine his tours were filled with young women throwing themselves at him. Especially not en masse.

I’ve walked around in the belief I’m the most blatant type of queer. You don’t need gaydar to know. In my mind there’s cartoon flashing lights & clanging over my head like at a railroad crossing. Gender’s a bit hazy, nonetheless something’s hetero-divergent. Makes me skeptical when a straight man makes a pass. There’s gotta be some closeted issues there. Perhaps time they admit it & find an actual male?

So right to the hotel room of an unusual performer who we hoped would be interesting offstage as well. There’s of course not much in the way of seating. One chair & the bed. He says “Please, sit.” One of us takes the lone chair, Kim & I sit as far away to either side of him on the edge of the bed. The rest stand. Still I scrutinized his face for the slightest leer, kept an ear out for the least unwelcome comment.

He makes a point of telling us he’s 57 yrs old. & then he goes into this long spiel about his healthy lifestyle, his workout & diet, how he abstains from alcohol & drugs, ending with his beauty regimen of daily papaya facials. “& that’s why I still look young,” he beams. These weren’t the conversational topics we were after. How can someone put on such an outrageous show & be so dull IRL? Guess that’s why they call it an act.

We started asking questions about his music, how he came up with his stage persona. All talk was pleasant enough & didn’t stray into anything untoward. We were surprised to find out he wasn’t from New Orleans, or anywhere near there. Born in Ohio, lived in Hawaii– when I sprang up & bolted through the door, an expression of fury, images of a severed hand in my head. Wonder what price that would fetch at Marie Laveau’s on Bourbon St?

The rest of my cadre confused but fast on my heels, saying rushed goodbyes & thank yous. When exiting they all look to me with ‘What was that all about?’ faces.

“That man has a long reach” was my initial response. Then I went on “The back of my jacket & shirt were loose enough, a gap…” They still looked at me for clarification. “Because there’s never been a need & I hate them, I don’t wear a bra.”

“Did he–” one starts.

“Hell yes! Creeped his hand up the back of my shirt, reached around & copped a feel,” I confirm. Then I was laughing. Resorting to sneaky grabs = zero game. I was Don Juan compared to this schlub. No wonder he had to come up with a performance gimmick. Witch doctor lacks a charm!

As sleazy things go, it was offensive yet beneath dismemberment. No one should put up with this shit, but I believe it’s the offendee’s choice what’s to be meted out in response. If we’d been standing he’d be doubled over clutching a wounded package. Call it a knee jerk reaction I’ve been eager to deliver ever since junior high school.

He wrote the song; I have the last word. My spell is wicked strong, voodoo dweeb.