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Laurie Anderson stood alone in the middle of the room, brandishing a large knife and asking if anybody wanted a piece.
Susan Bass and Lynn Hanlin had just brought out a giant chocolate cake in honor of the performance artist’s 61st birthday, and Anderson had set to cutting pieces while Lou Reed (longtime companion/new spouse) took pictures with his phone.
Yours truly got the first one – even though I tried to politely pass it, a la Milton from Office Space.
Jill Almeida, an old friend from Glenbard West High School back in Illinois (“Fight On, Hilltoppers!”) introduced me.
“He owns Blue Bicycle Books and was trying to get a copy of the 1989 Spoleto program for you,” Jill said.
Laurie was extremely nice and even seemed interested in this non-story of me failing to come through on Jill’s birthday gift. Knife-wielding aside, she was relatively petite, almost pixie-like. I would never have recognized her as the spike-haired techno-wizard chanteuse who had just played Memminger.
On the other hand, Lou Reed looked exactly like Lou Reed, even if you had no idea what he looked like.
Bass always makes sure to set out a performer’s-only table, this one had roast chicken and grape leaves and couscous.
Outside, in the garden of hydrangeas, monkey grass, and a wall coated in creeping fig, fans blew fresh air over a tomato patch and under an old ligustrum tree. Thanks to these mini-mistrals, a Louis Latour Chardonnay, a Southern Rhone-inspired red from Oxford Landing, and the best signature cocktail yet, folks managed to stay pretty cool considering the misery of the afternoon.
The Memminger blackbox had not exactly been an icebox. Walter Crocker, who changes sets there, said that the air conditioning is often turned off during Chamber Music, and can’t go back on during a performance, because it sounds like “a 30-lane bowling alley with everyone bowling strikes at the same time.” So my theory is that the A/C didn’t go on till 3 p.m. yesterday and was still trying to catch up.
Cool as cucumber cream was Elin Cate, who’s looking to quit her day job as a drug researcher and go full time with Charleston Chemist, a line of bath and body products inspired by area aromas. No, not the bluestone in front of Kickin’ Chicken on a Sunday morning in July. More like Confederate Jasmine, cotton fields, and sweet tea.
Edwin Gardner, David Boatwright and Reggie Gibson were in a heated discussion about something — perhaps who should be Buist dad of the year? Geoff Marshall of the Post and Courier podcasts must’ve been driven mad by the heat. He’d gone home for the weekend. To London.
“Just wanted to tickle the homeland,” he said. “Give it a Facebook poke.”
Robert Prioleau (pictured with wife Rachel and friend Marni Durlach, right, also in the penultimage page of your festival program book) and fellow cycling advocate Peter Wilborn (at home, hydrating?) were contemplating riding to Beaufort on Saturday. There were a lot of cyclists on hand: Whitney Powers, Lenny Greene, Harlan Greene (with partner Jonathan Ray), Katherine Saenger.
By midnight Reed and Anderson had long split, reportedly off to SNOB – and so it was safe to play “Walk on the Wild Side.”
Signature cocktail: Rosemary-infused syrup, lemon and gin with a sprig of rosemary.
Cheeses: Whoops. Hey, I got the shot of Lou Reed, okay. Get off my back.
