Galerie

 

In any event, this incident with the accordions took place at an awards dinner the other evening. As I recall, we had just finished dessert and coffee when the master of ceremonies took to the podium and announced “a special entertainment treat.”

These words alone were enough to chill me, since they usually signal a dog act or someone who plays the spoons on his knee. In this case, however, it was even worse. The next thing we knew, six men and women in lederhosen were strapping on their accordions. Within seconds, I could feel the cold sweat trickle down my back along with the old feeling that generally accompanies accordion music - namely that one is about to go out of one’s mind.

Anyway, as usually happens when accordion players take to the stage, the exits are quickly blocked off. Accordion players know that the audience, left to its own free will, would immediately stampede to the doorway even before the first strains of “Beer Barrel Polka” or “Lady of Spain” fouled the air. So, whenever accordion players perform, they generally hire burly ex—football players or off-duty cops to prevent people from fleeing.

Realizing we were trapped, we settled back to endure 20 minutes of accordion toe-tappers, such as “Volare,” “Roll Out the Barrel” and “Fly Me to the Moon.”

The rest of the program proceeded uneventfully, although the accordion music had left the audience with altogether predictable symptoms: trembling hands, violent nausea and a general feeling of free—floating anxiety.

Here is one thing that I could never figure out about accordion players: Why do they always smile throughout their performances? You would think that, upon realizing the suffering they are inflicting upon an audience, they would wear a properly contrite look and perhaps seek some sort of spiritual absolution later. But no, they stand (or sit) there playing their instruments and smiling, almost as if they were enjoying themselves. Which seems impossible to imagine — unless these accordion players are wearing earplugs. (Some of the newer earp1us, I’m told, are made of flesh—colored polyurethane substance, virtually undetectable to the eye.)

This reminds me of the time I witnessed an accordion player at a wedding do a medley of Rolling Stones hits. In the span of some 20 minutes, he proceeded to chain saw through “Honky Tonk Woman,” “Jumping Jack Flash,” and a dozen other perfectly innocent classics [What, no Eiri Prosit? - Ed.] before eventually being chased from the stage by an angry mob. (The marriage, by the way, lasted about 10 months and the groom to this day blames part of his troubles on “that stupid accordion player she hired.”)

Anyway, when I finally caught up with this accordion player later at the bar - he was sitting all by himself and experimenting with a desultory version of “Satisfaction” — we struck up a conversation of sorts. “That was absolutely the most twisted performance I have ever witnessed,” I said, by way of breaking the ice. “Thank you,” said the accordion player. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Clearly, this gives you some indication of where these people are coming from. Which, if you ask me, might well be another planet.

 

Danzig Report Vol. 1 - Nr. 69 - October - November - December - 1990, Page 28.