Everyone Knows It’s Cindy

Everyone has a favorite songstress — that one female singer whose siren song resonates with them, right? Some love Babs. Others cherish Judy or Jennifer Holiday. For me, it’s the blondiful Cindy Wilson from The B-52s. Obviously she’s better known for her weird, gorgeous harmonies with Kate Pierson, but I could listen to her solo efforts all day. (“Ain’t It A Shame”, anyone?) After 30+ years of fan-girling, I think it’s safe to say I have an unwavering obsession with her voice.

In fact, I flew halfway across the country yesterday to see her perform songs from her new, upcoming solo album, the aptly named “Change”. The irony of the title wasn’t lost on me. The music was a big departure from the vibrant punk-pop she sings with the B’s. The Cindy I saw last night didn’t wail like a soul sister or shake the cobwebs loose from the rafters with her vocal prowess. Instead, Cindy’s vocals were thoughtful, ethereal and electronic. One part new age, one part sultry electro-lounge music. Even though the tunes were imminently danceable, there was nary a shriek or growl to be heard.

Nope, this was a slow, smoky Cindy, who has made guitar-twinged electronica her new forte.

Playing behind the band was bright-as-neon, glow-in-the-dark video screen that bathed the audience in artsy, fluid images of Cindy and her bandmates. The performance combined a multi-media experience alongside the music. I glanced up a couple times from Cindy singing to see her on video rhythmically twirling around light bulbs or melding in to DayGlo colors. The crowd was an eclectic mix of hippies and hipsters — fifty-something’s who grew up listening to The B’s and a broad swath of millennials who probably pilfered their parents’ record collection. The crowd swayed and grooved, but rarely sang along. There’s still a hint of new wave in her songs, emphasis on new.

At one point Cindy flung her pink feather boa my way for me to latch onto and we shared a quick song-bond moment. Her shimmery, iridescent eye make-up matched the mood music emanating from the microphone. Breathy, yet brazen.

 

Afterwards there was a casual meet-and-greet. This is the third time I’ve met Cindy. The first time I was so flummoxed, I barely said anything. Plus, it didn’t help that my legs stopped working when I got up to shake her hand. Like, literally, gave out. I like to tell people my knees buckled when I went to greet her, but the truth is, I was so smitten with Cindy I was suddenly struck down with polio. I met her again on my 40th birthday. When I told her she was my favorite singer, she slyly and shyly thanked me and said, “I know.” We stared a brief giggle.

Last night I shook her hand and got a polite hug. I’m proud to announce that we had a nice chat, eye-to-eye. My legs didn’t give out, nor did my ability to formulate words. Her talented, youngish band flanked her afterwards and were just as congenial. At the rate I’m going, Cindy and I are destined to grab coffee soon. I’m dying to chat with her if for no other reason than to hear her 40-year musical back-story. Well, that and her soft-spoken, drips-with-molasses drawl is beguiling.

Thanks for the fab performance and hospitality last night, Cindy. Your music is just as nuanced and esoteric as you are.