“Hey, buddy, can you make an audition tape for me?”
When my best friend JC Fisher uttered those words to me about ten years ago … who knew he’d be well on his way to superstardom a decade later?
And who knew ten years later, I’d be watching him perform in tiny Darlington, England at their century old (olde?) civic theater? From uber-humble beginnings (uh, Pleasant Hope, Missouri — hello?), JC’s vocal talents have served him well. Last year to the day, JC’s group The Texas Tenors were in the finals of “America’s Got Talent”. JC (along with his friends John and Marcus) sang their respective lungs out and now tour around the world.
It was just dumb blind luck that the Tenors would have a UK tour at the exact same time I was visiting across the pond. I booked my trip in March. England was nowhere on their radar at the time. Talk about serendipity. I gathered up my British relatives for a night of knee-slappin’, big belt-buckle-wearin’ music. It was an operatic hootenanny. A classical hoedown. My cousin Angela wanted to make a night of it … and rented a limo to take us to and from the show.
My relatives were over the moon to meet Fishbone. I should really be his publicist as much as I yammer on about him. He’s a definite charmer … with his devastatingly handsome looks and rural politeness. But don’t let that fool you … when he speaks, he’s got a bit of a Missour-ah accent. When he sings, however, he’s got the pipes of Pavarotti.
This was the first time I’ve seen the Tenors show in its entirety. They’ve honed their craft well. I remember JC mentioning this “crazy idea for a show” a few years ago. Three cowpokes singing a hybrid of country-western and opera. I sat through the entire performance with a goofy “attaboy” smile on my face. They go from “Mountain Music” to “Nessun Dorma” without batting an eye. The Brits ate it up with a spoon.
At the intermission, I scooted backstage to give props to the guys. (Uh, apparently, there’s no such thing as security in England.) I told them to “dedicate the Spice Girl portion of the performance in the 2nd half” to me. They looked at me blankly. Apparently, British humor continues to be wasted on Americans.
After the show, the guys grabbed a quick bite to eat with my family. They could not have been nicer or more congenial, or hungry. My cousin Angela swooned over their good looks and mega-watt smiles. I often forget JC has become a “star”. To me, he’ll always be my best friend with small-town Midwestern roots and a strong sense of family.