a bathing suit. A lesbian, she talked about how much it meant for her to be able to marry her longtime partner. There was, of course, a good bit of delicious discussion about right-wing ideology, and there were stories about her beloved dogs. There was a sweet song about her father, another one about her lover, and (I'd hoped she'd sing this) "Potato" a true tour de force of syllabic stress-play, sung to what I believe is the Mexican Hat Dance. It was a remarkable, intelligent, soulful show.
The audience soaked it up and begged for more, but Wheeler's a no-nonsense gal, and when she was done, she was done. I wanted to meet her more than ever, but in the throng of the lobby, I was overcome with shyness. From the parking lot, I saw her quickstep to her nondescript sedan and climb inside. Then she pulled right up to me to turn around. Here was my chance. . . . Our eyes met. But this little opening act just smiled and said nothing, and Cheryl Wheeler drove away.
Cheryl Wheeler is at the Ark Thursday, April 12.
[Review published April 2007]