Photo: Marc Goldberg.Ĭlutching a brown paper bag which concealed an already-opened bottle, Everett stormed the stage belting an original rock anthem “Come With Me,” one of her brand new songs for this latest stint at the Pub. Ladies and gentlemen, hide the goddamn Chardonnay … Here she comes, it’s Bridget Everett!īridget Everett performing at Joe's Pub, 2018. Covelli abruptly hit the drums, and leaned into his mic:
The Tender Moments-Mike Jackson, Matt Ray, Carmine Covelli, and Danton Boller-slick and anonymous in black suits, took the stage as Miley Cyrus’s 2009 prom-meets-treadmill classic “The Climb” faded out before it had a chance to fade in. Those gifts are exactly what’s fueled the live work for years, although they are sometimes obscured by the sheer audacity of her embodied pro-sex feminism. I watched the premiere three times with different friend clusters, thrilled that Everett, so often a sidekick in her commercial work, had finally been bumped front and center where she belongs, proving herself to be not just be a sensational solo artist, but a sensitive scene partner of depth, dimensionality and extraordinary listening skills.
It featured the NC17-rated chanteuse as a counselor at a home for people with Down syndrome. It was one of the great cultural travesties of 2017 (buried in the travesty that was 2017) that Everett’s Amazon pilot Love You More, wasn’t renewed for more episodes. In 2010, Everett began gigging there with The Tender Moments, and her star has only continued to rise with her appearances in film and television, and as a touring partner for comedienne Amy Schumer. Everett has been a part of my New York consciousness for over a decade, ever since I saw her portray a lovelorn Lynn Cheney pining over Saddam Hussein in Taylor Mac’s Red Tide Blooming in 2006 at the old PS122-the same year she started performing at Joe’s Pub. The synopsis was reductive, but enthusiastic: no small feat at 9:30 on a Monday night. (My review of wage garnishment to follow another day). Waiting for the show to begin after the curtain’s obligatory ten minute hold, a woman at the table adjacent to mine attempted to explain the Bridget Everett Experience to her companion, and I dutifully scrawled my eavesdroppings on the back of a crumpled pay stub intended for a debt collector.
Panning out further, I saw summer-casual wearing homosexuals and attendant gal pals all cheerily doing their part to exceed the two-drink minimum. There sat an array of average-looking 9-to-5ish types straight out of central casting- employees of life, as my friend the artist Becca Blackwell might say. THE NIGHT I CAUGHT BRIDGET EVERETT performing at Joe’s Pub with her band The Tender Moments, the lip of the stage-where brave souls can opt to sit under the tacit agreement that they might not return home with their dignity-looked like a scene lifted directly from a middlebrow empowerment comedy.
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