That Time I Performed as a Singing Rat
Behind the Scene
Songwriters
—
However, many years ago, when I was young and full of joie de vivre, I decided that even if I couldn’t actually afford to see big musical blockbusters, I could have fun wreaking havoc on them. In early 2000, some friends and I staged a protest against New York City’s Cabaret License rules (the “no dancing” laws) outside of the musical Footloose. We wore silly outfits and created a “liberated dance zone” via booty shaking. The cops didn’t come until we tried to dance in the theatre.
With that in mind, on Sunday, June 4, 2000, I headed up to the Winter Garden Theatre to present a sneak preview of my hot new musical to all the ticket holders waiting to get in to see Cats. Wearing a Minnie Mouse dress, and rat ears, nose, and tail, I hopped the train bound for the Theatre District and international stardom. My pal Ennis came along, video camera in tow.
Luckily, tourists were everywhere, and they wanted to take my picture. So I flashed my jazz hands and hammed it up for their lenses. Children waved to me and wanted to shake my hand. I felt like that aged cat in the famous Cats poster. (My editor had to tell me she’s named Grizabella — that’s how little I know about the show!).
I began to sing my first number: “We Don’t Have Thumbs.” The song was a crowd-pleaser. Even the seemingly disaffected Cats ushers who were smoking cigs on their break perked up as I sang, “We don’t have thumbs. Why do you run from us? We don’t have thumbs. Why do you try to kill us? We just want to look at your pretty apartments, but you shove us back into the darkness. We want to be your friends, but you won’t let us, because you’re a bunch of snobbish jackasses. We don’t take up much space. In fact you can barely see us, so why all the mistrust? We can’t even open up your refrigerators. We’re not like other roommates.”
Then I went right into the gangsta-rap single: “Bad Ass Rat Rap.” (Rats was created to have street appeal long before Hamilton). I kicked such phat phrases as, “I like to drink 40s and eat Styrofoam. Turn out the lights and I’ll scurry through your home. Try to lay out a glue trap and your ass’ll get smacked, cuz homey don’t play that!”
Next, I performed “Someone Put an Ear on my Back,” a song about scientists growing a human ear on the back of a rat. (I saw it on Oprah.) For this number, I wore a gray shirt with a fake human ear protruding from the back.
The Winter Garden’s security seemed to be getting antsy. Earlier I had told them that I was doing a “photo shoot,” but failed to mention the musical that went with it. So I skipped the lighthearted numbers and moved directly to the show’s finale: “Put the Glue Traps Away,” which summarized the plot of Rats: the endless struggle between rats and men. As I sang, I did an interpretive dance upon my giant, fake glue trap, pretending to be stuck, writhing to free myself. Unfortunately, gale-force winds were blowing the glue trap off the sidewalk and my rat ears off my head, ruining the illusion. (Just one of the many reasons why I think it should’ve been done inside the Winter Garden.)
Finally, I stood up and took a bow. There was no bouquet of roses, no paparazzi, no wild applause — which all seemed appropriate for a musical about the world’s lowliest creature.
—
Reverend Jen Miller is an Art Star, writer, painter, performer, former Troll Museum curator, Voice of the Downtrodden & Tired, and Patron Saint of the Uncool. She was recently displaced from her longtime Lower East Side home, and is hoping 2017 turns out to be a better year.
Photo courtesy of the author
TDF MEMBERS: Browse our discounted tickets to theatre, dance, and concerts.
REVEREND JEN MILLER