The Wild side
I wondered when Wilson had had time to compose these. He wrote most of their stuff, and I'd last seen them perform about a month and a half ago.
He must have had help to write all of those in so short a time.
I knew he usually took a while to compose one, refining lyrics over and over. He never treated the process lightly.
And the performance itself . . . Well, Wilson was always flamboyant; it was his trademark. Tonight, I swear, he never stopped moving. Pure energy in human form. He danced, he sauntered, he did cartwheels.
His between-song monologues were hilarious. His singing voice surpassed anything I'd ever heard from him, rich and deep. It resonated in my body. The audience couldn't get enough.
They loved him, and I understood why. No one, even the people who worked there, could take their eyes off the stage.
Except one.