Concert Review: Rush Rush to the Gay-0

Rumor has it that Debbie Harry was the first choice for Daryl Hannah's role in "Blade Runner. " Funny, then, that when I saw her at the 9:30 Club last tuesday she was looking more like Rutger Hauer. I guess that's why she goes by Deborah these days- to promote an actual Debbie Harry show would qualify as false advertising.

Its not like I expected to see the fresh-faced sex symbol of the eighties, but Debbie's beauty was so legendary that the ravages of time were particularly evident on her visage. Walking into the show several minutes late, I initially thought that I was watching the opener. I couldn't connect the 62 year-old woman in the electric-blue dress with the icon behind "Dreaming." I was in a half-full club watching a woman with a wispy bleached bouffant shuffle around awkwardly to the hits of her less-than-storied solo career. But then something happened.

Much like that scene in "Hook" where the morbidly obese boy mushes Robin Williams' face around to find the Peter Pan buried within, Deborah found her groove. All those years fell away and I got to see what made her such a star in the first place.

The audience was pretty small, but nearly every type of homo was represented. An old lesbian couple drank coffee near the DJ booth while a young one made out in the front row. Some 19 year-old twinks danced next to a quatrogenarian fag whose moves put theirs to shame. A slow-talking fellow lumbered up behind me with two self-painted canvases depicting Debbie in all her air-brushed, '80s, glamor-shot glory. He told me that he's tried to get her to autograph them at four different concerts and he was hoping that this time would be fruitful.

I wasn't the youngest person at this show, but I was close. I often feel like I was born in the wrong decade, and so I try to get glimpses of what could've been by seeing yesterday's rockstars in today's concerts. This can be very disconcerting. I saw Heart play a free show in Chicago and was dismayed to find that former sex symbol Ann Wilson could now be seen from space. I watched The Slits' Ari Up rock out at Chicago's Fireside Bowl...with her six-year old son.

Last year at this time I nearly had a panic attack when I went to see a sit-down only Donovan show. Granted I had smoked too much beforehand, but watching a sex symbol of the '60s, the man who used to screw Joan Baez, writhe around in a black cat suit nearly ruined "Sunsine Superman" for me forever. Almost, but not quite. No matter how greyed and shrunken he had become, Donovan would always be Donovan (and truth be told, I'd probably still make out with him.) His music hit me hard and by his "Season of the Witch" encore I was cheering louder than anybody. That's what happened with Deborah.

The show had gotten off to a rocky start for all involved. Deborah was playing some songs that no one in the audience seemed to know or care about. I had gotten there late and also confused a complete stranger for someone I used to date. (Guy in the white and red track jacket: Thanks for being such a good sport. Sorry for grabbing your shoulders like that.)

I was more taken with the particulars of Ms. Harry's appearance than I was by her music. For one, she has really big boobs. I had not expected that. Secondly, her outfit was just enough of a throwback to her glory days to prompt my roommate Elizabeth to lament "I wish she was wearing something that looked less like what she wore in the eighties." We were so caught up in being snarky that we nearly didnt notice when she started to get good.

A toned-down Blondie medley of "The Tide is High"and "Heart of Glass" functioned mostly as nostalgia singalongs, but halfway through "French Kissing in the USA" I finally started to pay attention. Deborah was actually using her voice and that awkward shuffle turned into a sexy slink. I had begun the show wishing I was back home on my couch, but by the time she got to "Rush Rush" I was ready to snort diet pills in the Studio 54 bathroom while a man with hoop earrings and a shaved head fucked me.

There are many people out there that don't deserve to be famous (or even respected), but it was really cool watch someone prove, live, that they are timeless. It was far from the best show I had ever seen, but it will allow me to tell my grandkids that I'd seen Deb(bie)orah Harry and that she rocked.

Now if only Ric Ocasek would do an acoustic set at the Black Cat back room. That would really be something.