In the spring of 2014, a friend sent me an article that had appeared a few weeks earlier in Grantland. The article concerned a clown—“a really sad clown, sadder than all the others”—who communicated only through song. What’s more, the clown was nearly seven feet tall. I read the article several times, wishing I could direct my life and the clown’s life into some sort of shared space, if only for a moment. Six months later, I found myself attending the Puddles Pity Party, at a club outside of Detroit.
Puddles the Clown entered the club with a tiny flag that matched his tiny crown. Behind him, a projection announced “Greetings USA” (as if Puddles were an alien—which in a way he is). After at least five minutes of silence and pantomime, all wonderfully uncomfortable, Puddles sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” (as if a game were about to begin) and the Bee Gees’ “I Started a Joke” (as if a joke were about to begin, or continue). “He looks a bit like a Hostess Sno Ball,” I scribbled in my notebook. Puddles carried on, silent but for his singing, and pulled various audience members up on stage (often to glare at them, sometimes to sing with them). He offered one guy a hug that went on much too long—and finally picked the guy’s pocket, scoring six dollars.
Later he opened his magic suitcase and took out various oddities, including a tequila-bottle costume that he coaxed an audience member into wearing. (He then serenaded her in Spanish.) I desperately wanted to be singled out by Puddles, and I desperately wanted not to be singled out by Puddles. It was like being at a Don Rickles show—if Rickles were gentler, and taller, and covered with greasepaint.
(To tweak Loren Goodman’s “The Party,” a poem I’ve always considered impossible to improve upon: “Invite Puddles the Clown.”)
A cry of “Puddles, don’t be sad!” was enough to get a bleached-blonde audience member a seat on the stage. Then came a nearly endless projection of Kevin Costner stills—more Kevin Costner stills than should exist in any one universe. Then came “Royals,” which was great live, but which made me miss the final twenty seconds of the video. If you’ve seen it, you’ll remember it: Puddles grabs his suitcase and lantern and bolts from view.
After the show, rather than making a quick exit, Puddles stuck around for what amounted to a receiving line for selfie-takers. This was perhaps the weirdest part of the entire night. Puddles, the alien clown, suddenly belonged to all of us.
***
Puddles was on my mind last week, as my “Taking the Clown Seriously” class discussed clowns and music. Of the songs we listened to, Puddles’ version of “Royals” is the only one that doesn’t itself address clowns (though it’s hard to not think about clowns during pretty much every second of Puddles’ performance). The songs below tackle clowns—their ambivalences, their sorrows, their psychoses—head on. Enjoy!
Bernadette Peters, “Send in the Clowns”
Dave Davies, “Death of a Clown”
The Damned, “These Hands”
The Dickies, “Killer Klowns from Outer Space”
Edith Piaf, “Bravo Pour Le Clown”
Flare Acoustic Art League, “Last Clown Standing”
Leo Sayer, “The Show Must Go On”
Manfred Mann, “Ha! Ha! Said the Clown”
Smoky Robinson & the Miracles, “Tears of a Clown”
Sufjan Stevens, “John Wayne Gacy, Jr.”
Too Much Joy, “Clowns”
