Big Prankster Energy

Big Prankster Energy

Singing telegrams would not be nearly as impactful without the element of surprise. My customers and I go to great lengths to ensure recipients won't be expecting a costumed musician to suddenly appear at their home, office or restaurant table. So, even when the message is sincere or sweet, there's always a bit of prankster energy involved. But some customers like to amplify the trickster aspect. Dressed as a rodeo clown, I once walked into a kitchen where a client and her neighbors were gathered and removed a vegetable from the fridge – without acknowledging a soul. “Is anyone else seeing this?” asked one perplexed witness. I attended a Deadhead wedding and wrangled a high five from a groom who'd left high five hopefuls hanging for five whole years. I've impersonated cops, a cockroach, customers, a health inspector, Rick Astley (for IRL Rick Rolls), a Jehovah's Witness and even recipients themselves.

While pranks are fair game all year round in the singing telegram world, some customers like to punk the people they love on April Fool's Day. I once strolled into a Middle Eastern eatery, clad only in a towel (a callback to an awkward encounter with the recipient's barber), and sang Bryan Adams for a befuddled restaurateur. The fake patient I channeled in 2023 takes the cake, though. Make yourself comfortable, it's story time:)

Isaac, a bald Denver dentist who treats a wide variety of patients, was the target recipient. His office had recently received a set of fake teeth in the mail from a sender who identified themselves as “M. Gilbert.” The prankster customer, Isaac's girlfriend, enlisted me to play Mike Gilbert, a patient with dentophobia (a fear of dentists), peladophobia (a fear of bald people) and photophobia (an allergy to sunlight and bright flourescent lights). Isaac's staff, who were all in on the joke, scheduled Gilbert for a midday appointment. I began brainstorming wardrobe possibilities for my unique character.

The prankster's holiday arrived. Clad head to toe in a ski mask, goggles, a coolie (the conical Asian sun hat) and mostly black, I walked into the dentist’s office and checked in for my fake appointment. I handed the receptionist a bag of costumes and wigs, in hopes that Isaac would consider disguising himself to ease two of Gilbert's biggest fears – dentophobia and peladophobia. “Is it cold outside?” asked another patient in the waiting room, confused by the weirdo in the ski mask and goggles (as if there'd been a microburst since he was outside last). A staff member called my pseudonym and escorted me into a small consultation room within earshot of the front office. Leaning into the character, I tipped my sun hat low in the front, imagining Mike wouldn't risk eye contact with Isaac – especially if Isaac wasn't wearing a wig or a costume.

The moment of truth was upon me. Isaac, wig-free and with dentist tools around his neck, stepped into the room and sat down. “What's going on?” Isaac asked. “I'm not sure how much your staff told you about me, but I have a debilitating fear of dentists. So it's really important that you not act like a dentist,” I replied, stuttering slightly. “Did you get the teeth I sent you?” referring to the fake teeth his office had recently received in the mail. When Isaac said he hadn't, I showed him the plaster teeth I'd brought as a prop.

Isaac was buying the act. I asked him if he could sing to me – to soothe my nerves – while he examined my teeth. He wouldn't, but he was willing to refer me to a dentist that could (singing dentists are a thing?). I suggested that I could sing to myself instead. Isaac excused himself, and I could hear him whispering with his staff nearby. I couldn't make out much, but I sensed he didn't want to examine such a strange patient. A staff member came in and whispered, “I have to pretend like I'm talking to you right now. He wants to send you elsewhere, but I'm gonna tell him you insist on being treated here.” The prank was going swimmingly.

Isaac had made his aversion to treating me clear. We collectively decided it was time for the big reveal. “If you see him walk by, just start singing,” suggested the staffer I'd been interacting with. When Isaac appeared in the open doorway, I stood up and began puppeteering the plaster teeth as I sang Weird Al's U2 derivative “Cavity Search” a capella.

Listening to the Muzak
hearing people scream
sitting in the waiting room
reading crappy magazines

With a toothache
this is it, pal
root canal

My molars are impacted
I’m getting gum disease
Gonna need some fillings
Got twelve cavities

Can ya help me?
Have mercy
Doctor please!

Isaac was either confused or speechless while I was singing. But upon finishing the above portion of the tune, I started laughing. Isaac finally realized what was happening and joined me. Everyone who'd been involved in the stunt, including Isaac's nearby girlfriend, was laughing at that point. “Mission accomplished” would be an understatement.

Click on the image and scroll down for smart phone captures of the grand finale :)

This Is Your Brain on Music

This Is Your Brain on Music

Only relatively recently in our culture, about 500 years ago or so, did a distinction arise that cut society in two, forming separate classes of music performers and music listeners. Throughout most of the world, and for most of human history, music making was as natural an activity as breathing and walking – and everyone participated. Concert halls, dedicated to the performance of music, arose only in the last several centuries. 

For his doctoral degree at Harvard, anthropology professor Jim Ferguson performed field work in Lesotho, a small nation completely surrounded by South Africa. There, studying and interacting with local villagers, Jim patiently earned their trust, until one day he was asked to join in one of their songs.

“I don't sing,” Jim said in a soft voice.

The villagers found his objection puzzling and inexplicable. The Sotho consider singing an ordinary, everyday activity, performed by everyone – young and old, men and women – not an activity reserved for a special few. 

Our culture, and indeed our very language, makes a distinction between a class of expert performers (the Arthur Rubensteins, Ella Fitzgeralds and Paul McCartneys), and the rest of us. The rest of us pay money to hear the experts entertain us. Jim knew that he wasn't much of a singer or dancer. And to him, a public display of singing and dancing, implied he thought himself an expert. 

The villagers just stared at Jim and said, “What do you mean you don't sing?! You talk?!”

It was as odd to them as if I'd told them I couldn't walk or dance, even though I have both my legs. Singing and dancing were a natural activity in everybody's lives – seamlessly integrated, and involving everyone. As in many of the world's languages, the Sotho verb for singing (ho bina) also means to dance. There is no distinction, since it is assumed singing involves bodily movement.

A couple of generations ago, before television, many families would sit around and play music together for entertainment. Nowadays, there is a great emphasis on technique and skill, and whether a musician is “good enough” to play for others. Music making has become a somewhat reserved activity. The rest of us listen.

-excerpt from This is Your Brain on Music by Daniel J. Levitin

Airplane Serenades

Airplane Serenades

While queued for my Southwest Airlines flight checkin last night, an airline employee called me out on the intercom for wearing four hats stacked like Russian nesting dolls (the most affordable way to travel with multiple hats). The pilot, who happened to be nearby, then took a selfie with me. On the plane, one of the flight attendants asked about my ukulele, implying she was a fan of the late Hawaiian singer and ukulele player Israel Kamakawiwo’ole. I pulled the instrument out, she introduced me over the intercom as “Orange peel moses” and I proceeded to croon a verse of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” The airplane hilarity didn't end there. A crew member announced it was a passenger's birthday upon landing. When said passenger indicated she was the bday gal in question, I pulled my uke out again and sang the first verse of Stevie Wonder's “Happy Birthday.” Fellow passengers joined in for the chorus :)

Thanksgiving: Public School Failed Us

Thanksgiving: Public School Failed Us

Public school failed us. Educate yourself about the true history of Thanksgiving, and consider including a land acknowledgement before digging in and pigging out.

Casting: Costume Designer

Casting: Costume Designer

Citric Acid Arts is scouting costume designers for a mushroom-themed event in February. Amanita muscaria, cordyceps, lion’s mane, reishi and turkey tail are likely to serve as inspiration for roaming character costumes. Interested individuals can email examples of relevant previous designs, a resume, rates and/or a portfolio to yello@orangepeelmoses.com with “Mushroom Costumes” in the subject field.

Weird: The Al Yankovic Story

Weird: The Al Yankovic Story

It's hard to overstate the impact Weird Al has had on my life. Even Worse, the album containing Al’s Michael Jackson sendup “Fat,” was the second full-length cassette I ever owned. Comedy music was obviously compelling from a young age, and I've somehow channeled that early enthusiasm into a full-time “adult” business: singing telegrams. “Cavity Search,” a U2 spoof about going to the dentist, was the first Weird parody funneled into my repertoire. My sister was in dental school at the time, so I learned it to entertain her and her classmates. Al's hilariously bipolar version of “Happy Birthday” was next, as birthday grams make up the bulk of our bookings. “Yoda” has become another useful Al spoof in my universe; I serenaded a vertically-appropriate performer who'd been transformed into the wrinkled green Jedi at a Star Wars-themed drive-thru baby shower in March. Feel free to re-read that last sentence, as it's a doozy;) I also patronized a Weird Al-themed burlesque show - The Clocktower Cabaret’s Dare to Be Sexy - in January. I could go on, but you get the gist. Weird is wonderfully immeshed in my world.

Imagine my elation upon discovering that a film was slated to tackle Al's life. And in true Weird fashion, the movie parodies other music biopics. Weird: The Al Yankovic Story is streaming for free on the Roku Channel beginning today.

WATCH NOW

The Wedding Singer

The Wedding Singer

Megan is one of Custom Singing Telegrams' most prominent repeat customers. She has sent birthday grams to friends and family members for about seven years. When she got married in Golden, CO recently, her sister decided it was time for payback. So I donned a wedding dress and sauntered into the wedding reception. Realizing quickly what was in store, Megan started laughing from the moment she saw me crossing the room toward her and her new husband's table. The DJ handed me a wireless mic and I asked the bride if she wanted to tell the attendees who the wedding crasher was. She was still laughing too hard to answer the question. Her husband explained that Megan loved hiring me to surprise people on their birthdays.

Then something magic happened. I've been performing “Grow Old with You,” a tune sung by Adam Sandler's character in the movie The Wedding Singer, for over a decade now. It's a funny, endearing tune, but most people don't know the lyrics. On this occasion, it sounded like half the wedding guests were familiar with the words, and were raising their voices along with me. It was incredible.

Images: Thin Threads

RUFUS DU SOL (Acoustic)

RUFUS DU SOL (Acoustic)

With RUFUS DU SOL set to headline two nights at Colorado's legendary Red Rocks Amphitheater this weekend, interest is understandably high. I've been a casual fan for years and saw them once in Costa Rica, but it wasn't until recently - inspired by a new friend (you know who you are) - that I began learning several of their tunes on guitar and ukulele. Here's an acoustic rendition of "Innerbloom" that I recorded this morning at Archipelago Clubs:)

What Does the Fox Say?

What Does the Fox Say?

Scott Happel produces a variety show called Carnivale de Sensuale. Chelsea aka Claire Voyant is the cast's resident magician. In the spring of 2018, the big opening number was soundtracked by comedy music act Ylvis's novelty hit “What Does the Fox Say.” Scott asked Chelsea to dress up as the fox and perform all the crazy / weird hypothetical fox sounds in the song. Recently, Chelsea celebrated her birthday at a Denver speakeasy. In lieu of an easily accessible fox fit, Happel enlisted me to perform the Ylvis ditty - as the Grim Reaper - ridiculous noises and all. The musical callback had Chelsea on the verge of tears.

Carnivale de Sensuale is celebrating its tenth anniversary in mid-October at The Oriental Theater - RSVP here.

Casting: Body Paint Models

Casting: Body Paint Models

Citric Acid Arts is currently casting fit, well-endowed, female-bodied body paint models for a Midsummer Night’s Dream-themed private party on Friday, August 12 in the Golden area. Time commitment will likely be between 5 and 8 hours. Models will likely be responsible for their own hair and makeup. To submit, please email photos of previous body paint modeling work, rates and contact info to yello@orangepeelmoses.com with “Body Paint Model 8/12” in the subject field.

Model: Mariah Salazar
Makeup: Jen Murphy
Body Paint: The Artist Kelsie
Image: Ken Hamblin / Westword

Monopoly Man "Cause-Play"

Monopoly Man "Cause-Play"

The American Innovation & Online Choice Act is a bill that would place limits on big tech companies' power. Even though the bill has popular, bipartisan support, Colorado Senator Michael Bennet is reportedly resistant to it. Trans activist Ian Madrigal, known for photobombing big tech CEOs as The Monopoly Man, isn't impressed. In response to Senator Bennet's alleged stance on the issue, Madrigal enlisted Custom Singing Telegrams to Save the Monopolies and “thank” him for being a friend to big tech billionaires with a parody of The Golden Girls' theme. Rich Uncle Pennybags performed the song for Bennet's staffers, and again outside the Cesar E. Chavez Building that houses Bennet's office. You've heard of cosplay; Madrigal likes to call this “cause-play.” The stunt was accompanied by a 4-figure ad buy, naming Bennet a Big Tech MVP (Most Valuable Politician). Click through to check out the video, captured by Ryan Fila (and edited by Madrigal).

Image: Ryan FIla

Casting Call: Holiday Acts

Casting Call: Holiday Acts

Citric Acid Arts is casting holiday-themed entertainers for a December 4 holiday party in Littleton, Colorado. Performance hours would be between 5:30-7 pm. To submit, please email performance resume, rate(s), imagery and/or video links to yello@orangepeelmoses.com with “Casting Call: Littleton 12/4” in the subject field.

Discovering Cannabis

Discovering Cannabis

Pizza Hut was my first regular employer. That summer, I was living with my dad and then-stepmom in Buena Vista, Colorado. Anxious to get home from work and change for a party I’d been invited to one night, I rolled through a stop sign. A police officer who’d recently undergone some kind of drug enforcement training pulled me over. At that point, I’d never even seen cannabis in my life. Still, Johnny Lawman insisted that I was high, and that my dilated pupils and the green blisters on my tongue were evidence. I was understandably shocked that he would accuse me of something that was literally impossible at that juncture. I helpfully explained that what he thought were green blisters was actually plaque, and agreed to accompany him to the station for a drug test. Because we were a block from my father’s house (and I was a wee teenager), the officer first invited my old man to join us. Lawman performed a series of tests at the station. If what’s left of my memory serves me correctly, the tests took about 20-30 minutes in all. His eventual conclusion? “Well, you’re not high.” No shit, Sherlock. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” said my dad on the awkward drive home. My curiosity was piqued, though. Several months later, across the street from my mom’s Ordway home (the one I‘d grown up in), I partoked cannabis for the first time with my longtime neighbor TJ before eventually boarding a school bus for a pep band trip. It wasn’t until my 4/20 birthday rolled around during my freshman year of college (a couple years later) that I realized I was born on a bona fide cannabis holiday. Cannabis was my birthright.

Nipples in the Sand

Nipples in the Sand

“Nipples in the Sand” - that's the name of the song I was hired to sing yesterday. It's a ditty that was concocted by the intended bday gram recipient and her sister (my customer) when they were kids. The intended recipient is the lead prosecutor at a Colorado courthouse. Her sister (the customer) hoped to surprise / embarrass / make her sibling laugh. She requested a risque costume, so I suggested a stripper cop look – a ballsy move (even for me) considering the venue. Courthouse security staff were unsurprisingly inquisitive when I arrived in cosplay cop garb with my guitar and music stand in hand. But they hesitantly let me in the lobby and called the target recipient down. I launched into the opening line of “Nipples in the Sand” when she appeared: “Walking down the beach one stormy day...” Probably anticipating the approaching, potentially mortifying hook, she shut me down with the quickness. “Thank you. You're great. I'm sure my sister put you up to this, but you can go now.” For the rest of you, here's how the song climaxes:)

“Nipples in the Sand”

Walking down the beach one stormy day
saw a little orange thing and had to say
Nipples in the sand
Nipples in the sand

In lieu of a full IRL delivery, I filmed a rendition of the tune for the customer. She apologized for her sister's rudeness, including this insightful gem: “Maybe she's still traumatized by the dildo I sent to her work.”

Casting Call: HalloWeekend

Casting Call: HalloWeekend

Citric Acid Arts is casting dark/weird roaming performance artists for a nightclub event in RiNo (Denver) on Saturday, October 30. To submit, please email photos and/or a video link, along with a rate quote to yello@orangepeelmoses.com ASAP. Please put “HalloWeekend submission” in the subject field.

"I'm Sorry" Cupid

"I'm Sorry" Cupid

Yesterday's “I'm Sorry” Cupid took awkwardness to a whole new level. I feel sorry for the man that resorts to an “I'm Sorry” singing telegram. It's most certainly a last resort of sorts—a hail Mary. Whether the goal is embarrassing someone, cherishing someone or facilitating laughs, my singing telegram success rate is normally fairly high. “I'm Sorry” telegrams are a different ballgame, though. They bring down my batting average a little. I rarely know what I'm getting myself into. Yesterday was no exception, but I was up for the challenge.

No “I'm sorry” song is a miracle Band-aid for magically curing all relationship woes. Still, I was determined to pick the most appropriate one for the occasion. Elton John's “Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word,” Jackson 5's “I Want You Back” and Chicago's “Hard to Say I'm Sorry” were a few of the contenders. I settled on Sir Elton, rehearsing off and on for hours on end. My [power wheelchair-bound] customer kept calling over and over about one thing or the other. He was obviously nervous - understandably so.

I'd suggested the Cupid costume to tone down the gravity of the situation and inject a little comedy. Make the person you've wronged laugh and there just might be a window of forgiveness to shimmy through. The sender phoned again to say that the recipient wanted him present for the delivery, if I didn't mind postponing for an hour. I didn't, as it gave me even more time to finger my guitar strings and sing. He rang again once I was on the road to let me know he was running even further behind schedule. I wasn't about get irritated with a differently abled gent, so I thanked him for the update and continued on my way.

The recipient resided in a Denver neighborhood called Montbello. Montbello's population is primarily Hispanic and Black. Half naked white guy was on the verge of getting a lot of attention. I parked my car around the corner from the recipient's house and strapped on my feather wings. Not knowing whether the sender was there yet, I decided to walk up anyways. In the driveway, I met the recipient and her friend. Both were seated in power wheelchairs. Even though they likely despised being laughed at, they eagerly giggled at the scrawny man in the adult diaper and wings. Mission at least partially accomplished.

We waited. The initial awkwardness was soon diffused somewhat, as we initiated an entertaining conversation about my job, her relationship with the sender and more. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, a cop car crept up on the opposite side of the street. A 9 News anchorman had once joked on-air that he was “surprised Cupid didn't get arrested.” Still, in eight full years of playing cherub, I'd never once been hassled by police (though I'd been questioned one time in Boulder about impersonating an officer—guilty as charged). Johnny Lawman explained he'd received reports of a half naked man cavorting around the neighborhood. I decided against showing him I was wearing underwear underneath my diaper. He just wanted to make sure I was mentally stable. “That's debatable,” I thought to myself, but wisely kept my mouth shut. He jotted down my name and went on his way. Crisis number one averted.

The man in blue would not be the rudest of Orange's Montbello encounters that day. Yes, I'm referring to myself in the third person for comedic effect—moving right along. A brown SUV with a Hispanic at the wheel inched by next. “That Cupid?” he asked from the window. “Yes,” we both answered (the recipient's friend had been sent to fetch the sender from the bus stop). That answer apparently didn't satisfy his curiosity. He walked up, accompanied by two other men, a few minutes later. Was he worried that the anorexic-looking love messenger was going to overpower him in a fight? “Yous gotta get outta here, that's my brother's house,” he commanded. “This guy a friend of yours?” he asked the soon-to-be recipient (who apparently sublets from his sibling), almost as an afterthought. “Yes,” she said simply, probably realizing it wasn't worth going into great detail with the intimidating Mexican. He proceeded to park his vehicle just across the street and stare at us through the windows for the remainder of my visit.

The wait wasn't over yet. One of the two four-wheeling men called to report they were lost. The recipient would have to go find them. We both agreed it'd be best if I waited in my car until they all returned. More than two and a half hours after the originally scheduled delivery time, I finally walked back to the recipient's driveway. First, the sender paid me—always a plus in these situations. Next, we collectively decided the performance would be better inside the garage (as opposed to the driveway where we'd been waiting all that time). I thought it was a little weird that the recipient's friend was present, but maybe she wanted a wingman. Sir Elton served me well. I sang my heart out, presented the recipient with the dark chocolate I'd purchased at Whole Foods, and made my exit. The kicker? Sender called me the next day to thank me for a job well done.

Casting: Cacao Straw Ambassadors

Casting: Cacao Straw Ambassadors

Citric Acid Arts is currently casting Colorado-based brand ambassadors for a designer cacao straw company. Ambassadors will don fashionable black and gold costuming and select party patrons for intimate cacao bump ceremonies in bedouin-inspired tents. Ideal candidates are charismatic, fearless, fun, open-minded and outgoing women who enjoy meeting new people and party atmospheres. To submit, e-introduce yourself via unlisted YouTube link (video file attachments require significant inbox storage space) at yello@orangepeelmoses.com. Please put “SnoGo Casting” and your full name in the subject field and include relevant experience, dress size, desired hourly compensation and September 25 availability.

My LIB Talent Show Winning Act

My LIB Talent Show Winning Act

California’s Lightning in a Bottle Festival went digital for the first time last spring, inviting longtime talent show producers The Grand Artique to come along for the ride. I eagerly signed up for the first ever virtual version and, with production assistance from Denver video virtuoso Danny Fantastic, emerged victorious with my hydration PSA “Water is Your Friend.” On the eve of LIB’s second digital festival, remind yourself of the importance of adequate hydration via the studio version of my winning act.

Image: Mile High Sports Radio
Video: Danny Fantastic / @dannyfantastic

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Matrimony (Ginuwine Derivative)

Matrimony (Ginuwine Derivative)

(to the tune of “Pony” as recorded by Ginuwine)

Sam was just a bachelor
Swiping for a Tinder date
One who could dance on tables
Without even falling off
Lauren was compatible
They went to the Lakefront
Fast forward to Breckenridge
This was the proposition Sam popped:

You're single, let's do it, try it, matrimony
My finger is waiting, come put a ring on it

Nursing's Lauren's day job
Sam, he is an engineer
Super Smash Brothers, he plays
Meanwhile, Lauren's grooming Sage
Lor, she had a goth phase
Way back in the eighth grade
Sam programs irrigation times
Tomatoes growing on the vine

Soon they're gonna get sandy, baby
First they'll show and tell
Then he'll reach for his cocktail
Lurk all over and through her baby
Until they reach the beach
Playing Doctor, Lauren's 'Teach'

Vaccine Champions

Vaccine Champions

(to the tune of “We Are the Champions” as recorded by Queen)

The pandemic arrived
it changed our lives
Webex and masks
No more hugs goodbye

Thought it’d last just weeks
but dragged on for months
we monitored our trend lines for some hope
finally got some

It took four champions, Val’s one
Jo Ree, Melissa and Adam
(to create a) best practice vaccine
at Sky Ridge, you see
They begged and borrowed
from near and from far, oh
Raised the bar

A mere thank you
that wouldn’t do
enlisted a pro
to truly show you

We truly thank you
We know it was rough
But you shined bright like the stars that you are
And made us proud of…

You, you’re the champions, my friends
And you’ll vaccinate til Covid ends
You are the champions, you are the champions
At best practice vaccines,
yes, you are the champions
of Sky Ridge