Club owner Jay Siegan stands outside at 10 p.m. Monday, hands on frustrated head. Speakers inside a nearby radio station van blare out the station's broadcast, still promising listeners that Siegan's club, the Red Devil Lounge, will soon become the center of Britney Spears' head-shaving, lip-synching, lap-dancing, hip-shaking universe.
The "show" has already happened over the past week in San Diego, Anaheim, Hollywood and Las Vegas: Britney Spears air-jamming her own greatest hits ... for 14 minutes.
The sidewalk fills with at least 100 people. For Siegan, it's like rising flood water about to burst through his front door. If there's any better indicator his club is closed for the night, it's when someone smashes a beer bottle near the front door. No beefy security guards hustle over to remove the perp. Nothing. The police car parked just up Clay Street doesn't even stir.
If Britney Spears plays the Red Devil Lounge on Monday night, it doesn't happen by 10:30 p.m. That's the same time at least one reporter realizes standing on a sidewalk for hours waiting for Britney Spears to lip-synch for less than 15 minutes could be one of the most pathetic moments of his life. Britney ... you let us down. If you're reading this -- and there's no doubt you are -- you must put down your poodle and understand your failure on a detailed, time-marked basis:
7 p.m.: Three TV trucks and one very loud van from KYLD-FM 94.9 (Wild 94) park at the corner of Polk and Clay. Ten people mill about, not including reporters. A sign hangs on the door of the Red Devil Lounge. "The show on Monday, May 7 is canceled. 100 %. Really. Do not hang out here thinking it's happening. It's B.S."
Wait a second..."It's B.S.," points out one of my intrepid colleagues. "B.S. stands for..." That's right. It's like playing Led Zeppelin Four backwards to hear the coded message. That Britney is a lot cleverer than she looks.
7:20: Siegan walks outside. We can hear "Hit Me Baby One More Time" on the stereo inside. That clinches it. Siegan, dressed in shorts, T-shirt and a hat, smiles as if to say "You have no idea what a great Warriors playoff game you're missing."
7:23: A pigeon drops its business on my new shirt, possibly a harbinger of things to come.
7:30: I interview two twentysomething fans, who admit they have nothing better to do. Stories fly from the radio van that Spears has checked into a local hotel and was seen dining in the area. There's no word whether she has a dog in her purse.
8:15: The crowd grows to about 50 people. Siegan is on the phone, telling a journalist it's not happening. He can't fool us, I tell him. He laughs at me like I'm some pathetic 40-year-old standing on a sidewalk waiting for Britney Spears.
8:52: The radio reports Britney is dining near Polk and Van Ness. Which, of course, means the restaurant encompasses an entire city block, since Polk and Van Ness run parallel. That Britney Spears must really be important, I decide.
9:05: The crowd, now numbering about 75, includes people wearing hats. Violence first rears its ugly head, as someone tears off the bottom of the door sign. The single police cruiser, parking lights ablaze, remains on-station.
9:10: A homeless man arrives, unusually interested in the proceedings. He looks suspiciously like Kevin Federline...
9:16: Radio station stereo plays songs about "big ol' butts."
9:20: My paper's photographer claims she's leaving to put her child to bed. I accuse her of being a traitor to journalism. She stays.
9:31: When Siegan quickly opens the door briefly to come out, a fan reports seeing a bottle of 409 on the bar inside. Wait a second ... Britney Spears hates germs, doesn't she?
Just then "Federline" walks by again. Maybe not.
9:42: My left leg falls asleep.
9:57: Radio van stereo plays "Hit Me Baby One More Time," for the 749th time since 7 p.m.. The crowd stirs. People start singing. Disaster looms.
10:01: A young girl blurts "Omigod, I'm gonna, like, cry is she doesn't show up." I ask the girl her name. She says it's "Britney Spears." I end the conversation immediately.
10:02: Rumors swirl that Britney has decided to play somewhere in the Castro, which, someone remarks, makes sense, considering the lack of Britney Spears impersonators at our site. They must know something we don't.
10:15: Siegan still contends there was never, to his knowledge, any Britney Spears show scheduled for his club. I ask him what he'll do if she shows up.
He laughs nervously "I don't know. Open, I guess. Do a soundcheck..."
10:30: As the crowd swells to more than 100, the truth dawns on me. I'm hungry, tired, and no lip-syncher is worth standing here all night.
Britney, I'll be back if you sing for real.
Tony Hicks is the Times' pop culture and music critic. Reach him at 925-952-2678 or thicks@cctimes.com.
The "show" has already happened over the past week in San Diego, Anaheim, Hollywood and Las Vegas: Britney Spears air-jamming her own greatest hits ... for 14 minutes.
The sidewalk fills with at least 100 people. For Siegan, it's like rising flood water about to burst through his front door. If there's any better indicator his club is closed for the night, it's when someone smashes a beer bottle near the front door. No beefy security guards hustle over to remove the perp. Nothing. The police car parked just up Clay Street doesn't even stir.
If Britney Spears plays the Red Devil Lounge on Monday night, it doesn't happen by 10:30 p.m. That's the same time at least one reporter realizes standing on a sidewalk for hours waiting for Britney Spears to lip-synch for less than 15 minutes could be one of the most pathetic moments of his life. Britney ... you let us down. If you're reading this -- and there's no doubt you are -- you must put down your poodle and understand your failure on a detailed, time-marked basis:
7 p.m.: Three TV trucks and one very loud van from KYLD-FM 94.9 (Wild 94) park at the corner of Polk and Clay. Ten people mill about, not including reporters. A sign hangs on the door of the Red Devil Lounge. "The show on Monday, May 7 is canceled. 100 %. Really. Do not hang out here thinking it's happening. It's B.S."
Wait a second..."It's B.S.," points out one of my intrepid colleagues. "B.S. stands for..." That's right. It's like playing Led Zeppelin Four backwards to hear the coded message. That Britney is a lot cleverer than she looks.
7:20: Siegan walks outside. We can hear "Hit Me Baby One More Time" on the stereo inside. That clinches it. Siegan, dressed in shorts, T-shirt and a hat, smiles as if to say "You have no idea what a great Warriors playoff game you're missing."
7:23: A pigeon drops its business on my new shirt, possibly a harbinger of things to come.
7:30: I interview two twentysomething fans, who admit they have nothing better to do. Stories fly from the radio van that Spears has checked into a local hotel and was seen dining in the area. There's no word whether she has a dog in her purse.
8:15: The crowd grows to about 50 people. Siegan is on the phone, telling a journalist it's not happening. He can't fool us, I tell him. He laughs at me like I'm some pathetic 40-year-old standing on a sidewalk waiting for Britney Spears.
8:52: The radio reports Britney is dining near Polk and Van Ness. Which, of course, means the restaurant encompasses an entire city block, since Polk and Van Ness run parallel. That Britney Spears must really be important, I decide.
9:05: The crowd, now numbering about 75, includes people wearing hats. Violence first rears its ugly head, as someone tears off the bottom of the door sign. The single police cruiser, parking lights ablaze, remains on-station.
9:10: A homeless man arrives, unusually interested in the proceedings. He looks suspiciously like Kevin Federline...
9:16: Radio station stereo plays songs about "big ol' butts."
9:20: My paper's photographer claims she's leaving to put her child to bed. I accuse her of being a traitor to journalism. She stays.
9:31: When Siegan quickly opens the door briefly to come out, a fan reports seeing a bottle of 409 on the bar inside. Wait a second ... Britney Spears hates germs, doesn't she?
Just then "Federline" walks by again. Maybe not.
9:42: My left leg falls asleep.
9:57: Radio van stereo plays "Hit Me Baby One More Time," for the 749th time since 7 p.m.. The crowd stirs. People start singing. Disaster looms.
10:01: A young girl blurts "Omigod, I'm gonna, like, cry is she doesn't show up." I ask the girl her name. She says it's "Britney Spears." I end the conversation immediately.
10:02: Rumors swirl that Britney has decided to play somewhere in the Castro, which, someone remarks, makes sense, considering the lack of Britney Spears impersonators at our site. They must know something we don't.
10:15: Siegan still contends there was never, to his knowledge, any Britney Spears show scheduled for his club. I ask him what he'll do if she shows up.
He laughs nervously "I don't know. Open, I guess. Do a soundcheck..."
10:30: As the crowd swells to more than 100, the truth dawns on me. I'm hungry, tired, and no lip-syncher is worth standing here all night.
Britney, I'll be back if you sing for real.
Tony Hicks is the Times' pop culture and music critic. Reach him at 925-952-2678 or thicks@cctimes.com.
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