Bacon bits

Keith Munslow's engaging trip

by Bill Rodriguez

THICK-CUT BACON & OTHER STORIES. By Keith Munslow. Directed by Bob Jaffe. At Perishable Theatre through April 9.

Keith Munslow is an interesting guy. Musician, storyteller, bon vivant, sporter of a cool lower-lip tuft. The kind of guy you imagine it would be interesting to swap tales with over a beer. Well, you're in luck. He's not popping open a six-pack, and you won't be getting a word in yourself unless you heckle, but his one-man show Thick-cut Bacon & other stories is happening at Perishable Theatre, and it's a trip.

Setting the mood as a backdrop are some blacker-on-black cartoon drawings inspired by R. Crumb's slouching denizens. In the middle, a stack of coffee cups stands like a swaying totem pole. That playfulness strikes the right random tone for these three tales, which are unconnected by anything but Munslow having survived the experiences, body and whimsy intact.

Wisely saved for last is a moving tale that involves: a dead little girl, a church service led by a voodoo priestess, an ill-timed rendition of "When the Saints Come Marching In," and an initial medical diagnosis that Munslow was suffering from "agitated depression." We get some antic description of the fevered funeral service, which our bummed-out piano player gets into, of course, in spite of himself. Apart from the fact that the account is not at all sentimental, the story is wonderful for its vivid portrait of the soulful priestess purely through action rather than adjectives.

The section that worked least well for me was his opening comical reminiscences of boyhood, perhaps because Bill Harley is such a master of the genre that comparison would be inevitable if the show were in Tierra del Fuego and Keith were inspired by Señor Wences. It's a personal thing as well -- I'm not a big fan of loud, obnoxious kids' behavior (singing "Comet, it makes your teeth turn green") being acted out. Again and again.

The title tale is a stitch. An old gag strikes the mood of it: What do you call a musician with no girlfriend? (Homeless.) Crashing with friends, Munslow gets the task of going down to the neighborhood market to bring home the bacon. There he encounters the Shabby Man behind the meat counter, a butcher/homunculus who wields a mean meat-slicing machine and whose favorite unit of measurement is the "Paul." (No, it doesn't make sense now, but trust Munslow.) Paul, who lives amidst rusting oil drums, two rotweilers and a boat, ends up saving the day, as it happens.

Munslow is so amiable that you don't care at the time that much of this rambling hour with him doesn't arrive at indicated destinations between the segues of his righteous boogie-woogie piano and original songs. We get a few further details about the mysterious Paul, but he remains less enigmatic than fuzzily drawn, despite a wealth of external details and his "bacon-induced supernatural powers." And for audiences to go away with the kind of seraphic storytelling satisfaction that doesn't wash away in the first rain, we could use some through line or continuity besides the droll keep-on-truckin' tone. But the fun of this trip is mostly in the little comic gems picked up along our shuffling way. If you think that a sign in the grocery market, "Do Not Break Dozens of Eggs," is funny, wait until you learn what message replaced it.

Munslow is familiar around town as the keyboardist in the dance band the Smoking Jackets, and he's also performed with the Big Nazo puppet band and Marc Levitt's New England Chowda Hour radio show. As a storyteller, Munslow is a protégé of local singer and storyteller Bill Harley, who has numerous children's albums out and is familiar on NPR for his funny tales for grown-ups. For the past three years, Munslow has been performing a one-man song and story show for children and is musical director for Perishable's Shows of Young Audiences Tour.

Boyish enthusiasm notwithstanding, let's hope that Munslow keeps coming up with stories for the post-tricycle set. Thick-cut Bacon is a promising start.