The continued success of this cultural abortion, which was
broadcast in syndication for over a decade after ABC finally gave it the
heave-ho after more than 15 seasons, was a testimony to the low-brow, tepid,
pedestrian corndog tastes of the rubes, squares and geriatrics who would
dutifully and faithfully tune in this dreck week after week. The fact that this
tripe is still broadcast on PBS outlets across the country and stage reviews at
Branson by surviving members of Welk's "Musical Family" still pack 'em in
indicates that there's still plenty of those culturally-backward WWII generation
fossils slobbering out there in the Heartland.
Back in the early
Super70s, when I was a longhaired rock and roller, I would invite my stoner
buddies over to my place for Lawrence Welk parties: we'd chug ice cold
Budweisers, smoke bongs and laugh hysterically at the cavalcade of no-talents
ol' Larry would foist upon those misfortunate enough to be tuning in at the
time: The Champagne Lady, Norma Zimmer, who was so old and wrinkly that they
filmed her through six sheets of greased burlap; singing married couple Ralna
English and Guy Hovis, who, by the way, divorced, I understand, when Guy came
out; insipid dancers Bobby and Sissy, another example of a closeted, but so
obvious pansy going through the motions with a cheezy hetero chick; the three
refugees from AA, Larry Hooper, Jimmie Rodgers and Joe Feeney; totally bland
Dick Dale, who also always appeared to be in his cups during taping; token tap
dancer "He's So Smooth" Arthur Duncan (who Larry referred to in one episode as,
"A credit to his-a race and-a the tap-a-dancing profession") perpetuating
stereotypes week after week: his angry Afro sons probably hated his guts for the
Uncle Tom antics he degraded himself with for the sake of his paycheck and
spurious exposure to the Public Eye; audience pleaser (especially to the
95-year-old great great grandmothers with purple hair who were in attendance).
Ken Dealo, who either had the worst toupee or most dramatic comb-over in
American history; benign Country and Western singer Clay Hart, who was about as
Country as Coney Island; accordianist Myron Floren, complete with his garish
pinky rings and gaping grin; clarinetist Henry Cuesta, whose tone approximated
that of noted 19th century Parisian music hall icon Le Petomane; and who can
forget "our a-little a-Peruvian girl, " Aniconni, a cheese enchilada who looked
like an outcast from South American stroke films. Yeah this show was quite
memorable, but for the wrong reasons.
--moosekarloff
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