CONFESSIONS OF AN UNKNOWN HINSON IMPERSONATOR
The crowds went overboard over the vampire thing. I mean, they threw bulbs of garlic, splashed me with ‘holy water’ that I’m pretty sure was just backwash beer, and even tried to burn me with crosses. Serious. I’d seen a few holding lighters under their crucifixes like they were little spoons of heroin. Although I was usually good about avoiding them, or my bassist Kyle good about swatting them away with his Fender Precision, look at this [PULLS DOWN COLLAR TO SHOW CROSS SCAR], some of them fuckers get me anyway.
It was just a Halloween costume. Something different from the norm. It wasn’t easy to put it together – cost me a couple hundred bucks for a three hour party – but it was a hit. Black suit, ink-black Elvis hair, fake teeth, rockabilly swagger. I didn’t have the voice down back then, but the partygoers were still impressed. That’s where I met Cindy. We dated for a couple of years and I thought it might get serious, but I came to realize she liked Hinson more than me. It was her who thought I could turn it into an act, back when no one else was impersonating him professionally. I should’ve seen the signs – her always shouting ‘Do the voice!’ when I was taking her from behind, or asking me to wear the costume so we can play ‘vampire and blood slut,’ and her disinterest in anything else I ever said or did that wasn’t Unknown-related. She ended up getting bored and running off with a Rob Zombie impersonator.
But the act gets me a cache of folding money every weekend. A few scars are worth it. Maybe I truly am undead.
The absolute worst, though, was Squidbillies. Everybody asking me to do Early, you know? I tried to watch it, but I couldn’t understand any of it. Cartoon hillbilly squids. Or is it just squid? A family of squid. It was weird. So I tell people Hinson is a character and Early is a character and I only do Hinson. So they call me a pussy loser and spit on me.
I admit I can’t play guitar. I bought a Hinson model guitar, though. It’s a Reverend, semi-hollow. Beautiful thing. I can’t play a note. It’s all mimicry, air guitar. The audience caught on to that, too and now hurl Pringles during the solos. Pringles, you know? Fake potato chips? I’m pretty sure the only reason people show up anymore is to insult me.
Billy Bob Thornton, who had tapped the original Hinson, Danny Baker, to play in the Boxmasters with him, walked up to my table at a BBQ joint after a gig I did in Austin to call me a motherfucker for calling Dolly Parton a bitch. Yes, that’s something Hinson absolutely did. When I explained that I was only an impersonator, Billy Bob scrunched his eyebrows and said, ‘The hell would anyone want to do that for?’ So my bassist Kyle took a swing at him and we all ended up in jail that night.
I think the gig has run its course. I’m tired, man. Bone tired. Soul tired. And Unknown Hinson impersonator groupies are not a stable bunch, I tell you. I’ve had three of my apartments set on fire by them. I’m tired of coming home with bruises, scars, dried spit and beer, and no dignity. Doesn’t matter anyway. I used to pack small clubs. Now, I’m lucky to get twenty, thirty. The club owners feels sorry for me, hand over a couple of twenties and free chicken tender combo, and tell me they won’t be booking me anymore.
I’ve got a good idea for Halloween this year, though. I’m going to a party dressed as Nick Cave. I’ve been working on the voice, learned a few songs. Luckily, I don’t even have to change my suit or hair.
Image generated on Magic Studio
ABOUT THE artist
Anthony Neil Smith is a novelist (Slow Bear, The Drummer, Yellow Medicine, many more), short story writer (HAD, Bull, Cowboy Jamboree, Maudlin House, The Gorko Gazette, Reckon Review, The
Hooghly Review, many more), and professor (Southwest Minnesota State University). One of his pieces was chosen for Best American Mystery and Suspense 2023. He was previously an associate editor with Mississippi Review Web, and is now editor of Revolution John. He likes Mexican food, cheap wine, Italian exploitation flicks, and French noir.
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