Smell the magic
We've hung with Stallion, a.k.a. Fuck bassist Ted Ellison, and embraced the enchantment of showbiz.

By Mike Alexis

WE PLANNED ON meeting a little later in the evening, after a rehearsal for Fogstorm, Stallion's upcoming "multimedia extravaganza," but I purposely arrive 15 minutes early to catch a glimpse of the process. Inside a stained-glass art studio, off International Boulevard in East Oakland, Stallion greets me wearing a puffy pirate-looking shirt and brandishing a sword.

"It's a traditional flamenco shirt," he says. "Have you heard of Michael Flatley?"

"Um, no."

"He started Lord of the Dance."

"Oh, yes, of course." I sheepishly settle into a corner and try not to disrupt the proceedings.

Stallion and his four assistants are in the middle of a magic/dance number that includes Lord of the Dance-inspired footwork – naturally – coupled with the impressively advanced trick of putting a woman in a box and piercing the sides with that sword.

So far, relatively few people have heard of Stallion. Last December, beloved-by-many art-pop band Fuck (once a mainstay of the San Francisco music scene) performed its only 2004 Bay Area show, at Bottom of the Hill. On the bill was "The Magic of Stallion," who, to many people's surprise, happened to be Fuck bassist Ted Ellison himself. Performing rudimentary, choreographed magic tricks with the rest of the band's assistance, Stallion delivered a solid punch of pure entertainment. Maybe it was the element of surprise, the nonband-in-a-rock-club novelty, or simply the endearing quality of magic – whatever the case, after the show the whole place was giddy.

Ellison confesses that he always wanted to incorporate magic into what Fuck was doing, and in 2000, the rest of the band agreed to let him slowly introduce tiny bits. "Before [2000], it was like, for one song I would play the bass blindfolded. And then each tour it would be more, where [for example] my bass would shoot fire. Fuck's always had a small, slightly theatrical thing. It seemed very natural to be doing this."

So what started out as a few tricks incorporated into the band's set eventually turned into a full-fledged, albeit relatively short, 15-minute act (which had its crowning moment so far after Fuck's set at last year's installment of the prestigious All Tomorrow's Parties Festival in the UK).

With the much more ambitious, hour-long Fogstorm show debuting at the Rickshaw Stop Aug. 25, was it difficult to stretch the performance and find new material? "I've been working on it for a very long time, so yes, it's really difficult," Ellison says. "Fifteen minutes is easy. You just take your best ideas."

So where did Stallion get his new ideas for Fogstorm? "I went to Reno and saw this show called Splash," he explains. "During the day they have a 'tops-on' version, but after hours they have a 'tops-off' – basically 50 dancers with the feathery things, and they're topless doing this dance. So this sheet of water comes out on the stage, and they dance, and it's supposed to be erotic. Then there's a figure skater, a giant aquarium with synchronized swimmers, a Michael Jackson impersonator, a giant airplane that they roll out onstage, and all these women come out on motorcycles. That's what Fogstorm is: mashed-together bits of entertainment."

Adding to Stallion's bits of entertainment are his handpicked supporting acts, which include female Gallagher impersonator Lady Gallagher; comedy duo Carol and Mitzy, featuring Beth Lisick; Guitarboy (one can only imagine); and the on-land synchronized-swimming troupe Ballet Mirage.

I ask if Stallion and Fogstorm are satirical, and Ellison suddenly gets intensely focused. "We're dead serious. This is my life," he says. "When I was a kid, my folks were musicians – my dad was a Dixieland musician, and my mom was a singer – and they'd take us and get jobs on cruises. They were basically stage people, so I was introduced to entertainment and the stage very early, before I learned how to do all this stuff. So this is something I've always wanted to do, and it's not satirical at all."

Body double

I suddenly realize I'm no longer simply talking to Ellison – I'm speaking to Stallion. "Through high school drama class and bodybuilding I just really got into this melding of magic and other things: magic and dance, magic and martial arts," he continues. "So to answer your question, this is my time, this is my project, and I'm very serious about it."

Not wanting to miss an opportunity, I ask the magician about something I read on his Web site (www.stallionmagic.com): majudo. "It's a blending of the magical arts and the martial arts. It's a way, it's a discipline, it's a forming of magic and judo – using magic accoutrements, plus know-how, to get yourself out of a sticky situation. Self-defense. Increasing your physical dexterity," he says. "We have a program for seniors called Majudo for Elders. We've got a special Majudo for Her program, a Majudo for Him, and we're also working on a Majudo for Kids."

Speaking of kids, Ellison's six-year-old son, Colt (an "up-and-coming star on the magic circuit," the proud papa says), will be sparring with Stallion during Fogstorm – although we'll have to wait and see whether either of them uses majudo. "He's got his tricks, and we're going to do a mano a mano onstage," Stallion says. "It's going to be special; he's really excited."

Colt's enthusiasm could perhaps inspire his dad to bring magic to the younger generation. "I would love to have a Stallion show for kids, but not a kids-style magic show," Stallion explains. "[It would be] me and one of my assistants, where we have the lights, the smoke machine, and the flash pots, with music, the costumes – really dramatic, in someone's backyard. Most magicians charge between 500 and 1,000 bucks, but I'd do it for a couple hundred, so it'd be worth our while, but regular parents could afford it."

It looks like Ellison's back, and he gives me another rare glimpse behind the curtain: "The thing about Stallion is, in his mind, he's very much already [made it], but he drives an '86 broken-down Fiero. And he doesn't have the financial wherewithal to play these really big houses, so he's getting by on these little shows. But he's just one step away from the big time. He doesn't let his lack of means get in the way." Ellison also generously reveals a tiny bit of Stallion's weakness. "A lot of Stallion's warts come out onstage. He's kind of a dumbass, he does un-PC things, and he shoots himself in the foot."

The Internet, however, is where the Stallion mystique lives full force. His Web site is nearly bulletproof, with, in Stallion's own words, a "rock-solid sheen of Stallion-ness." "Everyone knows it's an act," he admits. "But [with] the Web site, I want people to think, 'This guy's really got his shit together – he's going somewhere.' Someday he's going to break into TV. Maybe do commercials first, then TV."

Horse trading

Stallion reminds me of the grandiose, ego-rich personalities of celebrity magicians like Davids Blaine and Copperfield, and whether or not you buy into it completely is beside the point. I'm totally convinced of Stallion's "megastar" status partly because he has gone through so much effort to make me want to believe. "People will refer to 'the Stallion,' and I'll say, 'No, it's Stallion, like Cher or Prince or Sting,' " Stallion reiterates before we part. "I want people to understand Stallion is going to be huge."

"Is Stallion controversial?" I ask, not knowing whether Ellison or Stallion will answer. Thankfully, Stallion fields this one: "Stallion is fucking all-American, it's Christian, it's spiritual, and if they have a problem with that, then they should take it up with the man upstairs. I've got a ministry through my magic, and I'm trying to blast the fog away from people's minds so that they can step up to a higher spiritual plane.

"That's what Fogstorm is all about: blasting the fog from your mind."

Stallion presents the world premiere of Fogstorm Aug. 25, 9 p.m., Rickshaw Stop, 155 Fell, SF. $6. (415) 861-2011.