Write Lotus looks at that marsupial moment in King of Prussia

A couple of songs into Lotus’s headlining set in Heuser Park, it was pretty much situation normal. The Mercury had dipped after a sweaty afternoon focused on hydration, especially if you were standing in the sun for Ghost-Note and Circles Around The Sun. Recurring breezes provided extra relief. Under the Thursday moon, more than halfway full, “Phantom Tooth” got the Fourth of July weekend underway as footwear was kicked off and people began to move. The ray of happiness that is “Sunrain” followed, always an ideal choice for an outdoor Lotus gig.

Fun start. What’s next?

“Electric Orange” is one of the most played tracks off their latest album, How To Dream In Color. The song’s ’70s vibe with modern trimmings is undeniably catchy—and intelligent, as Lotus does. Well, it got going, smiles grew wider…and this kangaroo of a disco ball emerged from behind Luke Miller and his keyboards. Proceeding with caution behind guitarist Tim Palmieri, it stopped in the space in front of Mike Greenfield’s drumkit and to the side of bassist Jesse Miller’s modular synth. Then, in carefully playful motions, the kangaroo boogied and danced and grooved. Surreal? You bet, yet it all made sense.

To say the suit is elaborate would be a huge understatement. The artistry alone, with all the mirror tiles of various shapes and sizes, as well as the seamless transitions from even the arms to the torso, is cool to see in person. During the jam, lights reflecting off the kangaroo’s exterior added to the wow factor. You could sense emotion from the marsupial through its head gestures. The ears were my favorite part, though the tail was impressive. And while bouncing wasn’t in the cards for this kangaroo, there was plenty of bounce in the crowd for those dozen minutes.

The disco kangaroo had been mingling by the stage earlier in the day. I rubbernecked by it twice, imagining how hot it was inside the suit as a cast of affable characters at the mini festival checked it out. Photos, selfies, around the horn. Judy Blume’s The One in the Middle Is the Green Kangaroo, which I’d read to my kids years ago, cropped up, on title alone—I couldn’t remember enough of the book to draw parallels between the disco kangaroo and the green variety.

My mind was wandering. Maybe it was the heat, or my empty stomach before devouring a pulled pork sandwich off a food truck, but I just hadn’t calculated that the disco kangaroo would wind up on the stage. Here’s the thing, though: For those who weren’t in King of Prussia, you missed a once in a lifetime experience—and a “Once In A Lifetime” closer, once again showing the love for the Talking Heads. But flip the script and you’ll realize you might’ve had a disco kangaroo situation of your own that day without an actual disco kangaroo present. If not Thursday, July 3, then sometime in the previous 24 hours. Or thrice a week ago. Because they happen, a lot, and you must be attuned to them even if you can’t see them: These moments act as a binding agent between all the life happening with you and around you, often to provide even a hint of clarity through the clutter and noise.

Thoughts floated in and out of my tired head on the drive from Pennsylvania to my home in North Jersey. In the necessary evil of air conditioning, I pondered the rendition of “Sid” that segued into a “Spiritualize” that somehow found a way to break apart the soupy air. My fondness for “Behind Midwest Storefronts” continues to grow. And why a kangaroo and not an alligator? An overgrown rooster like Foghorn Leghorn? A two-person horse? Was it a mascot? Truthfully, I prefer when these things remain a mystery and unravel over time, waiting patiently as a Lotus setlist unfolds.

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