Monday, July 16, 2018
Today I am grateful for outdoor concerts. It was hot and humid yesterday with violent storms until about one, so we were going to opt out of the Concert Sundaes we usually go to on Sunday nights. . .me for the music and people watching, Himself for the two-buck ice cream.
Then the heaven’s parted, the sun came out and I got a message that the “Philadelphia Funk Authority” would perform outside as scheduled. So we went. Driving into the parking lot I saw a gorgeous black woman in white capris, with braids piled a foot high on the very top of her head. “I hope she’s in the band,” I said to Himself. She was. And boy did she have pipes!
Just like any crowd there are wide varieties of people. Since I like so many forms of music, as long as the singers are in tune, I’m happy. Not so for the two geezers (picture the old guys in the balcony on The Muppet Show) sitting behind me. The band started with “Virtual Insanity”, a song they first performed twenty years ago. It was full of rhythm and brass and sass.
“Sounds like insanity to me!” Geezer-one says and the other grunts in agreement. When it was over they were rocking in their plastic mesh lawn chairs, leaning on their canes and I’m sure turning their hearing aids off. The band played another song.
“If I heard that on the radio I’d turn it off!” Geezer-Two says. “Me, too, especially if I was in my car. I can’t stand that screeching. What is that?” Geezer-One asks.
It was difficult to concentrate on the music and the comments, so I borrowed a pen from the lady sitting next to me so I could take notes. On the Geezers, not the band. An inquiring mind, like mine, doesn’t want to miss anything. The band was just great. Was it Tommy Dorsey or John Phillip Sousa? Nope. Not even close. But the jazz was great, the rifs in pitch and the funk fantastic. I’ve never seen so many people dancing at one of these events.
“Do-dah-do-dah-dat-da-do-dah-dododod-dat-dah-do-do. . .what in the hell was that?” Geezer-One is mimicking the current singer. Geezer-Two is shaking his head and laughing so hard I’m afraid his teeth will fall out. “They sure aren’t lyrics!” he says.
When my new BFF with the mile-high-hair grabbed the mic and sang I was in awe. How does someone hit every note so perfectly when singing soft or bold? It’s a gift. When she was done I leaned back so that I wouldn’t miss the Peanut Gallery comment, because I was sure there would be at least one. The Geezers didn’t let me down.
“That band is pretty good, but the singing is TERRIBLE!” Geezer-Two, says to Geezer-One’s nods and shouts of, “Horrible, just horrible” over the applause.
At intermission I looked back to see if the curmudgeons were heading for ice cream to placate their bad attitudes, but they were folding up their chairs and leaving. When the music started back up again I felt the void. Outdoor concerts are great. And sometimes so is the music.