D'Angelo
Arlene
Schnitzer Concert Hall
Saturday,
Aug. 12
Earth,
Wind and Fire
Portland
Meadows
Sunday,
Aug. 13
Two nights, two happening soul concerts, two blind dates.
Man, I tell ya: MTV (or at least the WB, for Heaven's sake)
should be paying me el grande dinero for these ideas.
Unfortunately, they ain't interested. Not even slightly. Say
they already got somethin' like that. Pfaaa.
Thus, on two consecutive weekend evenings, I found myself
escorting two different and equally lovely ladies to two
soul shows--all in the name of journalism. Thanks, First
Amendment!
Here, kind and attentive readers, is what happened:
Blind date No. 1, whom I'll call Ms. S, lives in an apartment
with a purple door. She spent the whole afternoon in said
abode, preparing for our anonymous encounter by personally
consuming 14 cans of Budweiser (the King of Beers). So,
when we got to the Schnitz at around 9 pm to witness the
man and mystery of D'Angelo, the first thing she did was
pee. The second thing she did was to order a gin and tonic
and gulp it. And damn it, she was still cool.
After the drink, we walked into the auditorium and somehow
pushed our way to the front of the crowd, ending up mere
inches from the stage. Monsignor had just begun his set
with a tune that was making the crowd scream, moan, dance
like wild pygmy rabbits, etc. But Ms. S, despite her acutely
drunken state, would have none of it. When the 17-year-old
girlies cooed and grabbed at D'Angelo's pants as he sang
a naughty rendition of "Brown Sugar," my blind date scoffed
and called them "hoochies." When he, in the middle of "Sexy
Motherfucker," ran up to the drum platform, grabbed a top
hat, flew through the air and smashed it into the stage
floor, she leaned over and screamed "this is goddamn ridiculous"
into my already traumatized ear. And, when Mister D' slickly
executed a grand finale that included towers of shattering
guitar, mixed dry ice and all the gymnastics you could handle,
the thing she noticed was the old trombonist, stage right,
rolling his eyes at the dude's antics.
Suffice it to say, D'Angelo did not win Ms. S over. Conclusion
for Phase One of the experiment: New-school soul music can
leave a woman cold.
Well boys, another night, another show. Blind date No.
2 did not live in an apartment with a purple door and hadn't
touched even a smidgen of liquor on the day of our musical
adventure. These, I thought at that the time, were two distinct
strikes against the possibility that she would be moved
by the funky sounds of Earth, Wind and Fire. Let
us, let us see.
Fall's coming early this year: It's getting colder in the
evenings and the wind bites from the west during the day.
So my date, the elegant Ms. Y, was shivering in her thin
yellow shirt when we arrived at Portland Meadows on Sunday
evening. But though she was a bit on the freezing side,
though she claimed that she had never before heard of Earth,
Wind and Fire (she was born in 1980! 1980!), I swear
to you that I watched her clasp her hands over her heart
and rock her hips ever so delightfully when they started
out with "After the Love Is Gone." And then she did it again
when the elemental wonders broke loose with "Devotion."
Now, if you hunt her down, she may very well deny that
this ever happened. She easily could have failed to notice
her body shaking to the deep sublimity of EWF. But, my friends,
I propose to you that this right here is the secret to the
soul music born of that magical decade we call the '70s.
It's like creeper weed: You take it in, don't really feel
much immediately and then, all of sudden...double ka-pow--you're
upside down, dancing naked with a goat.
Conclusion for Phase Two of the experiment: Old-school
soul music can heat a woman up (without her even
knowing it).
Conclusion for entire Inquiry: Whether new or old school,
you should probably be listening to soul music at least
two hours out of every day. In this life or the next, I
guarantee that it will come in handy.
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