brown and allen

We went and saw James Brown last night. Electric. He's 73 (I believe) and still gettin' down onstage. What a lively audience. We sat in the 8th row so we had a good look at his large ensemble, his backup singers, dancers, his glittery smiley self. We sat behind 3 tiny silver clouds of hair, it was all you could see above their seats, so tiny these little old ladies, and once the music blared they were groovin' just as much as everyone else, if not more...what a sight!

Quite a contrast to Woody Allen and his New Orleans jazz band the night before, as they sat languidly in a row of chairs an hour and a half. Old tyme music made me shake my shoulders back and forth as we sat but Hubby informed me that I was shaking the whole row so I tried to redirect that energy into my right knee. The crowd was frozen rows of white hair, gold jewelry, sports-jackets, and comb-overs.

James' crowd was studded with zoot suits and fancy canes, all colors of men's fedoras, shiny solid ties tucked under pinstriped wide shouldered jackets, wide brimmed ladies hats and hair braided with strings of golden brightness. Shoulder-padded ladies jackets and shimmery fabrics all pushing tightly upon each-other as there was a mad rush for the entrance only minutes before the show.

Shame on my lack of solidarity when I followed the crowd in silence while Woody's band walked out single file on stage amidst the quiet and then the crowd blew up once they saw him trail out second to last. It hurt my heart and I refused to clap for him. I saved my emphatic claps for the banjo solo's and chuckled after Woody's fluttering clarinet playing. He was humble all-in-all in the end and their overpriced ticket sales were a benefit for New Orleans musicians.