“What were you thinking?”, my wife wanted to know when she discovered I had bought tickets. Neither of us particularly likes soul music and Aretha Franklin’s screaming is like fingernails on a blackboard. Indeed, what was I thinking? I must not have read the instructions. But we went anyway, had elegant bar food at Downtown Kitchen and Cocktails, and told the barmaid we’d be back soon for dessert, fully expecting to walk out of the concert after the second number.
But the band was talented and tight with an undercurrent of subtle funk, most numbers were more ballad than raucous and, while there was still plenty of high pitched aural assault, Ms. Lavette at 71 was trim, energetic, immaculately dressed and coifed and, though her voice is (in her own words) not particularly mellifluous, she is possessed of an impressive ability to communicate her songs. She also seemed to have a lot of fans among the typical Arizona (old white) audience. We stayed – helped, no doubt, by there being no intermission.
We wouldn’t do it again, but I must say I enjoyed it for the talent, the emotional conveyance, and the variety of experiencing intimate exposure to a high quality performance in a genre I generally hate. I thought it was a fair trade for missing dessert; my companion: not so much.
Jarl