The Post-Rockist

Sharon Jones (Credit:Carrie Musgrave–livebabylive.com)

It’s a rather stylish northern audience in Detroit, here to witness the kind of Northern Soul that Brit bands from the Stones to Belle and Sebastian have so reverenced and adored. It’s a Mod crowd–not a Rocker in sight. I can’t remember a time I’ve seen so many freshly shined patent-leather shoes, especially of the red, high-heeled type. Everyone has stance, a pose, but also a smile and a strut. Some even partake of pre-show shimmies and shakes for the pleasure of their pals, belles, and beaus. It’s the kind of crowd that makes you feel like this is the place to be in the city tonight.

And so it was.

The thing about that sweet Soul music is that it makes us conscious of the beat of our hearts. It’s revelatory. It’s romantic. It draws out the human intensity that is natural to us all, but sublimated most of the time.

Soul music is fiercely sexual, honest, and transformative, even if the transformation lasts only as long as the show.

Everybody at the show is unbelievably cool. As a group, we exude a vibe I can’t really describe with words. Nobody sneezes at a Soul show. Nobody trips over feet. There are no faux pas. No one is feeble. We are all full of virility. We all say just the right things, move just the right way. Every curvature of the back, every sidestep, every cigarette, every laugh, every conversation, every hip shake is a fashion statement. But it’s all pretty much unconscious and none of us will have power over our own bodies once the music starts. But we will feel the beating of our hearts.

The Dap-Kings come on stage. I’m sitting at a circular table to the left of the stage. The music starts, and I begin to feel uncomfortable with my pad of paper and pen, writing by the light of my cell phone in the dark room. The band plays a song and my feet won’t stop tapping on floor as I sit on a high stool, writing. Bandleader Binky Griptite sings a song and I’m standing at my little table now, writing gibberish on paper because I’ve lost the ability to look down at my scraps of paper. I can’t look away from the stage. I’m becoming uncomfortable in my current pose as a critic, my body is beginning to take over my mind, and I am beginning to sweat a bit (read: foreshadowing). I feel myself gaining dancing momentum like Joliet Jake as the light shines down upon him in church during Reverend Cleophus’s sermon.

And then Sharon Jones stepped onto the stage.

It is at this point that my notes stop. I made my way into the crowd, dancing. Got to center stage, dancing. Just two rows back from Sharon Jones herself, dancing. I couldn’t push any closer, dancing. I stood there mesmerized, but dancing, not standing.

The next thing I remember was the icy sweat running down my brow and down the back of my shirt as I walked out of the Magic Stick that night into the cold Michigan air, to go home and to bed, because what else is there to do after a night like that?

Check out Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings in your city:

Dec 1–San Diego, CA, The Belly Up Tavern
Dec 2–Santa Ana, CA, The Galaxy Theater
Dec 4–Los Angeles, CA, El Rey Theater
Dec 5–San Francisco, CA, Bimbo’s 365 Club
Dec 7–Portland, OR, Doug Fir Lounge
Dec 8–Seattle, WA, Neumo’s
Dec 9–Bellingham, WA, The Nightlight
Dec 14–Philadelphia, PA, Theater of Living Arts
Jan 4–Fort Lauderdale, FL, Jamcruise
Jan 17–Washington, DC, Black Cat

–Posted by Scotter