Happy Song

Most times, this blog and its contents will more directly reflect the title it's been given: things I remember not despite of the hangover but because of it. That is, I like going out and drinking, and then writing about it so strangers know a little something of the life that's available in Middle Georgia... and also so my friends can remember the shit I saw them do.

But to put a spin on the title, the "tamed hangover" part--and yes, this is a stretch--I'm sometimes going to go out and still enjoy myself without doing stuff that leaves me hungover. In other words, by taming the instinct to get plastered, I'm taming the hangover before it begins and thusly giving myself a chance to experience a life here that I tend to neglect: the sober nightlife.

This is going to be one of those posts: Hey, I was sober and this is what happened.

Last night, I didn't expect to be -- not with the presence of an open bar and a lot of Otis Redding's music in the forefront. In fact, I envisioned a night of free booze with some boogie thrown in for good measure. That I didn't get that doesn't mean I was disappointed by the Otis Redding tribute, but that it was something different.

Turns out, getting lit on gin n tonic the night before upped my tolerance for gin n tonic, which is what I wanted to drink because I was dressed up and it felt like a dressy drink. I had a few of those, but they didn't come home to roost so I stopped worrying about it and switched to water.

Yes, I was dressed up. It was a chore, but I was excited about it. The week leading up, I didn't shave and my last public appearance, at the infamous Cocktail Hour, I made in holey jeans. I wanted to make sure that my image as a slacker bum was solid before giving myself a makeover.

It worked. Walking up, R.S. was guarding the door and addressed me like a stranger, not recognizing me and saying so, which was just the first time all night I heard that. Several folks had the same revelation. And pictures of it are limited, if they even exist. That was half the fun for me. I like dressing up from time to time, and surprising folks is a form of entertainment in of itself. Plus, I had a lovely lady on my arm, so to speak as I couldn't imagine actually carrying anyone around like that.

Anyway, organizers sat us four 11th Hour people -- Cardigan Slim was in town but Grizzle was not though -- with eight Telegraph people, and it made me smirk. The only Telegraph employee was the office manager, which meant there was no need for small talk about "the biz". Dinner was a nice salad and a whole cornish hen, which was my first attempt at eating what looked like a chicken without using my fingers.

We walked the red carpet in the pouring rain into the City Auditorium, finding our seats in a roped off section for VIPs. Ooo la la. It was fancypants. I made sure to give the finger to all the commoners outside of the special section for special people.

Then I felt like giving the finger to someone else, though I didn't know who. No one was dancing. Later, much later, a young couple (commoners) got up to dance, but no one joined in. I wanted to but there was no dancefloor in the VIP section and I feared going outside of our fiefdom.

Seriously though, how are you going to have the Bar-Kays -- the actual damn Bar-Kays, including Ben Cauley who survived the plane wreck that killed Otis Redding and most of the other Bar-Kays (the other surviving Bar-Kays were on a different plane) -- playing "Green Onions" and their own "Soul Finger" and not have a place for people to dance? How pointless is it to watch people get their groove on, instrumental style, without being able to get your groove on?

It isn't like I can't be happy with what I had because we all had a lot that night -- great music and interesting clips of celebrities talking about how much they love Otis Redding, including Alicia Keys and the Rolling Stones -- but it would've made sense. Other than that, it was lovely.

The vocalist for the Bar-Kays, Larry Hudson, tore it up. He came out in a white silk suit singing Satisfaction. Later, he emerged in a gold suit with coat tails. That's a man that knows the value of showsmanship. Speaking of, Dexter Redding, eldest son of Otis and Zelma, is a charismatic guy, reflecting at least some of the dynamic performance of his father's. Otis Redding III was a different matter. He isn't a bad singer -- neither sounds that much like their dad -- but he was a smoking guitar player. I didn't realize he was that good. And he had great chemistry with Taj Mahal when that blues great came out for his cameo.

The event was emceed by three people who read off a teleprompter, none more egregiously than the dude Kenny Lattimore. Maybe it wasn't noticeable from the balcony but it sure was sitting that close. It wasn't a bad thing, mind you, just a little distracting. It made it more obvious that what they were reading was ridiculously bland. "Otis Redding touched many million lives around the globe..." Blah.

One of the MCs was a former American Idol, Diana Degarmo. She sang "Respect" (or tried to) with the other female host, Alexandria (I think). But they did Aretha Franklin's version -- not a problem, just think it would've been interesting to hear the ladies duet on Otis Redding's version. The problem was that halfway through their song, Diana got flustered -- the band sounded off and the ladies didn't seem comfortable with the lyrics -- and said, "Let's start over." It was an awkward moment, watching them try to rebuild the momentum, but it seemed to make them try harder to work the crowd, which ultimately made it a better performance.

Speaking of awkward moments, when they first announced Otis Redding III, he didn't show up. Almost a full minute passed without anyone showing up, no one knowing what to do about it, and when he did appear, I had to chuckle because in a pair of dark glasses and a black jacket decked out with lots of black sequins Otis III looked almost exactly like Neon Deion Primetime Sanders.

But again, he was a killer on the guitar.

The evening only really bogged down when dedications to Otis and Zelma were being made. It was sweet but probably should've been done earlier. It ain't my party though. Other than that, it was fantastic.

Afterwards, my date and I went to CJs, still dressed up because I'd left my keys and phone at the house and my roommate had gone out after all. We walked in, got carded, looked around and decided to leave. It wasn't a CJs night, but I wish it had been. They were doing a benefit for breast cancer -- Save the Ta-Tas -- and I wanted to be a part, but it wasn't to be. That said, good job looking out CJs (and to all the area bars that donated gift certificates for the raffle). The place was packed, which is why I didn't want to stay, and I'm sure they raised some money for their worthy cause, which is why I wanted to go in the first place.