Some private parties are better than others. This one was a GREAT one!!
A guy wanted to throw a surprise birthday party for his girlie. He’s from Connecticut and she’s from the Alabama. He’s got a headache walking through the park and comes across some super slow bluesy music. “That’s the party,” he says to himself.
The party is in his apartment in the West Village. Rumor has it that Richard Gere used to live there back in the day. Moderate, humble, swanky little spot. Cheeses and fruits. The kitchen is all bar. Wine, Maker’s Mark, Bombay Saphire, Bud Light.
Our host, “So here’s the deal. Everybody at this party is from the South. So you just play that good old good music and drink and have a good time and we’ll be all set.”
In these situations I am very glad that I can turn to Clifton Hyde (born in Hattiesburg, Mississippi) and say, “You’re our Southern Tempo dude, tonight, know’m’sayin'”
We start doing our thing with a little “Happy Birthday” action as the surprised guest of honor makes her entrance. A bouncy, stompy little mid-tempo thing. I don’t know how it happened but we were ignored for about 15 minutes as everyone was getting all chatty, talky and getting their drink on. Little by little I saw some folks doing a little hip shakin’ and head groovin’ and in a little while folks were sitting back in the living room with us with their arms around each other all smilin’ and listnin’.
At some point we took a turn for the rude. I’m just talking tempo here. We played “Millenburg Joys” at about 50 clicks a minute. That’s just positively stanky. Sure ‘nough, Stefan is humpin’ his bari and pressin’ up against some southern belle in tight white pants. Cheerin’, hootin’, hollerin’ And me, I’m just singing like “Louis Armstrong on Crack” At the top of the night when I first saw the room I was concerned that I didn’t have my mutes with me but by the middle of that first set I was playing horn and singing as loud as physically possible! And the tempo’s were so slow, I really had to sing everything so passionately and fiercely to make it all sizzle. Just writing this paragraph is hurting my throat again!!
Break time – sit on the stoop – try not to talk – but of course the stoop is where the party is at for the people that want to get chatty. Surrounded by folks who are just so happy to talk and be all Southernly Hospitable to us. It’s becoming clear that they really didn’t expect to have that kind of reaction to a “cocktail party band”
After our second set – similar to the first but nastier right from the get go – we were commanded to drink and drink again by every one.
Gradually I began to pick up the following story: It turns out that a truly magical thing was happening all night long that we in the band were completely unaware of. We were sitting right next to the window playing all this sultry sexy music and we were having a transformative impact on just about every pedestrian who would walk by. People were gathering outside the window for a while and stoop hanging with the party goers. People were grabbin’ their girls and makin’ out. A lot people were just spontaneously dancing in the street. This one guy, a New York guy for sure, says to me that the most beautiful thing he saw all night was this one couple who had their sleeping children with them in strollers. They parked the strollers on the curb and danced in the street for a little while. At one point the man grabbed one his kids and was holding the sleeping baby while dancing with his wife.
The next morning we all woke up hung over and went to play at Alice in Wonderland with Cassidy. We were all feeling hung over and victorious. The intensity and joy in the music coupled with the grizzled, hung-over, sleep-deprived vibe was a magnetic tonic. We had huge crowds, the music was sizzling and it was Tin Pan’s best day for $$ that we’ve had out there so far!
If I took photos I would show you the photo of the three empty bottles of Maker’s Mark in the kitchen. I would show you Stefan and his Bari dancing with White Pants. And even though I didn’t see it, I would show the picture of the dancers out in the street.