Doin’ a little sole searching
My feet hurt like a motherfucker.
They walked 20 city blocks in Toronto. In heels. They stood for two hours in a hot-ass club while canned soul music trickled down the walls of The Phoenix. They shifted - ever so slightly - to the right to avoid the annoying couple beside them. They wished fervently they were encased in comfortable, worn-in Converse instead of the “No, seriously, I know these are damn cute, but you have got to be kidding me with this shit!” heels. They SWORE they would carry me against my will to the back and lean against the wall two songs in.
But then, somebody flipped a switch. House lights down. Stage lights up. A rustle of a curtain and the band emerged, swathed in dark suits, skinny ties and sunglasses at night. Strutting out to a favourite track from Kid Koala’s “Your Mom’s Favourite DJ,” they earned even more of my love. They tore into a couple funk soul Mellomatic numbers that, combined with the trippy mini-dress of the girl in front of me and the sheath dress and headband of my companion, transported me to an earlier time. A time I’d never experienced beyond my own teenage disection of my parents’ album covers. Until last night. I told my feet to shut the hell up. When 110 pounds of sweet soul excitement in the form of Miss! Sharon! Jones! stepped onstage, my feet listened to me. They had no choice.
If you are going to see Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, you should see them in a deliciously fetid sauna of a club that is off the beaten path, and you should definitely stand front and centre. If you are lucky enough to get a spot that gives you an almost unfettered view of the stage (damn you, tall guys!), you damn well take it and keep it and don’t ever give it up. Even if two hours later, you find yourself wondering when the hell this damn show is going to start already. Then, when it does start, when you find yourself wishing death on the sound tech who didn’t bother to check that the mic of this funky lady was working proper, you will stand there and you will smile and you will wait until everything is, as Miss! Sharon! Jones! would say, nice… and easy…
Because I guaran-damn-tee you that you will enjoy yourself despite your aching feet. You will even find it in yourself to dance non-stop for an hour and a half until the sweat is rolling off you AND Miss! Sharon! Jones! You will clap your hands, stomp your feet and participate in a call-and-answer demand for more with guitarist and hype man, Mr. Mellomatic himself, Binky Griptite. You will put your lips together and blow as the band and Miss! Sharon! Jones! bound out for an encore that will amaze and astound.
For the next two days, your feet will pay you back for every step you took that night and you will retreat to your comfortable Doc Martens and your fuzzy slippers. But when you reach for your well-worn canvas Vans, you will see those strikingly handsome heels sitting in the closet, mocking you. And you will smile. They earned that pain. Every time you take a painful step down, you’ll hear the refrain of “My Man is a Mean Man” echo in your brain chamber and remember the tall, dark, drink of water Sharon pulled up onstage to dance. You will remember watching Tommy “TNT” Brenneck of The Budos Band, ”Tall Ass Tommy” as Sharon calls him, cradle his butterscotch-coloured Gibson and wish it was you in his arms. You will crank the stereo to 11, hear the iconic drumming of Homer Steinweiss and tap your tender toes. You will feel the thrum of Bosco Mann’s funky, funky bass penetrate your heart. HORNS! I said HORNS! You will WISH you had horns to call out to for a fanfare! You’ll watch the Super Soul Revue’s Queen of Funk shake every part of her body that can be shook and a few she’s invented special for the occasion.
Most of all, you will cherish a sharp moment of silence during the encore that cuts into the club’s very core like a hot knife. On a blistering cover of ”It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World,” Sharon’s powerful vocals scream “He’s lost!” And there is a silence so complete and total you will wonder if you haven’t been struck deaf, abandoned by everyone else in the club. Until she breaks it with a raw, throaty call of “In the wilderness!”
You will recall Sharon Jones intone those bluesy, ballsy words for the rest of your life. You will feel it in your soles, oh yes. But more importantly, when the blisters have peeled and the pain has ebbed away, you will feel it in your soul. You will. You will.
Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings - How Long Do I Have To Wait For You?: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings - Answer Me: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings - Let Them Knock: Play Now | Play in Popup | DownloadSeriously, yo. My feet still hurt. Ease my pain and check out Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings at:
Soul searching at: iTunes
Oh, trust me, you are gonna want this shizzle on vinyl. Do a little analog Dap-Dippin’ with the Dap Kings at: Daptone Records
Love it!
I would L-O-V-E love to experience some genuine honest to goodness funk in my life. As much as I enjoy the records, I can’t even imagine how great it would be to witness live, although now I can only assume it would be life changingly phenominal.
They broke it down, brought it home, turned it up and turned it loose and doused it all with spicy hot sauce that kept things picanté. If it hadn’t been for that long-ass wait and the sound problems, it easily would have made my Top 3 concerts of the year. It still might, depending on if I go to see the Pipettes Sunday and how good they are.
Righteous. I’ve seen Sharon twice. The first time was three or four years ago…I couldn’t convince any of my friends to come with me. I picked up the “Dap-Dippin’” LP at the show and the next year, when she came back, I had no trouble getting people to come out.
I’m glad Sharon and the Dap-Kings are finally getting the recognition they deserve, thanks in part to the whole Amy Winehouse thing.
I also agree that the best place to see them is in a dank, sweaty club.
HUGE fan of Sharon and the Dap Kings.
How Long Do I Have to Wait for You is gold, as is 100 Days, 100 Nights. I must see her live.