Motown. What's not to love!?
Monday nights at Houston's Red Cat Jazz Cafe three older Black men in matching suits sing the songs of Motown and with choreographed movements to emphasize particular parts of the choruses bring smiles to the few folks who have discovered this entertainment option at the first of the week.
Twice now I've joined some friends for this musical interlude. Twice I've smiled to the point that my dimples stretched. Last night I was the object of the singers' attention.
Seems part of their act is to make their way through the audience and sing to women or encourage women's dates to do the singing for them. The first night I went with two gay men and a married pastor. They tried to determine which one of the men should direct the chorus of "My Girl" at me, made a guess, got it wrong and we laughed at how confused the singer seemed to be at our table's plight.
Last night we were seated a bit closer to the stage in the still rather empty room (March Madness was taking its toll on the potential audience) and I somehow caught the spotlight. First the younger man with the shaved head and earring seranaded me. Then the short guy with the gap between his two front teeth decided that he needed to direct his falsetto in my direction. And finally the lead and eldest had a song or two for me. Hands were held. Lyrics were spoken, sung, acted out. The evening was much fun . . . at least from my perspective!!
I plan on letting more of my buddies in on this little Motown Monday secret. But I'm going to miss the attention!
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