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So, I took it. I’d let Danny G talk his shit. The shit was crazy. That was my very thought all month long, leading up to turning around seeing her standing in the kitchen, looking as impeccable as I’d ever seen her. And she’d never been anything less than perfect in my eyes. I had to play it right, though. These were her rules, but there was no game on my part.
“Thanks for this,” I told him instead of responding.
I hated to leave her, and so soon. When Dale hit me, I almost told him no. Then I thought about Lennox and how not to overwhelm her this week. This was a huge step for her.
Danny G sighed, wiping his face with his hand. “You got it.”
“I’m out. I’ll be back soon.”
“Yeah. I know yo ass will!” He laughed behind me. “Tell D-A-L-Ezee I said whaddup.”
“Yo!” I greeted, making my way to Dale and Luke, his best friend and one of his managers.
Dale, wearing sunglasses, sported his usual friendly smile as he approached me, giving dap. “My man!”
“That’s on playa,” I returned playfully, when greeting Luke next.
“One love, my G.” We dapped it up, too.
“So glad you’re here, man,” Dale expressed. “Looking good, too, G! What’s this? The newAsè Garbavi leather?” He referred to my jacket, whistling his approval.
The shit set me back almost four bands a few months ago. It was good to have someone else identify and appreciate it.
In response, I harmonized the chorus to one of his old hits, “Licker,” speeding up the melodies.
“Ah! See!” Dale yelped, holding his crotch while turning to Luke. He pointed at me. “These producer cats, who swear they’re so hard, never like for people to know they can blow, man!”
With a hard scoff, I warned, “Pause.”
We busted out laughing as Luke backed up to the white, linen-top table I figured they were seated at when I came in.TheRitz Luxuriate Hotelwas not only holding strong in opulence for guests needing overnight accommodations, it also had a Michelin star restaurant, which featured a piano bar. As we took our seats in the bar section, my ear tickled with awareness, hearing keys being stroked from the other side of the room.
“You hear that, huhn?” Dale asked, face still lit brightly from that signature smile.
I listened for a minute, holding my phone in my hand. There were no vocals accompanying the harmony. “Oh, yeah. Duke Elling—oh, nah! That’s…” I snapped my fingers. “Monk. Thelonious Monk. “Straight, No Chaser.” Yeah. That shit. People say he’s second only to Duke.”
“See what I mean?” Dale shouted, happy as hell, to Luke.
Luke laughed, nodding.
“What?” I chuckled.
“You know your shit, man,” Dale explained, head swinging back, giving Stevie Wonder vibes. “This is what I’ve been talking about. I just turned forty-four, and I knew that was Monk, but I’m feeling lost on transporting that same level of timeless music to a generation with microwave-level attention in terms of consumption. They don’t let shit marinate. Just chew, swallow, and on to the next ‘hit.’ The shit that’s up now is the noisiest, most boring, and quickly-thrown together cultureless shit of all time.”
I was scissoring the hairs on my chin when he removed his sunglasses. Dale’s face was tight as he expressed his feelings about the current state of music. This was a redundant conversation in the music industry. Had been forever.
My argument remained the same. “That ain’t true for everybody.”
“I saidthisgeneration,” Dale clarified. “I ain’t a part of it. I ain’t got the ear.”
“Okay…” I pushed him to make his point.
Dale’s eyes squinted as they moved from behind me to my face. That charming smirk returned. “I’m ready to get my thang-thang wet again.”
Luke took a sip of his drink, face not giving away anything at all.
Slowly, I regained my damn wits. “Well, shit.” I snorted. “Good for you, man. You’re a fuckin’ legend…too seasoned to be keeping the porch light on.”
Dale, a platinum selling artist since his teenage years, hadn’t had a studio album in about five years. His last hit album, “Telling it All,” was a cultural phenomenon and went five times platinum. That shit was almost fifteen years ago.
