Illusions: On the Verge of Repentance

Gregory Porter, post-concert Saturday, September 15, in Memphis, Tennessee
(photo courtesy Skipp)

With very few words, if any, between songs, jazz vocalist Gregory Porter for two hours turned my “terrible, horrible, no good, very bad” week into a remote, languid memory. I laid back with closed eyes as his divine voice gently pushed me as close to the point where God and lasciviousness might meet without having to be concerned about repentance. This was not a concert; it was prayer and therapy, thanks and hope, an inhale and a slow exhale.

It was like he knew me. Like he’d cyberstalked me before I got there, the way I do him whenever he crosses my mind. I’m convinced he’d have sung his heart out as an offering to the jazz gods if there’d been just me in the audience or, as it happened to be, a couple hundred nobodies who inflitrated our time together because that’s just the kind of man he is. He smiled at me, sang to me, soothed me, and then he was gone. Like an illusion.

I’ll “Be Good,” until we see each other again, Gregory Porter. I’ll “Be Good.”

By the way, I think Short Do-Op enjoyed the concert, too! You’d have to ask her.


~ by MsInklination on September 17, 2012.

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