I've got so much honey...

Let me say that ultimately, destination weddings are a pain in the ass. It is difficult to get attendees on location, it is difficult to coordinate troop movements, and if said destination happens to be the beach access portion of Corolla Light, then it is also difficult to keep people from getting stuck in the dunes en route to the reception. However amidst all of these complications, serendipity does sometimes strike to create special, if not bizarre, moments. And that is where the wedding band comes in.

I got home yesterday from our wedding gig in the Outer Banks and it was interesting to say the least. It could have been like any other gig but when alcohol, good vibes, and a lot of music history kick in, it reminds you why you play at all. For this wedding two bands were hired. One was comprised of four white guys from the DC 'burbs who play rock 'n roll and were hired to be the reception/party band -- that would be us. The other band was made up of three older black men from DC proper who play a lot of old school R&B and the likes -- that would not be us. The second band was hired to play the rehearsal dinner and the cocktail hour prior to the reception. And everything went according to plan until the end of our last set.

By the end of our "contracted" three hours of playing everyone was well lubricated because there really is nowhere to go at night when you are out in the beach access areas of the Outer Banks. We had imbibed of copious spirits come the end of the set and the other band had hung out to party and was herbally enhanced at this point. What started out as a scripted third set ended in a seven-piece jam session that only hinted of things to come. With our bass player having to leave and the rest of us performance-fatigued, we broke down our gear but the left the PA up and running for the other band who was going to do a late-night acoustic set to keep the party going. Excellent.

For three white boys with jazz backgrounds and a deep love for the Motown glory years, watching these old black men putting out all of this good stuff into the night, with a full moon shining over the ocean, was too much to resist. The partygoers could feel it too so everyone huddled around the dance floor out in the salty air to watch three black men from the city and three white boys from the 'burbs tear through every Motown, R&B, and soul song they knew with nothing but an acoustic guitar, some auxiallry percussion and six voices. It was incredible! The highlight for me was sharing the mic with a man known only as Big Daddy who was 57, constantly wore bib overalls, looked like the old man form the Arrested Development videos, and had a killer baritone. We were all so out of it by the end of the night that we were leaning on each other to keep from falling over while I led all of us through an acapella rendition of "What Becomes of the Broken Hearted" -- you can thank Yeungling and Seagram's 7 for that one.

Anyway, Monday night was a welcome reminder of why we do what we do. You cannot manufacture moments like that. Congratulations Kim and Steve.