battle of the bands, pt I

last week was dedicated to choosing a band to play at the reception—a task i had no idea was so intense until we were knee deep in it. a word to the wise: the majority of wedding band leaders are needy, desperate, annoying-as-hell people who call and e-mail repeatedly as soon as they have your information. piranhas!

so i was relieved when we narrowed it down to two bands: for privacy's sake, we'll call the first Fake Tans and the second Bad Hair.

Fake Tans had played a wedding my parents attended over the summer—they raved about the band, said the dance floor was packed the entire reception, and apparently three guests booked the band that day for separate occasions. someone i went to high school with also used Fake Tans and gushed.

Bad Hair was a band i found on theknot.com, designated as a "knot pick"—i don't know how much value there is in that, but they played one of in the Inaugural Balls in DC in January, so i figured they must be decent.

we had two roadblocks with these bands. Fake Tans played showcases for potential clients, but at a facility way down in the middle of South Jersey, two hours away from the city. Inconvenient. And Bad Hair doesn't do showcases, for reasons i still don't understand. Also inconvenient.

so we had to be creative.

last Thursday night, Fake Tans was playing at a club in a town in South Jersey, due west of Atlantic City. still far and inconvenient from the city, but we had reached the point of desperation. it was a straight shot on the NJ Turnpike and what the hell else would we do on a Thursday night? so we made the trek to... The Adelphia.

people, i am not even kidding when i tell you the place has to be visible from space. like, the folks working on the Discovery up there in the universe can look down at any time and say, "oh, look, there's the Adelphia!" thanks to the pink neon trim that traces the entire building. Michael and i got lost because the directions were bad, but what finally got us on course was the glowing monstrosity in the distance.

"that has to be it," i muttered. and, of course, it was.

we found a spot in the jam-packed parking lot and started toward the main entrance. for a moment i didn't think we'd make it—i thought we might die from asphyxiation due to the wall of bad cologne and perfume that hit us about 20 feet from the building.

i am. not. joking.  

we fought our way through the fumes and into the front door, where we were greeted by a true gorge-fest for the senses. there were waterfalls, there were moving statues, there were fake palm trees, there was marble everywhere, there was a dance floor that pulled double-duty as a light show... i really didn't know what to look at, or for how long.

we both were in dire need of the restrooms, so i shot upstairs after being pointed in the direction of the ladies room, and discovered it was labeled "goddesses" above the door (the men's room was labeled, naturally, "gods"). i knew it was going to be a night to remember when i came upon a few fiftysomething women standing by the sinks, wearing skimpy tops and applying lipstick and hairspray, who looked at me in my smart trench coat and jeans like i'd come from another planet.

and really, i felt like i had.

back downstairs, Michael and i spied the band setting up at the head of the flashing, stroke-inducing dance floor and snagged a table off to the side. i was absolutely starving by that point and thought perhaps i was just delirious with hunger when i saw what was happening on on the dance floor.

i hadn't really noticed the crowd until then. and i was lost for words. there were people, all seemingly 40 and over, dancing. with abandon. to bad club songs being spun by the deejay. my eyes shot around the dance floor. each person was more... unique than the last. they all wore clothes that were too tight, too garish and too outdated. the hair was frosted, teased and gelled to helmet-like proportions. the dancing was bad, so ridiculously bad—some of them didn't even move their feet, but gave the suggestion of dancing by twisting their arms about. there was groping and lustful gazes and suggestive stares.

i stood there observing, taking it all in, wanting to remember the scene forever.

"this place," i yelled to Michael over the music, "is where middle-aged white people come to be free!"

i really didn't know whether to make fun of them or applaud them—i settled on a mixture of both. they were too much like a Saturday Night Live skit to take seriously, yet i could tell they were all blissfully happy—especially the dude dressed in black who looked like a reformed child molester who'd finally found a safe haven, dancing on his own in the corner—Lars without the real girl. and the bespectacled little fella who only came onto the dance floor when the band slowed things down with a rendition of "At Last"—he had no partner, but stood in the center of the floor with his hands in his pockets and swayed back and forth to the melody.

which reminds me: the band. in the midst of all my anthropology that night, i did manage to meet the band leader, a really cool guy who also happens to be a Yankee fan (sold!) and the band itself, when they started playing, blew us away. great sound, great energy—and we had to assume they had cooler gigs than the Adelphia, that this was just a pay-the-bills sort of engagement.

we ordered drinks and dinner (i will say this for the place—the food was fantastic) and listened to/watched the band through their first set. it was a truly, truly entertaining evening—in addition to the AARP Dance Fever, there was a portly gentleman selling things that glowed (rings, necklaces, etc) who flirted with me every time Michael left the table. and the sliver-haired fox who excused himself past me at one point, letting his hands linger on my hips several seconds too long. he was with a lady friend, but that didn't stop him from turning around once he'd gotten by me, to give me a classic dirty-old-man wink.

when we left—because, after all, we had a two-hour ride back to the city, and it was already 11 o'clock—the place was just getting warmed up. the crowd was still filing in and those already there were clearly settling in for another hot Thursday night at the Adelphia.

it would be a stark contrast to our experience seeing the Bad Hair band. check back tomorrow for that tale, and to find out who we actually picked.

mb