Chicago Samba

by Ashanti Khan

A friend asked me to go with her to hear Chicago Samba. “Chicago who,” I replied. “I’ve never heard of them, but thanks anyway,” I tell her, “But I’ll have to pass.” Completely flabbergasted that I would say no to her. She’s not used to being told no. She should walk a mile in a guy’s shoes. Ladies, you have no idea how much we guys get rejected before one of you finally agrees to go out with us. If guys took the first “No” for your answer, there would hardly be any married couples in the world because you would never have fallen in love with us and said “Yes” when we proposed because we would have never gone out in the first place because you said “No” when we first met.

Anyway, my friend asked me why not. I told her that it was because I have to go home right after work to let my dog out. I don’t usually do anything after work for that reason, otherwise, I’d be cleaning up a mess at home. Also, it isn’t fair to the dog to be cooped up in a house all by his lonesome for so many hours. If my dog were a cat, then it wouldn’t matter. Cat’s don’t give a shit about anything. Just leave them food, water and a clean litter box and they are good to go. Hell, they’ll probably sleep for the next fourteen hours. So unless can I make arrangements in advance for someone to stop by and take care of my dog, I come straight home after work.

Now at this point, my friend is a bit peeved as well as astonished that I’m turning her invitation down. You see the backstory of all of this is that my friend is a beautiful and fiery Puerto Rican sensation. She’s gorgeous by any standard of beauty you’d chose to measure her by and like a lot of attractive women, she’s aware of the fact. She’s also used to getting her way with guys. Because of that, I sometimes can’t help messing with her reality. Hey, don’t be judging me. Somebody has to keep her grounded. It’s an important responsibility and somebody has to do it. It might as well be me. A day or two later my friend jokingly approaches me about Chicago Samba again and points out to me that the lame excuse I gave her would not be accepted this time, especially now that she has realized the concert wasn’t even on a workday. Smiling, I ask her again, “So who is Chicago Samba?”

The night of the concert has arrived and I’m doing my usual mental lament. I don’t know why, but other than seeing a movie, even a bad movie, I usually don’t like to go anywhere. I will admit, however, that when you do get me out and about, more times than not, I do have a good time. I won’t say the name of the place Chicago Samba was performing at, but damn it was a dive. The hardwood floors had what I would call the equivalent of potholes. All the chairs were different shapes and sizes as if the club had picked them up at a bunch of flea markets and rummage sales. Our table wobbled because one leg was shorter than the rest so we had to be mindful of not spilling our drinks. The place was just such a pit that I thought my friend was punking me. Finally, Chicago Samba came on stage and performed. And oh my God! They were simply amazing. The music was mostly a fusion of Latin and Jazz with a few other things sprinkled in for seasoning, The size of the club and the proximity of our seats to the stage was so perfect that the music reverberated through our bodies like a funky hit of musical crack.

All I can say is if you’ve never had this kind of experience at a concert then I feel bad for you. It was as if the limbic region of our brains had been directly accessed and elevated to a higher plane of existence. How could these guys not have a record deal, I wondered? In any case, their set was relatively short. Just under an hour, but what an hour!

Have you ever had a similar experience at a concert? Who did you go see?

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