It was about 11 p.m. when Kat and I arrived at The Stage. Yo Mama’s Big Fat Booty Band was already throwing down inside, but something was wrong. Where were all the cars? Where were the clinking glasses and the din of conversation?
We went inside and found the Booty Band, but were aghast at the utter absence of a crowd. There were maybe 30 people there, bartenders included.
Where the hell was everybody? Didn’t they know what was going down? I’m disappointed, Miami. You missed a hell of a funky good time.
Despite the low attendance, the Booty Band lived up to their reputation. It was that new breed of funk—like James Brown on steroids. Bass-heavy, instrumentally charged tunes spilled across the room, filling it with that irresistible groove.
It was visibly infectious. A couple folks took advantage of the empty floor to dance freely, unconstrained by the tight squeeze of a large crowd. Those that chose to stay seated still couldn’t help but groove in their own little way, nodding their heads with grins on their faces.
The band called it quits at around 11:30 p.m. and I was a little disappointed I couldn’t see more. My fault for being a little late. Miami’s fault for being lame and staying in watching garbage television, no doubt.
The upside was meeting the band. They were good folks, friendly and approachable. I spent a good few minutes chatting with trombone player Derrick Johnson. Not reporter stuff, though I’m sure I could have. It was music enthusiast to music enthusiast.
I certainly hope this dud of a night hasn’t turned them off to playing in Miami. Lord knows we need more talented bands and less club DJ rehash. And though the venue was empty and the set ended early, it was still a mighty good time.
The Booty Band is a party band. And wherever they go is a celebration.