I just got in from an evening with Harry Connick, Jr. And a lovely evening it was.
I discovered Harry my sophomore year of college, which would have been, what? 13 years ago, if my math holds up. My next door neighbor/suitemate Kim had a few of his albums and I quickly fell in love with his music. And, well, he’s not bad to look at, either.
There’s just something inherently sexy about him, but it’s most evident when he busts out one of the slower songs, like when he did Small Talk tonight. Or the entire To See You album. That album? It’s pure seduction. Play that and you can pretty much do whatever you want with me.*
As an aside, we all know I have a dirty little crush on Trent Reznor. Talk about two different ends of the spectrum, right? The difference between Trent and Harry is simple. Trent is the guy you want to do dirty and sometimes freaky things with on Saturday night, but Harry is who you want to wake up with the next morning and spend a lazy Sunday with.
Anyway, tonight’s show was my first time seeing Harry perform and it was good. There was no opener, unless the 5 minute drum solo counts. Harry and the band did a lot of stuff from his most recent album Oh, My Nola, as well as songs that were somehow related to New Orleans. About 2 seconds after he walked on the stage, I leaned over to Steph and said “Dude – it’s Harry Connick, Jr.” in disbelief.
This was a show I needed to see. And I needed to see it with someone else who loved Harry. Luckily, Steph came to the rescue. And by “rescue” I mean she was super excited that we were going.
So, the show itself was really good. I wish it had been longer, but he can’t play everything he’s ever recorded, right? Towards the end (which seemed like the beginning still), he had a little conversation with the audience about American Idol, Dr. Phil, and strange dreams. I was cracking up. Turns out even Harry doesn’t know why Sanjaya (or “the boy that looks like a girl”) is still on the show. He sang, he shook his booty, it was a good time all around. Well worth the price of admission.
Now I am tired, but perhaps later I will tell you of our pre-concert dinner with breaking glass and excessive deserts.
*Assuming, of course, that you aren’t some random greasy stranger. Because that would just be weird.