Early in the 21st century, I played guitar with an unnamed Auburn, Alabama band for a wedding reception. The bride had requested we play the classic Otis Redding song “That’s How Strong My Love Is” for the bride and groom dance. The bandleader/singer sent a YouTube link of the song to all band members and asked that we learn the tune in the original key. We planned to run through the song at soundcheck, an hour or so before the event began. No problem, the band is talented, and we’ve successfully learned tunes like this many times before.
I listened to the song at home using my iPhone and pretty much knew it the day of the gig. I arrived for the event, and during soundcheck, the singer told us to start working on the tune, he’d return soon. Then he left.
The music is relatively easy, so we played through the changes, and everyone had listened to the song. Still, we weren’t locking in a groove. We needed the singer and none of us could sing it. As we waited for the absent singer, we settled on a loose arrangement of the song. Finally, the singer returned and apologized for his lateness, just as the bride, groom, and guests arrived.
We started playing some songs we knew as guests went to the bar and mingled. The band sounded good, and it was all going well. Eventually, it was time for the bride and groom to dance. We started the tune, the singer joined in, and we stumbled through the first verse. It was weak, though we sort of locked in after the first verse. We were playing in a very live room with marble floors and glass walls, and during this tune, I realized how bad the room sounded, which made the song sound even worse.
I cringed a bit until we finished the tune. The bride then told the band that she loved our version of the song. Now either she didn’t really listen, or she’s tone-deaf, or perhaps she just loves the song. Or maybe we didn’t sound as bad as I thought. But I stopped cringing then, and the rest of the gig was smooth as silk.