Gregory porter is the new nat king cole

It is hard to write about the crooner without mentioning robert glasper, but they both performed recently in atlanta, georgia. For my wife and goddaughter's mother's sake, glasper would probably have been the more foot-inspiring night, because benjamin, hodge and mark colenburg do get you toe-tapping. But porter was an inspiration all by himself. It was still warm outside, being the only man in a party of three, casually walking through piedmont park from fourteenth street. The air was solidarity as three or four more young ladies needed help carrying their cooler down three flights of stairs. The chock-full igloo only spilled once as in hindsight i probably would have asked for one heineken-impaired hand. But the journey ended at a grass-laden descent encompassing acres of lowland savannah. If atlanta flooded this field it would have its own central park. As the sunset and the music began, a blanket sufficed to protect the bystander from low-flying mosquitoes. Only a drone broke the night air, flying back forth towards the stage approaching the lonely singer. Looking back at the event, this must have felt like riddick chronicles. But what an innovative way to get close-up from a hand-made, erector set assembly. The singer took it professionally and in stride.