Brent Hopkins Unfortunately, Brent
Hopkins left his heart in San Francisco. If you find it, or if you
just want to wax philosophical, e-mail him at afropic@hotmail.com.
We all have our weird little rituals. Maybe you always eat steak
and eggs before the big game. Maybe you only wear your lucky
underwear finals week. Maybe you paint your fingernails black every
Valentine’s Day.
Me, I’ve got Tony Bennett. Pretty much ever since getting
dressed up became a cool thing rather than an inevitable visit to
church or restaurants that didn’t serve hamburgers, I have
always gotten ready to go out to the sound of him singing
“Steppin’ Out With My Baby.” It just
doesn’t feel complete unless he’s rasping away in the
background, pouring that unmistakable voice over me as I straighten
my tie and pull my laces tight. Just like the perfect cologne or a
slicked-up pair of shoes, Tony makes my appearance just right
before I hit the town.
As I write this, he’s swinging through “You’re
All the World To Me,” tossing out careless “la da da
dee da das” without a second thought. Normally, I would be
pressing my pants or polishing my cufflinks right now, but he
just grabbed hold of me while I was shaving and I had to get to the
computer. And I can’t bring myself to move the CD from my
good stereo to that little piece of junk I use to wake me up in my
room, so my neighbors are being treated to the album at high
volume. I’m sure they’ll thank me later.
In getting all cleaned up, Tony is like my secret weapon, the
edge I’ll have on every other guy in the room once I get
where I’m going. As you can see from my mug, I don’t
have much to write home about in the looks department. As you can
tell from my writing, my charm isn’t going to win me awards,
either. What I do have, however, is confidence, and that comes
courtesy of Mr. Anthony Dominick Bennedetto. Nice clothes will get
you only so far, but knowing how to wear them is something else
altogether.
See, Tony has taught me how to step out with class ““ sort
of like going to charm school for $14.99 plus shipping and handling
from Columbia House. I know to iron my shirt crisply, smile like
there’s no tomorrow, and treat the ladies I meet as well as I
can. The top hat, white tie and tails may be left behind, but the
mentality that comes with them never goes away.
What does this all boil down to? Certainly not that I’m a
charming guy ““ I’m very shamelessly jacking that charm
from Tony. I think the heart of the matter is that these songs
conjure up an era a little more refined than this. Sure, ol’
Tony had his share of problems ““ some infidelity, some love
of cocaine and his share of screwups ““ but you can’t
imagine him singing about how he don’t love them hoes. No,
when he’s steppin’ out, he’s not going to do it
like some blinged-out junior high schooler, lusting after the
provocatively dressed girls teetering high on spike heels.
What have we got for romance and style these days? Jay-Z asking
for “that funk, that nasty, that gushy stuff” or the
vaguely classier Ja Rule rapping about how much money he spent to
get his girl. I’m sure they’re both neat guys and all,
but it’s hard to imagine them enshrined in the pantheon of
cool.
It’s not limited to the rap world, either. Though Shaggy
has his moments with sugar-sweet tunes in the vein of
“Angel,” songs like “It Wasn’t Me,”
aren’t going to endear him to sophisticated ladies. Nor will
Crazy Town’s ode to the allure of tongue rings on
“Butterfly.” And blink-182? Don’t get me
started.
But Mr. Bennett and his peers are in a class of their own. They
are linked back to a time when gentlemen of quality knew the
difference between confidence and arrogance, and that the way to
win over a lady was with a charming smile, not a Benjamin.
I’m sure back then the Benjis got their share of babes too,
but still, it’s tough to imagine this dapper gent in a suit
stooping to demean his date with mere cash.
These songs are a little corny, sure. But when he’s
singing “I love you, and you love me, and that’s how it
will always be” in “Who Cares?” you just want to
buy into it.
Maybe if we lived in a world where getting your shoes shined
would truly fix your problems, and the pinnacle of life was dancing
cheek to cheek, things would be a little easier to take. Yes, I
know, I’m a hopeless sentimentalist, but the music really
speaks to me.
Now I’ve got to write this quickly, because there’s
only one song left and I’m going to leave my friend pacing
her living room, thinking I’m a jerk who spends too much time
getting lost in this made-up world of Tony Bennett and not enough
time getting ready.
But the main point here is that the world is desperately lacking
in style. Maybe this CD’s the answer, maybe not, but whatever
the case, if there is any hope for cool left in this world,
we’ve got to bring back some class.
It’s been awfully fun writing this, but I’ve got to
go now. It’s time for some dancing in the dark.