Word: gospelers
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Despite promises of lifting its patrons a little closer to heaven, the House of Blues is little more than an overpriced tourist trap. Seated at long, cramped tables next to their 50 closest friends, diners will actually get a taste of some real gospel music—but as soon as the first “Hallelujah” comes out of the performers’ mouths, they are marching out, clapping and stomping away with your money...
...should be apparent before even entering the building. Employees immediately direct suckers up a flight of dark, dingy, dilapidated stairs to the upstairs dining room. Bursting with musical kitsch, the decor includes a picture of a smiling monk sporting a large afro. He looks down benignly on the hungry gospel-seekers who are seated at long tables covered with red-and-white checkered tablecloths. Every last square inch of the walls is covered with assorted bric-a-brac that might look fitting at a tired T.G.I. Friday’s, if only it were cleaned better...
...line. But after praying to the Lord for sustenance, He provides—or so it seems. A ministering angel appears from the back of the dining hall and directs hungry patrons downstairs to a second buffet line, where, apparently, they can find the food they seek. Gospel brunchers, beware—He led us into temptation. For the first floor offers little more than some congealed pasta salad and cold, leathery leftover sausage scrags. By the time one repents and returns upstairs, the best food has already been picked over by the hungry hordes, and fresh batches are distinctly...
...then comes Rufus. Glowing like a green beacon of love (or perhaps radiation), he flows into the dining room with a rousing version of the gospel favorite, “This Little Light of Mine.” Unfortunately, trouble again awaits unwary diners. Eye contact with the purring Rufus will lead inevitably to his cramming a microphone in their faces. Speaking is enough of a challenge on a Sunday morning; an improvisational jazz solo is really beyond the pale...
After introducing himself, Rufus informs his audience that he is going to teach them how to receive the gospel choir that is about to emerge. He instructs his flock on when to cry out, “Glory!” and when they should opt for “Hallelujah!” But, just as the congregation is just beginning to get warmed up, poor Rufus seems to lose his train of thought. He never allows them the opportunity to fully demonstrate their skills. Instead, would-be parishioners are teased with minimal audience participation, which is soon abandoned...