256. The Glorious Awkwardness - Jon Batiste
Billy Bob Bo Bob, coming to an airwave near you
Meanwhile, Jay-Z was looking at me like I had a head injury or something.
A couple of years ago, I crept into Jazz at Lincoln Center to practice in one of the empty concert halls on a massive Steinway—something I’d done since I was a student at Juilliard. I was a few weeks away from embarking on my first piano and microphone tour, where all the shows would be in the round, and I wanted to get into the zone. That morning I left the house without showering, wearing sweats, with the single-minded purpose of figuring out this new performance configuration, and I ended up playing for several hours in that empty concert hall, losing track of time and space. I was on Mars by the end of it, delirious. I played until I was bleeding sweat—in fact, I had conjured up a good funk, figuratively and literally. I needed to get some fresh air.
It was night by then, and the British musician James Blake was playing a concert in the same building. It was a solo piano concert, which was atypical for him, so I decided to check it out and see what I could steal. One of the security guards invited me backstage to listen and say hello to James. “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll say what’s up.” So I stuck around—still in my stanky sweats—until the show was over.
But to my surprise, when James came backstage, he wasn’t alone. He also brought Beyoncé and Jay-Z. They were dressed up, all Lincoln Center vibes: she was in a gown, and he was clean, and they had that royal energy. And here I was, in sweats, stank and not even a fresh hairline or a pair of crisp kicks on to greet the Carters!
I had briefly met them before. As he reached out to shake my hand and said, “How you been?” I blurted out, “I think we met before, at the wedding right?” As soon as the words left my mouth, it occurred to me—you don’t think you met Jay-Z. It’s not like he’s somebody you bump into at the supermarket, and you’re like, “I think maybe we’ve met before.” But I was so discombobulated, still reeling from my practice sessions, and had momentarily forgotten how to communicate. (In fact, I was seconds away from rapping one of his verses at him.) All I could think was: Wait—what am I supposed to do now? Who am I? Who are you? Oh, you’re that guy I’ve been listening to for like 15 years. Oh yeah, that’s you! Right?!
Meanwhile, Jay-Z was looking at me like I had a head injury or something.
At that point, despite my blunder, Beyonce leaned in to say hello and hug me. I was still in my head and so caught off guard that I forgot about my stankness. But as soon as I lifted my arms to hug her back, I could feel the whiff of heat emanating from my sweatshirt, and I was like, Oh, no. I done fumigated the Queen.
She didn’t mention it of course—just pleasantries like, “Good to see you again.” And then there was a pause. The kind of pause that happens when Uncle Ned drops the Thanksgiving turkey. That awkward handshake hello. That hug where we both knew what happened and didn’t want to say anything. It was ground zero of Glorious Awkwardness, but it didn’t end there.
Alas, although our greeting was not fully realized, it was time to move on to the next phase of social interaction. James broke the ice and, addressing the group, said, “Shall we go to the dressing room and catch up?” I started walking with them—still in my head—but after a few steps, I realized, “I don’t really know these people. Also: I done fumigated the Queen.”
So instead of continuing on, I just peeled off in embarrassment, heading toward a barricade fence for crowd control. It was only when I’d thrown one leg over that I realized I’d neglected to say goodbye. When I turned back—one leg still over the barricade—they were all staring at me like, “Huh?”
I don’t even think I waved, just mumbled, “All right,” and kept on going.
- Jon Batiste
