I was trying to resist and contain myself. I needed rest. But when you write the following about a show, and the band is playing a mere two hours away, you cannot NOT GO:
‘From gut wrenching to near growling in an instant. This man and his band are unmissable, I would follow them to the ends of the earth just to experience this again.’
– Clumsy Crane
Fuck the weariness, the energy will build me up front stage. I owe it to myself to not miss this. To drink it all in again. Here we go once more. No rest for the wicked, just the way I like it. I will suffer tomorrow, tonight I live.
After a fun afternoon and some finger-licking good Chinese food with my partners in crime (and a run-in with two not so clumsy cranes), we’re on our merry way to De Melkweg for some sorely missed Shawn James energy. The neon-light a beacon in the gloom, leading us out of the darkness and into the night.
Author’s note in advance: excuse the potato quality of the pictures and videos. I didn’t have a talented photographer to hook me up this time, so I have to work with what I’ve got. The images will give you some idea of the atmosphere though. Enjoy!
Shawn James | Tuesday, March 12th 2024, Live @ Melkweg, Amsterdam (Part 2 of 2)
Last time at De Casino, I was too busy yelling in Jo’s ear to capture the start of it all. This time I was somewhat prepared to use my great front row vantage point, to give you an actual taste, what that build up of the first song does to a person.
In Sint-Niklaas I was completely transfixed from that first note on. And again, I get wholly sucked into the music and stay there, mesmerised by what is unfolding before my eyes. Or rather, my ears because I am pretty sure my eyes close as I am gently swaying to this glorious sound, that hits me deep and intertwines with my soul.
I feel the vibrations of the sound hit my chest, travel through my bones and find their way to my gut. The surreal beauty of the moment, of the resonance of Shawn James’ voice and the fragility of the song. Two minutes in, the sound of Sage’s violin latches on, to be followed by the rest of the cavalry. That beautiful bass & expert drum follow suit. It’s on.
During Burn The Witch the whole crowd chants along and the tone is set, relishing a performance rivalling the one in Sint-Niklaas. A completely different point of view compared to last time, where I was as far back from stage as possible, on the balcony overlooking the Belgian crowd. This time however I find myself front row, right in the midst of the action. An altogether different experience to say the least, to be front stage and really get to take in the interactions with the crowd. Incoming: a rendition of Ain’t No Sunshine, that cuts straight to the heart.
HOLY FLAWLESS, I quickly scribble between songs. It’s completely unreal, near impossible, how immaculate this set, the voice and the whole of the music resonates. It seems unimaginable how this execution is actually live, so perfectly performed it is.
I am so overwhelmed that none of my subsequent notes make any sense to me in the daylight after last night. It is what it is.
Again I did not manage to put a face to the Dublin Drummer though, which I set out to do because he also deserved the spotlight. Alas, no such luck, his cymbals kept him mysteriously out of view. Next time, I suppose! Because there will be a next time.
The last note I managed to write down and can actually still interpret is: ‘Ok, crying’. If a show leaves me in (happy) tears, I know it’s been worthwhile to venture out for.
Even if I was way too tired to start with, I walk away from the venue exhilarated, invigorated and whole again. Only after darling Polexia goes for the obligatory post-show selfies, of course.
Shawn James | Tuesday, February 20th 2024, Live @ De Casino, Sint-Niklaas (Part 1 of 2)
It is well past midnight and I just got home. Adrenaline alone is going to fuel this story of yet another incredible evening in music’s embrace. When you write down ‘How can this year get any better than this?’ when it’s not even Spring yet, you know it was a fucking treat. (Especially knowing what I know of summer highlights yet to come! Clyde & The Milltailers, Bridge City Sinners, Whiskeydick & James Hunnicutt. Probably forgetting a bunch. But anyway, back to tonight!)
For synchronicity’s sake, I got invited to see Shawn James by two completely unrelated people at the same time, give or take a couple of minutes. There’s a whole other story I could tell about just how crazy coincidental it all is, and how it ties into all the synchronicity of threes in 2023, but it would take me too far off course. I NEED to tell you about what I got to experience tonight. Right now. This fucking instant.
Set the stage.
A piano. A long haired man in a hat. A voice that reaches inside and touches your soul from the first note on.
I rather enthusiastically go ‘WAAAHAAAHAAAHAAJAAAA’ into Jo’s ear (Sorry not sorry). The room goes completely silent and a huge smile is plastered on my face. It hath begun. I have fallen in love. Instantly. Wholeheartedly. Closing my eyes and becoming one with the sweet sweet music.
Shawn James @ De Casino| Foto: Sven Dullaert – Feb 20th 2024
Shawn James @ De Casino| Foto: Sven Dullaert – Feb 20th 2024
Shawn James @ De Casino| Foto: Sven Dullaert – Feb 20th 2024
Shawn James @ De Casino| Foto: Sven Dullaert – Feb 20th 2024
Shawn James @ De Casino| Foto: Sven Dullaert – Feb 20th 2024
After a breathtaking and intimate moment between a man and his piano, Shawn is joined on stage by a fiddler, drummer and bassist and trades in his keys for an acoustic guitar. It is on!
Shawn James @ De Casino| Foto: Sven Dullaert – Feb 20th 2024
Shawn James @ De Casino| Foto: Sven Dullaert – Feb 20th 2024
Look at this AMAZING collection of sound. Arch top bass in front. ❤
Julie & ‘amazing’ bassist Zackary Sawyer
Firstly, I have to tell you about the amazing (Ha, I said it again. I told him yesterday 20 times how amazingly amazing this amazing instrument was. There’s no better word for it though, he agreed.) arch top bass. What a beautiful instrument! Look at it SHINE:
Shawn James @ De Casino| Foto: Sven Dullaert – Feb 20th 2024
Shawn James @ De Casino| Foto: Sven Dullaert – Feb 20th 2024
Shawn James @ De Casino| Foto: Sven Dullaert – Feb 20th 2024
Aside from that, would you believe the crazy sounds coming from ‘Rage’ Sage’s fiddling? The energy that man exudes is completely enchanting from the moments he gets on stage.
Julie, Sage & Ann (thanks for the invite, babe!)
In his own words: The most metal fiddle player you know. If 2023 was the year of the banjo, 2024 is sure to turn out to be the year of the fiddle! (Ain’t that right, mister Lighting Luke!)
Especially when the instrument is played with such melancholy and pure heart. In true Julie fashion, it makes several appearances in the notes:
Have I mentioned here how much I ADORE the violin?
Man oh man (or mannekes for the Flemish people) that VIOLIN!
THAT VIOLIN!
Instant goosebumps, that violin.
Fiddle Baby!
Guitar & Fiddle 💜
Go Violinist GOOOOOOOO!
Yes Shawn, you were singing? Love will find a way? Oh yeah baby, all the love from the audience is directed at the stage. I write down ‘FUCK FUCK FUCK, what a voice, what a band, what a sound.’ And we’re just about at song two. We still have an hour and a half of this rollercoaster of bewilderment ahead.
This voice, it is all around. I feel it in my bones. My gut. My heart. I am rejoicing in the vocals and bathing in the music.
There aren’t enough adjectives in the world to describe the range Shawn has, it is beyond incredible. From gut wrenching to near growling in an instant. This man and his band are unmissable, I would follow them to the ends of the world just to experience this again.
Ear shattering chills to the bone. I use the term goosebumps so much it almost starts to lose its power. Almost. This performance brings highlight after highlight. From acoustic to borderline metal as fuck, this band and this man with that astonishing voice can do it all to near perfection. Few words can describe this musical frenzy we’ve found here in the city of Sint-Niklaas.
Some more nonsense that should tell you all about what it evoked (people familiar with my writing know this only comes out when I lose all other words for what is happening.):
Wahaaahooo!
Ohohohog
Hohohohoooo.
Whaaaatwhaaaatwhaaat.
Love! Love! Love!
If my smile could get any wider, I would become The Joker. Seriously, this show is nearly unrivalled and I have gotten to experience so much beauty in such a short time, that alone should tell you something. I haven’t often seen such a completely captivated audience, especially in larger venues.
And who should we run into after the show but beard men Rob & Juice who were at The Black Flamingo for Whiskeydick/James Hunnicutt where I also met Ann & David? YES!
De Casino, I love you! (And your Kerel Saison beer, YUM!) You bet it was a badass Tuesday, Shawn, the badassessed of the badass. We want more and we get more. Encore after encore after encore. We eat it up. The acoustic guitar has been switched for an electric and then another gorgeous arch top. Could this night get any better? You’d think it couldn’t, but it incrementally got better, better and best.
PS: Honourable mention to the fantastic drummer from Dublin who more than kept up with the rhythmic variations in the set. Much love! PPS: Actual pictures taken by a serious photographer incoming, but I just could NOT wait to throw this online!
Author’s note: I’m mostly going to let the videos speak for themselves this time. (Mostly.) Enjoy.
Joey Henry‘s Dirty Sunshine Club | Saturday, August 12th 2023 – The Black Flamingo, Nijlen
Somewhere in the lush green fields of Nijlen lies the yellow sand road leading to The Black Flamingo. This ain’t Kansas anymore, but a welcome home away from home to puddle photographer & poet Joey Henry. It’s been little over a week since he passed through Heist-op-den-Berg and I’m frankly still reeling. I invited some more Purple people to enjoy the show with me and am greeted by Juice & Rob who got an honourable mention after the WhiskeyDick/Hunnicutt trifecta.
One stroke of the strings, I close my eyes and it’s just me and the music. The first notes hit home like nothing else. The approving murmurings reveal we’re in group therapy and there’s still people alongside me to take in the musical medicine. The notes draw the audience in like a virtuous vortex, (or shall I compare it to a Kansas hurricane) and the resulting hushed silence is a nice backdrop to the sound. I knew what to expect and the sound still baffles me.I open my eyes for a second to see some mouths dropping in awe around me.
Joey Henry has a voice like a cathedral and might not even need the microphone to emphasise his songs, judging by how far away he sings from the thing. His voice goes from the deepest bass up so many registers like it’s nothing. He’s a story teller, in true Americana fashion, and every song could be its own little movie. The way he loses himself in his songs is mesmerising to watch. Closing his eyes and chasing the notes across the neck of the beautiful banjo that has seen some miles, judging from the patina on top. He plays that thing like it’s an electrical guitar, pounding the strings and bending to his amp to use the feedback as an additional layer to the music. At some point it sounds like there’s a theremin mixed into it all.
After a pretty wrecking start of summer and first week of August, all my joints hurt to the high heavens.The sound and vibrations of the music are so soothing however that the musical medicine doesn’t just heal my soul but my body as well. Joey breaks out the guitar and asks if there are any requests. Thanks to Juice, Henry goes back to his banjo, rolls up his sleeves and tears into an immensely captivating rendition of Kites. Tears, I love you’s and hugs all around after the song ends. What an experience, being here on this glorious night and letting it all wash over me.
As if all that beauty hadn’t been enough, Joey invites local band Braca’s Seppe and his accordion to the stage.
You might not believe me after seeing that video but they simply conferred two minutes about the chords and then this happened.
They lean into it and the voice and depth of these songs sear into the depths of the soul. There’s a whispered reverence as the set draws to a close with Everything kills us all on the ukulele.
As if all of these weren’t magical enough, after a well deserved break to catch our breaths, (Joey from singing his heart out, the audience from staring breathlessly at the stage.) us lucky few move to the fire pit in the back garden.
A halfmoon and clear and starry sky shines on the encores and an audience unabashedly relishing every last note that gets thrown our way. The fire crisping a happy crescendo to a night well spent.
The start of the new year, in the calm before the storm of a whole series of new events. Perfect time to reminisce about 2023 and catch up on some stories I kept up my sleeve. I wrote the following somewhere in September:
It starts off as another magical walk, reminiscing on the beautiful musical rainbows. I have yet to regale you with the tale of meeting the beautiful ultra-purple person that is Joey Henry, whom I met somewhere at the start of August. I haven’t had the time to find the right words to describe the two nights I spent with him and his music.
Let’s just say that aside from being an immensely talented musician, he’s also a phenomenal photographer. I snagged one of his prints, Kansas rainbow included, at the first of his shows I saw at Den Oude Ketel. (Yes, the very same spot where I saw that other impossible rainbow months earlier, after that magical James Hunnicutt set.)
Kansas Rainbow by Joey Henry
Today is the day I finally try and demystify the wonderful moments of musical medicine I got to experience at the start of August. It started out with a good bad decision on account of a bad case of FOMO. Joey Henry‘s Dirty Sunshine Club was to hit the stage at The Black Flamingo on August 12th and Jo had hinted to me it was going to be legendary.
Joey Henry @ Den Oude Ketel | Photo : Bakkie Photography – August 3rd 2023
I took note and saw he was also going to play Den Oude Ketel in Heist-op-den-Berg as well and I was faced with a terrible conundrum. Was I going to keel over if I added another day of music to the Brakrock weekend that would follow? The answer turned out to be yes, in hindsight, but luckily I managed to stay on my feet until after every bit of music had transpired.
Joey Henry‘s Dirty Sunshine Club | Thursday, August 3rd 2023 – Den Oude Ketel, Heist Op Den Berg
So, following my FOMO, I ventured out but promised myself I was just going to enjoy the show and leave lovely Polexia at home. It was no use, the music hadn’t even started yet and she came out to play! Had a nice talk with Joey (quote: ‘Jo and the Black Flamingo peeps are like family.’), ‘WhiskeyDick drummer’ Raf and then spotted Bakkie Photography. I knew then I was going to write about it anyway, so I went ahead and asked for a pre-show selfie this time. (Thinking I wouldn’t be tempted to hang out too long after the show. WRONG.)
True to my brand, I start my notes with three mentions of my top favourite instrument of 2023, the banjo!
Banjoolooooo
Special banjo with distortion
Remind me to ask him about the special banjo
Needless to say, I was already pretty excited and planted my ass smack dab in front of the stage. I managed to barely see any of the performance because I had my eyes closed from sheer delight, as can be observed in the following excerpt. (I also forgot to ask about the special banjo…)
I’m afraid I also wasn’t very diligent in my note taking. Suffice it to say the man is a musical and visual poet! His photos are like still music videos for his tunes. It all blends beautifully together. His robust yet delicate voice is a delight on this warm summer night. When he starts up the gospel tune called ‘We all fuck up’, I wrote down I found my new theme song.
Joey Henry @ Den Oude Ketel | Photo : Bakkie Photography – August 3rd 2023
I smile a thank you to the people shushing some loud talkers, because how can you not shut the fuck up when these melodies float into the world. And believe me, I know how hard shutting the fuck up is. But no words from me at this point. Joey mentions he’s having too much fun on the banjo to switch to the guitar and really, I ain’t complaining here!
Joey Henry @ Den Oude Ketel | Photo : Bakkie Photography – August 3rd 2023
He tells us to invite our ghosts here, before staring into the beautiful ballad I dream of horses, which leaves me crying for the second time centre stage at Den Oude Ketel. His lyrics are beautiful and speak to the imagination. I managed to write down a few snippets as I heard them.
Sleep baby, sleep, sing in the morning if that’s what you need from me.
Building a house for your heart and digging a basement in case you meet a human tornado.
She is like a seatbelt for my soul.
Very honourable mention to his amazing song about adventurous aviator Amelia Earhart.
Joey explains he is writing without worrying about genres, writing as a medicine for his people, to get the musical medicine back from his audience. He calls his shows group therapy and he is not wrong. I leave the show elated and so so happy I made the good bad decision of following the fear of missing out. I end my notes with another very excited ‘Banjoolooooo’ and a happy feeling to have more Joey Henry’s Dirty Sunshine Club ahead of me that month.
Huge thanks to Bakkie for another series of wonderful pictures!
September 22nd had been excitedly marked in my calendar since April, when I saw Clyde McGee open for Pete Bernhard. As with Pete, I knew the band by music, but not the individual members, so I only found out Clyde was one of The Bridge City Sinners on that fateful day in Hulshout. He told me about the Sinners’ European tour in September and October and I was BEYOND stoked to see a Belgian date. I was even more thrilled to be able to share this experience with my newfound friends I’d acquired through the synchronicity of music since his solo performance.
I was planning on taking an entire day to get ready, dolled up and taking my sweet time going to Ghent. Afterwards driving on to the Belgian coast for a much needed holiday. Alas, fate decided otherwise as an unforeseen and also unmissable event was planned on the same day. My stress level was through the roof in the weeks and days beforehand trying to get my head around a literal (no, really!) rollercoaster of a day into a night where I had to drive myself to a city I didn’t know very well. Let me tell ya, all that stress was so fucking unfounded, when I think back on it now it is almost amusing.
The day of started earlier than usual and I faced fears I had talked myself into over the years. I used to be brave and fearless, but over the last years depression and battle with neurodivergence had made me small. Small and afraid of EVERYTHING. Doubting I could do ANYTHING. The day was a therapy group outing to an amusement park and to say I was DREADING all of it would be the understatement of the century. Luckily, therapy is teaching me how to face my fears head on. So I did. In line for the first roller coaster, I was hopping from one leg to another, thoughts racing this way and that. I eventually decided to just get over it and DO it, and got on the fucking roller coaster. It was scary at first, but then it was EXHILARATING! After that, I still felt a little trepidation getting on a new coaster, but by the end of the day I was unstoppable. I had faced my fears and WON, telling my brain to shut the fuck up and it actually shutting the fuck up. I had an AMAZING day and was living on adrenaline alone.
In getting home, the adrenaline unfortunately wore off and I was tired from all the mental and physical gymnastics of the day. So getting ready for the show felt like I was moving in slow motion while getting anxious again for the drive through traffic and rain, on a road I was not familiar with, in a time frame that would mean I would almost definitely miss the opener. I was sad but resigned to the fact that I wouldn’t get the full experience of this night I had been looking forward to for almost 6 months.
I managed to get my ass on the road eventually and powered through those fears to eventually arrive at my destination. In a daze, I hurriedly speed walked from my parking spot on the outskirts of Ghent to the venue, when I abruptly stopped in my tracks in awe of this quote on the building. Good thing I halted, because in my haste I had almost run past where I actually needed to be and made myself even later.
First I feel I need to emphasise what an AMAZING place Trefpunt is. As if I wasn’t sweaty enough already from the walk there, the indian-summer heat inside was enough to almost melt me away. So yeah, it was sweaty as fuck, punk as fuck but filled to the brim with a merry band of misfits that oozed Purple vibes. It felt like coming home to a room full of strangers. And then I spotted my musical friends I made this year and the last ounce of stress and self-doubt fell off of my sweaty shoulders. I HAD MADE IT!
I even made it in time for the opener Tuesday Violence and HOLY HELL I am so glad I did. A three headed band started during lockdown. You have Daveney, originally from the Netherlands but emigrated here 9 years ago, on drums & vocals. Bruxelloise Crystal is on organ (!) and vocals and Niels from Ghent is on guitar. The sound they produce together is almost indescribable. I wrote it up as incredible punk & roll but they describe it as primitive garage punk. Call it what you will, I will just refer to their sound as extraordinarily FANTASTIC. Crystal & Deveney’s voices were reminiscent of some of my favourite female punkers, like Brody Dalle & the ladies from Maid of Ace. The energy of their set was exhilarating and set the pace for the rest of the night.
Crystal, Deveney and Niels + yours truly
Aside from being fired up on stage, they were super nice and kind off stage. I got to talking to Deveney & Crystal who told me all about how they started and the amazing backstory on that beautiful organ she was playing on stage. My reference to Maid of Ace (another experience I still have to write about) led to vague plans for a possible ALL FEMALE (and Niels) double bill of both Tuesday Violence & the Maids at the Black Flamingo! (Fingers crossed we can set this up for 2024.)
In the meantime: check out Tuesday Violence newly released album!
Talking to these ladies was such intriguing fun, we almost missed the start of The Bridge City Sinners set! Time to run back in and claim a place for a piece of musical history Ghent will not soon forget. My lackadaisical approach to picture/video taking should tell you how good of a night it really was. These are meant as mere mementos more than actual good visual and/or auditory representation.
My notes start off with a simple OMG. Because Oh My unholy GOD, if I thought I already adored The Bridge City Sinners on record, it’s a WHOLE other thing seeing them live. I am staring at that stage in ABSOLUTE LOVE and AWE of the glorious mayhem of strings and vocals. The music feels so much more layered while seeing it live, because you can pick apart all the scrumptious little details. I made a video that gives only a vague idea about how epic of a performance it was. (Trust me, it does the evening NO justice at all, but it may give you a slight idea as to what you’ve missed.)
There is just so so much fucking talent on that ONE tiny stage! They all sing (and very well I might add), they all play multiple instruments which they casually switch during the set, like it’s nothing. From banjos to fiddles, from guitars to dobros; topped with a standing bass and a side of madness.
Aside from the Sinners, they all have several other bands and solo projects going on. That’s the thing about good music. It’s not just a series of notes and words reiterated on a stage. Good musicians and bands LIVE for their music. They breathe the music like it is their oxygen, and every night they play, they exchange that life force with their audience. Only to get recharged night after night and in the meantime honing their skills and getting more extraordinary with every gig.
This is what is happening here, it’s a band of exceptionally talented and dedicated musicians who LOVE what they do and the people they do it with. Every one of them gets their chance to shine on stage, with the wonderful Libby as a master of ceremonies directing her friends to their own spotlight. My hazy notes tell me I was again very much impressed by Clyde’s voice and taken aback when he started grunting during one song. The banjolos(not one BUT AT LEAST TWO) were mentioned as well. I was also very impressed by Lightin’ Luke and his fiddlework and something else he was doing because I wrote down ‘The fuck is he playing? Woap wap?’. Alas, I have no clue what I am referencing here, but all of these weird obscure scribblings just prove it was such a good show, I lost all sense of making sense. And that’s the way I like it.
My notes do however mention my admiration of Joey Steel, who acts as the tour manager for The Sinners’ European Vacation. He’s running around before, during and after the gig, setting everything up so that the band can just focus on doing what they do best. Meanwhile, he still makes the time to greet me with a big hug, in between all his hauling around and setting up. Joey Steel, hardest working man in showbiz and still so fucking nice!💜 (We’ll even forgive him for turning on the venue’s lights for that one brief moment where he paused and leaned against the wall!)
Near the end of their set, there is one special moment where Libby dedicates the following song to Tomas, their friend and the lead singer of Profane Sass who died on the road. The song was written for him, upon learning of his untimely death. The ways she talked about him and in reading up on him, it seems he was one of those one of a kind, magical people who radiated goodness and life force all around. He lived for the music and what that music could bring to people. I never knew him while he was alive, but it’s beautiful to see he’s still on the road, through his friends and touching people’s hearts.
The set up until then had already been absolutely amazing, but this was a beautiful moment that put the cherry on top. A moment of musical synchronicity for me, especially when she sang the words “Out of the darkness and heading out to sea”. I reflected on my own journey out of the darkness surrounding death and my journey ahead to the sea. The lyrics would prove to be even more synchronicitous a few days later when I yelled them into the surf. It’s one of those moments I will never forget. A moment, a story, a song and a band etched onto my soul forever.
The Bridge City Sinners probably don’t even fully know just how phenomenal and rare it is what they do, what they bring to their audience. If they do, it certainly doesn’t show in their attitudes because the Sinners I got to talk to are wonderfully down to earth.
There are no accurate words to describe the atmosphere in that venue, which was bulging at the seams at this impossibly perfect event. The band said it themselves, this would probably be the last tour they’ll be able to play smaller and more intimate venues like Trefpunt. I am SO ecstatic I got to be there, to experience up close and personal the intoxicating chaos and fury with which the Sinners approach their live sets.
After the show I still have a ways to go even though I wrote down that I am not sure just how my legs are still functional. I am completely running on fumes and adrenaline. I walk back to the car with Jo & Tiho through a calm and peaceful city and drive up to the coast where I still find a last mere ounce of fuel to unload all my shit. I then collapse onto the bed for a happy and well earned slumber, not yet fully aware of the catharsis I just experienced and the one that still lays ahead.
This is another series about synchronicity in music and synchronicity in threes. At the end of summer I was starting to get too far away from the feeling that the synchronicitous threes, rainbows and music had evoked. I was starting to treat writing about my musical encounters like a job, when music is really a calling to me. Music is calling to me and has been this whole year. One way or another. And that’s how it should stay, so I am documenting this to help me remember.
In three simple nights, I am right back to where it started in March. I feel the surge of my purpose, the burn of why this all came along my path when it did, and the love for the music and artists and all the Purple People in their entourage. With music as my spirit guide, to lead me on a new path in life. The Purple thread I follow along the road to the best version of my self.
I’m writing this all down so I can finally learn to remember to never forget. Because it is so easily forgotten. I am posting this from a place where I am on the brink of having forgotten again. Where I can barely believe the words I have written here myself. Where all I want to do is shut out the world entirely. I am desperately retraining my mind to latch onto the positives as eagerly as it embraces the negatives. Searching for an upward spiral of sorts, away from the abyss. So here goes.
Around the time of Gipsy & Kiel’s tour, there is a lot going on in my life all at the same time. Life usually is a bit messy at the best of times, but this period contains a combination of stressors which make it even more difficult. Part of that mess is the fact that it is September, and almost a year ago that I had lost my father to a devastating disease. Remembering the feelings from sitting by his sickbed, seeing him turn into a shadow of his former self is weighing me down. During the year I had found him looking on in the musical synchronicity, which had helped me tremendously in my grieving process.
I was starting to lose the connection. In the turmoil I found myself in, I started to roll back into old habits and feelings of hopelessness. I was still bathing in the music, revelling in its beauty. But I lost track of what had been the most important about it, what it actually signified. The hope of another life, another me who was strengthened and lifted up by the music as a sort of harness against the perils of the world. I still felt the beauty, but no longer the surge of strength it brought me. I could feel myself slipping away again in all the wrong coping strategies.
I’d nearly hit bottom again. I was losing myself in grief, sadness and anger and could feel my sense of self become smaller again. After another awful day where the feelings of helplessness and hopelessness prevailed, everything inside me was screaming to stay in and shut myself away from the world. But I didn’t, I forced myself to go against that feeling and I went to The Black Flamingo instead. I let myself drift on the waves of music that Gipsy and Kiel brought with them. I got to feel that warm hug of those Purple people around me again. (And that one guy, but you know, sometimes it takes something appalling to let the good shine out even more. I was intently protected from his aura of awful by those around.)
It didn’t really sink in until the show on Monday though. I’d felt my dad there again, in The Black Flamingo. In the music. I heard it again in de Floeren Aap. He would have absolutely loved Gipsy Rufina and Kiel Grove. While hanging out with Ann we were talking each others ears off about just about anything. And it hit me, these are the types of people I need in my life. Full of positive energy, dreams and crazy life plans. Full of an all consuming LOVE and ADORATION for things. Around people like this, I don’t have to put bits of myself away. I don’t have to wear a mask or pretend, I get to wear my heart on my sleeve, where it should be! Somewhere the conversation turned to the tattoo Ann had of Dante, the dog from Coco. I had been contemplating watching that movie again because I was thinking of my dad and all those who went before him.
When the day of the third Gipsy/Kiel show came and my body screamed at me to give it some rest, I decided to give in to self care and self comfort. With a blanket and cat at the ready, I put on Coco and floated away in a world of music and colour.
It underlined everything I have lived and learned through music since March. A story of a grieving process through finding myself again, finding my way to my people again and with music as a giant Purple thread throughout all of it. Coco is all about honouring your dead and speaking their name. It’s about destiny. Of going against the grain, about not just following the road of what is expected of you. About a belief in yourself that you cannot let go.
Music is part of my destiny, in one form or another. Music as the fuel for my words and art. Music as a life force driving me from one place to another, discovering the world and its people. Music as a form of therapy, mindfulness and anti-depressant. In making it myself eventually. (Though I have still yet to successfully form or keep a band.) It’ll always be there alongside of me, in one form or another. I need to keep seeing it, feeling the fuel of it.
My road seems riddled now with little reminders to it. At the end of the month, the day of the wild Bridge City Sinners gig, I am on a group outing. Suddenly, I am surrounded by the colour and wonder of Coco in this Dia de Los Muertos decor.
I smile and walk through it. Putting in my earbuds and FEELING the music that is playing. I want and NEED to learn to keep my eyes and ears open for these reminders of the beauty. It’s so easy to miss it all in the overwhelm when your senses get glazed over by the mist of darkness.
So I am leaving this note here. As a light, a shining beacon of how it can be, if I remember to REALLY see.
Part 2: Kiel Grove an Gipsy Rufina live @ De Floeren Aap, Mechelen| Monday, September 11th 2023
This is another series about synchronicity in music and synchronicity in threes. At the end of summer I was starting to get too far away from the feeling that the synchronicitous threes, rainbows and music had evoked. I was starting to treat writing about my musical encounters like a job, when music is really a calling to me. Music is calling to me and has been this whole year. One way or another. And that’s how it should stay, so I am documenting this to help me remember. In three simple nights, I am right back to where it started in March. I feel the surge of my purpose, the burn of why this all came along my path when it did, and the love for the music and artists and all the Purple People in their entourage. With music as my spirit guide, to lead me on a new path in life. The Purple thread I follow along the road to the best version of my Self.
Because Jo had been so empathic about just how Purple he thought Gipsy was, I was pretty sure attending a second date of this tour would by no means be a waste of my time. So when I received an excited message from Ann inviting me to the shows, (Whom I’d met at the James Hunnicutt & WhiskeyDick tour back in June.) I didn’t hesitate for a second.
The fact that two very Purple people around me were pointing me simultaneously and independently in the same musical direction, was a surefire sign I was in for something special. The fact that the tour was passing through de Floeren Aap in Mechelen was an added bonus, since spending time in my home town is always a treat.
After a short bike ride on a hot summer night, I arrive at the city centre and excitedly walk over to the table where Ann is sitting with her husband David. Even though we barely had a full conversation at the James Hunnicutt shows, it feels like sitting down with old friends. We immediately get to chatting about music and fire some recommendations this way and that. Some more Purple souls called Natasha & Pablo join the company at the table and the conversation swings into an oddly fluent and fluid mix of Dutch and English, which makes me feel even more at home.
Eventually both Kiel & Gipsy also join the party before deciding who’s going to open tonight via a game of rock paper scissors. The mix of English and Dutch gets complemented by a conversation in which Gipsy speaks Italian & Pablo answers in Spanish. I feel like I’m on holiday in my own city, locked away in this hidden square right near the bustling centre of town. It’s the language of music that brings people together.
Eventually we shuffle into The Floeren Aap, to the best spot in the house, just as Kiel takes the stage first. Now, even though I was better prepared having lived through one of his sets already and was aware of what I was about to encounter, my notes still reveal a general lack of accurate terms to describe Kiel Grove. I can’t. I seriously cannot. I tried to pinpoint it in my post about his passage in The Black Flamingo, but it still doesn’t seem to do it justice. The way he sort of plays and sings his tunes is pretty damn unique.
I am again enthralled by his storytelling skills and even though I heard some of the tales before at the Flamingo, I am still just as transfixed in listening as I was just a few days ago. I’m not even going to try to retell them, you’ll just have to discover them for yourself when Kiel next crosses the ocean for a tour in these parts. I decided to capture some of the pre-song banter to give a better idea of the Kiel Grove experience. Again, the video vibe is nowhere near the real deal but it should give some impression on the spellbinding narration and wizardry on the guitar.
At this point I also want to point out that this is the 15th consecutive day these guys have been playing on their 21 day European tour. Can you imagine the general weariness you’d feel on a near month long tour of driving and playing every day in the sweltering summer heat? And it doesn’t show one bit in neither of their playing. Such is the life of the troubadour that it actually seems to only get better as the days go by. Of course, playing every day could also be seen as very good practice, which in any case really shows in the skilful way they both run through their setlists with ease.
After a break for some somewhat cooler outside air and the petting of local dogs, (Kiel is clearly missing his four legged friend on tour, but is making do with love for other people’s pets while on the road. My kinda people!) it is time for set two.
We’re in for some more Gipsy magic starring that bewitching banjo and enchanting voice. I sit there completely entranced watching him pick at his instruments, his hands a blur in the process. The spell is only broken when, between songs, I hear the voices from the terrace outside. I write down that I cannot understand how you can bear to stay outside for this. How that music doesn’t draw those people in like moths to a flame. How they seem to be able to strike up casual conversations while this is happening in the foreground.
The only cover Gipsy plays on the tour, but WHAT a discovery for me. I’m in immediate love with this song.
Maybe it’s just something in my constitution but I barely register people talking to me while this set is ongoing. Good music can never be in the background to me. Limited as my attention span may be, there is just something about good live music that seems to completely sweep me away from the perils of this mortal coil. I float in a gentle world between worlds, where my body is present in the present, but my soul is somewhere off dancing to the music and feeling its warm embrace.
Me, Natasha, Pablo & Gipsy at de Floeren Aap
Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, but even when the musical instruments are put away, I’m still halfway in that magical dreamland. We grab another table at the terrace and I vaguely remember trying to voice to Kiel & Gipsy how lovely I thought the experience was. We chat some more about musical influences and horror movies that are so bad they’re good again, and I leave with a bag of recommendations I still need to check out. (After a few blurry selfies to commemorate the night of course.)
I made a plan to see them one more time on that tour, which unfortunately fell through because my body decided too much is enough. In the last part of this story, I sadly spend that night at home, resting my weary bones and mind. Thanks to the engaging conversation with Ann however, the musical synchronicity of that night would still play on. (Within this picture you can already see a hint towards part 3 of this series!)
Part 1: Gipsy Rufina and Kiel Grove live @ The Black Flamingo, Nijlen | Saturday, September 8th 2023
This is another series about synchronicity in music and synchronicity in threes. At the end of summer I was starting to get too far away from the feeling that the synchronicitous threes, rainbows and music had evoked. I was starting to treat writing about my musical encounters like a job, when music is really a calling to me. Music is calling to me and has been this whole year. One way or another. And that’s how it should stay, so I am documenting this to help me remember. In three simple nights, I am right back to where it started in March. I feel the surge of my purpose, the burn of why this all came along my path when it did, and the love for the music and artists and all the Purple People in their entourage. With music as my spirit guide, to lead me on a new path in life. The Purple thread I follow along the road to the best version of my Self.
In Part one, we find ourselves in The Black Flamingo:
As loyal readers might already know, Black Flamingo Jo and I have an uncannily similar taste in music. When he told me a few months ago I NEEDED to be at The Black Flamingo for Gipsy Rufina, I took his words as gospel, as I tend to do these days. I didn’t need to listen to the music in advance, I blindly trust Jo’s judgement in who he programs on his stage. Plus, I am loving discovering it all live before I dive into the recorded bits. He told me all about how Gipsy has been touring for nearly 20 years and how he was probably the last remaining troubadour. *TRIGGERED*
What Jo failed to mention however, was that it was to be a double bill with Kiel Grove. I get a feeling Jo likes to keep some aces up his sleeve on purpose, just to keep me on my toes. Remember how he didn’t tell me about James Hunnicutt and how well that turned out? I had a very similar experience discovering Kiel Grove. (Despite them being very different in sound and energy.) These are the kind of surprises I don’t mind on my path at all. 💜 Anyway, whereas I was already extremely excited for the night, I was yet again NOT AT ALL prepared for what was to come all the same. I’m still not sure if I can find the right words to describe these two astonishing artists, who’ve got music coursing through their very souls.
Driving up to The Black Flamingo is like arriving in a little paradise, hidden away from the big bad world. I make friends with some locals who are curious about what is going on in that shed up yonder. I get to pet their ancient dog Duck before running in, with my very Rock & Roll sitting donut in hand. One benefit of having a sore tailbone (and no longer giving a fuck if I look Rock & Roll) is that I get to throw that thing down, and go off to talk Jo’s ear off while still retaining the best seat in the house. We talk about all the music we still want to hear, some crazy musical road trip plans and all the Black Flamingo line-ups we still want to achieve.
The music draws me to my seat but alas, as it was just the soundcheck I was a little early to arrive. I get talked at by HE WHO SHALL NOT BE NAMED. I am not sure what the opposite of Purple is, but it was clear that this person was SO out of place in this safe haven of music. I will spare you the details of the conversation, only that I was getting gradually more angry at him for being generally disgusting and not taking some very clear no’s for an answer. (Don’t worry, my great pack of Purple People protectively separated me quickly from this waste of space and it’s safe to say he shall never return.)
The first notes of Gipsy finally brought sweet relief from the sexist pig and his persistence in offering up his ‘services’. *shudder* As you can tell by the above picture, taken by Jo and graciously adorned with a very broad vignette blur, my disgust was quickly replaced by my customary ear to ear smile. The contrast in atmosphere couldn’t be more stark once I get to focus on the beautiful music.
Oh deary me. I spot a banjo and my heart starts to race. One expertly fingered strum and the sound is making everything else disappear around me. This is why we’re here. To lose ourselves in the music. Were there still other people around me? There must have been? I can no longer be sure as I close my eyes and am one with the music. “I’m going to play some banjo for you, if you don’t mind.” No, I most certainly don’t mind Gipsy, I’ve been waiting for it.
This is where I fervently draw an arrow to further on in my notes where I write “And we definitely don’t mind when you play it like that!” The sound he draws from that banjo is unreal, it’s like there’s a full band on stage. He goes crazy on his pedals and the distortion makes it sound extraordinary. He swiftly moves around every square inch of his beautiful instrument and hits every fret, chord and note like magic. I’ve seen many a banjo played expertly over the last couple of months, but this is something else. Meanwhile he brings out a harmonica and seems to be playing fifteen notes at once. It is mind-blowing, it is sensational.
And his voice? What a fucking marvellous instrument it is in its own right. It is raw, hoarse and heavy but gentle at the same time. Just how I’d imagined a troubadour to sound like. As he brings out his guitar, he starts to tell the story of Viola, a brigand who fought the pope. The story was passed on to him by his grandma, about the man who lived in the mountains 200 years ago. As Gipsy (aka Emiliano) starts to sing the song in his native Italian dialect, you can hear the indrawn breaths. For the next couple of minutes you can hear a pin drop as everyone listens completely captivated. My video does that song or the experience no justice at all. Much like my words fail to honour this experience.
Purple doesn’t BEGIN to describe it. We have to come up with another colour to define this. Maybe Terry Pratchett’s octarine, the colour of magic, comes closer in describing the aura that Gipsy Rufina exudes. I am in love with the music, the songs, the words, the songs (I wrote this down twice, this is not a typo) and that voice. I am usually a woman of many words, but this performance left me actually wordless. I pick myself up out of the puddle on the ground I have become, and venture out into the cool night air to compose myself.
I have to drag myself back in because I’m about to miss Kiel Grove’s first song. There’s something special starting here. After being absolutely mesmerised by Gipsy Rufina’s performance, I thought anything that followed would never be able to compare or hold up against that set. I couldn’t be more wrong, because here I am again just completely transfixed and blown away by the first few notes floating off the stage. They’re entirely different musicians in both style and approach, different vibes as a person, (though both very much shaded Purple) but it feels like they were made to perform in tandem.
I am trying to place Kiel in the music he resembles or triggers memories of in my head. At one point in my notes, I place him somewhere between WhiskeyDick & James Hunnicutt and I also compare his storytelling to the infamous Johnny Cash. But really, Kiel Grove is incomparable. His voice is hypnotic, drawing you in with that delightful Texas accent and that deep dark timbre with some peculiar but delicious tone inflections. I could listen to him talking and singing all night, narrating the stories that he has gathered like little treasures from life on the road. The stories and songs are sometimes nonsensical, whimsical and funny, but always intriguing and delivered with a deadpan expression.
His guitar playing is also something else. He seemingly effortlessly gets a sound from his instrument which I can’t believe can just come from one bit of wood and strings. It somehow feels like there’s an invisible band around him, adding in some resonance and background. I see ONE man with ONE guitar, but I hear the soul of so much more sound. He deftly picks and plucks his strings, tells his stories and produces something indescribable.
Seeing the total package of a Kiel Grove performance is like being thrown back in time and I feel like the sofa I’m on could just as well have been placed in the mud at Woodstock. It feels like there’s echoes from a time long past interwoven in the music, almost like it doesn’t fit in this modern time. Almost, because I absolutely welcome the anachronistic feel of the web of musical muses from the past he weaves into his songs.
After Kiel’s performance I finally found some of my words to talk to both artists and briefly compliment their sets. I have no idea what I told them because it felt like being on another planet and I still didn’t have any idea how to describe what just happened to me during those two sets. I fear I still can’t fully process it all. This is an account of events, but by no means a full one. All I know is, if I ever get a chance to see these wordsmith troubadours again, I will not hesitate one moment.
I hang around the aura of awesome and get to talking to Ronny, who is as impressed as I am about what happened tonight. Turns out he is also in a band called Promise Down, who’d also played The Black Flamingo in January. Unfortunately, I was not yet aware of that piece of promised land in Nijlen at that point in time, so I had sadly missed their show that sounded really good looking back. I make a mental note to put them on my musical radar and promise Ronny to come see them soon!
After some more catch up chats with Purple Flamingoes I finally drive home smiling like crazy, a little stupefied, and a lot drunk on (love for) music.
Luckily for me, I already have the next Gipsy & Kiel tourstop circled in my calendar, which you’ll discover soon in part 2 of this series!
Terry Pratchett, a man, a myth, an absolute legend.
I honestly cannot believe it took me this long to write an ode to one of my greatest role models. A man who has shaped my mind and probably my words more than I can ever note. A man I’ve sadly never got to meet, but still viscerally miss deeply and dearly, ever since his passing from this mortal coil. A man whose imagination and sense of wonder inspired so much in me, whose wit and humour has pulled me from many a dark place.
I am of course talking about the wonderful and magical Terry Pratchett. As hyperfixations go, STP and his books have been the most steady in my life by far. I am filled with unconditional love for him, so I cannot believe it has never spilled out into my written words. He’s on of the only people I would ever dare to commemorate in a tattoo, as I did.
I have always loved reading, ever since I was little. I adored fantasy and horror books and was reading Stephen King well before I was allowed to by our local library. Having said that, I always left room for other types of books as well. I always read them in Dutch, until a wonderful English teacher broke open my world by allowing us to read books way beyond our grade level.
I must admit that since discovering Terry Pratchett, I have never strayed far from fantasy again and I have barely read anything in Dutch. Part of that is due to time constraints in growing up of course, but the Discworld books unlocked a part of me I can never put back.
I have found few authors and books who, at least to me, could compare to the immensely imaginative and clever way of writing and world building that seemed to come so naturally to him. (Notable exceptions in the fantasy/sci-fi genre are Douglas Adams, Georg R.R. Martin and Pratchett’s good friend Neil Gaiman, co-author of the incomparable Good Omens. That book, and subsequent BBC-series, deserves its own full fledged glowing ode, which I will one day get to writing. But I digress.)
It was on a message board roundabout 2006 when I first heard of Sir Terry, my Dutch friend Rob told me to look up the Discworld series. The Discworld is an alternate universe where a flat disc world sits on the backs of four elephants on top of the Great A’tuin, a giant star turtle, floating through the galaxy.
The books are a hilarious mix of parody of real world events and issues, folklore and myth, and they’re full of nods to great literary works throughout the ages. They are filled with wonderfully imperfect characters who you can’t help but love, many of which are very strong women who don’t take kindly to the patriarchal society in which they live. It was probably my first impression of real life feminism and I had to find it in fantasy books. ANYWAY.
My library didn’t have an extensive Discworld collection, so I couldn’t start reading chronologically. I chose the 25th novel The Truth, which is all about the first printing press and newspaper coming to the Disc. As an aspiring journalist, my interest was immediately piqued when I read the blurb on the back. It took me a little while to get used to the lack of chapters and immense layering of the stories, but I still fell immediately and hopelessly in love with the genuine wit and wonder of the novels. Not in the least, the incredibly funny and weird footnotes that litter his books always manage to make me smile. And think. All of his writing tends to do that.
I have been curating my own Discworld series library ever since. As of this year, I finally collected all 41 books in the series in various editions, large and small. More than a few paperbacks with the signature and frankly legendary Josh Kirby and Paul Kidby covers, a decent amount of whatever edition I could find for a good price and even two first edition hardcovers I picked up in London. This chaotically beautiful array on my bookshelf is one of my most prized possessions and I wouldn’t want it any other way. It signifies my love of the words, in any form I could get my hands on. My only regret is that I never made it to one of the book signings Terry loved to do and as such don’t have a signed copy in my possession. No matter, his words are all I need. Fortunately for me, Discworld wasn’t the only thing he wrote, so I still have many more ‘new’ Pratchett books to look forward to. One day, I will make the space to dedicate an entire book case to his works, when my collection of his words nears completion.
A collage I made out of Paul Kidby cover art images.
Another thing I absolutely adore about his work is how I can read and re-read them until the end of time. Because of the many layers to his writing and the endless references he incorporates in his stories, I will always find a new way to enjoy the books. Having read them through various stages of life, having accumulated new factoids, knowledge and life experience myself, I will always discover something new. Even within the Discworld series, which I have gone through at least five times in its entirety now, I still discover new foreshadowing and references I missed in my last reads.
I also love how there’s so many ways to read them. You don’t HAVE to read them all in chronological order. (In fact, there might not even BE an exact chronological way to read them since novel 26 Thief of Time and 29 Night Watch happen concurrently, but that’s another story.) You can just as easily enjoy any of the books in their own right or choose to read the sub-series that strikes your fancy. (Pick your poison: Witches or Wizards? Industrial revolution or murder mystery?) But don’t let the subject matter of those fool you. I used to think I wasn’t that much of a City Watch sub-series fan, but in the meantime I have grown to love them just as much as the rest of the books. I even went as far as to name a pet for one of the characters in that series. Meet the honourable Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson of the City Watch, a lovable ginger giant!
Not sure where to start? Send me a message, I will be MORE than happy to try and find the right Terry Pratchett/Discworld book for you. Or check out the quiz & sub-series via the Discworld Emporium. (Downsideup can not be held responsible for possible addiction and/or loss of money after clicking said link. Also, I am in no way affiliated with the Emporium, but would gladly be if they’d have me. You can pay me in books & merch! 😂)
In short, the Discworld novels have changed the way I view the world in more ways than one. They made me learn how to question the world and my place in it. They taught me women don’t need princes on white horses to save them and can stand for something in their own right. And in smaller ways, I will never see a Grim Reaper and be scared. I will never look at an Orangutan again without thinking of the Librarian Ape who is smarter than all the bumbling Wizards combined. I fill my own world and space with as many things as I can that remind me of the series, as you can see by the pictures added into this blog.
Reading the last book broke my heart in more ways than I can describe here without writing some serious spoilers. Suffice it to say, a lot had to do with the untimely demise of the author himself at age 66, from a rare form of early onset Alzheimer’s disease which he nicknamed ‘the embuggerance’. I always saw it as one of the great injustices of the world, having to lose such a great mind to such an awful debilitating disease attacking that beautiful mind full of fantasy and wonder. (Not to mention it hit a little close to home too, having lost a few people to that and similar diseases. My great uncle for instance, who actually looked strikingly similar to Pratchett, had suffered the same fate.)
An even bigger injustice perhaps, is that it is still taboo and even illegal in many places in the world, to choose your own ending when a disastrous disease like this one strikes. Pratchett stood on the frontlines of bringing the inhumanity of the illegality in the UK to light. Before his death he talked at length about euthanasia and assisted suicide and even made the touching documentary ‘Choosing to die’. Having been witness to more than a few people withering away to mere shadows of themselves because of the taboo that still rests on the subject, I feel very fortunate to live in a country that at least gives me a legal option to choose for myself.
The world is a better place for having had a man like Terry Pratchett grace it with his presence, intelligence, humour and combative egalitarianism. He was as Purple as can be. (You might even say he is beyond Purple into Octarine, aka the Colour of Magic.) The world is a sadder and darker place for having lost him.
No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away, until the clock wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone’s life is only the core of their actual existence.
Do you not know that a man is not dead while his name is still spoken? Speak his name.
Anticipatie in aanloop naar: Flamin’ Go Fest op 26 augustus 2023
Wat kan ik nog vertellen over mijn geliefde The Black Flamingo dat ik niet al eerder en lyrischer deed dan in mijn tweedelige ode in de serie rond Whiskey Dick & James Hunnicutt? Veel waarschijnlijk. Want ondertussen is mijn gevoel mijn plus-familie daar te hebben gevonden alleen nog maar versterkt. Dat lees je hier nog wel eens, als ik ertoe kom. Ik heb nog heel wat stukjes in mijn achterzak (lees: mijn Google Drive) zitten. Over de double bill van Kevlar en Dalver, of die van Freddie Webber en Berang, en over de passage van Luna en de Maanstenen aldaar. Ook nog een serietje rond Joey Henry, dat begon met pre-FOMO omdat hij eerst in Den Oude Ketel kwam en ik wist dat ik spijt zou hebben als ik dat niet had meegemaakt eens hij dan uiteindelijk passeerde in de Flamingo zelf. (Ik ben naar beide optredens gegaan, ver over mijn grenzen. Maar het was het MEER dan waard.)
Eindelijk, na maanden vergeten dan toch de selfie met Jo & Polexia!
Want als Jo zegt dat ik moet komen, dan kom ik, no questions asked. En ook, zonder goed te weten waaraan ik begin. Want ik had de laatste tijd niet de tijd om muziek te ontdekken. Enfin, ik maakte de tijd niet, een werkpuntje van mij. Vanaf nu is muziek ontdekken een mogelijk stukje zelfzorg dat ik oppik, wanneer ik mezelf dwing tot rust en zelfzorg. Ik moet mezelf soms dwingen daartoe, jawel, anders loop ik mezelf geheel voorbij. Maar goed, da’s een ander verhaal, voor een andere blogreeks. Punt van deze paragraaf is, Jo kent mij (en mijn muzieksmaak) na 6 maanden beter dan ik mezelf ken. Ik weet dat ik op zijn oordeel kan vertrouwen. Daarom staat deze zaterdag 26 augustus al maanden omcirkeld in mijn agenda. Deze zaterdag is het namelijk tijd voor Flamin’ GO Fest. Vlammende GAAN in het Engels, geen feest voor flamingo’s. Al zijn die natuurlijk ook altijd welkom. Strijk maar neer!
Vorige week gaf Jo me nog een korte synopsis van de groepen die daar zullen aantreden. Ik noteerde niets (in mijn glimmend nieuwe schrijfschrift, bye bye Google Docs!) en daarna overdonderde Joey Henri me alweer volledig met zijn muziek-medicijn-groepstherapie, dus ik ga zelfs niet proberen het te ontrafelen en iets zinnigs te recapituleren. Ik weet enkel dat ik elke keer ‘Oh ja, check, klinkt DIK in orde!’ dacht (en of zei) na de info die hij verschafte per band. En dat ze allemaal stuk voor stuk PAARS AS FUCK klinken. Dus, geloof in mijn geloof in de uitstekende muzieksmaak van Mister Black Flamingo himself en komt dat zien. (Of zoek ze zelf even op via de Youtubes, Spotify, Bandcamps en andere sociale netwerken van deze wereld.)
Vier topbands, een barbeque met Flamin’ Go pilli pilli saus van Yannick Zwijsen (NIET voor gevoelige zielen/magen) en een Free Podium? Count me in!
Toegang is 15 euro voor enkel de muziek & en 25 euro als je ook een vleesje wil. (Ben je Veggie? Geef dat dan zeker door, ook met uw wensen kan rekening worden gehouden!)
Zeg nu zelf, dat is géén geld voor een festival in tijden van graai-flatie. Drank is bovendien beschikbaar aan zeer democratische prijzen.
Wil jij er ook bij zijn? Stuur dan een gele briefkaart naar een van de bands of slide into the DM’s van The Black Flamingo op Instagram en Facebook en schrijf je op voorhand in. Want het is een privéfeest, enkel voor de meest Paarsen der zielen.
Part 1: An ode to The Black Flamingo Part 2: An ode to The (Purple) Black Flamingo people Part 3: Whiskey Dick and James Hunnicut: Live @ The Black Flamingo Part 4: Post show Purple Flamingos!
I missed seeing Whiskey Dick and James Hunnicutt perform at Muziekcafé Titanic, a day after their wonderful performance at The Black Flamingo. Sadly I would be in Amsterdam and miss another gig at this amazing place I still need to check out. I’ve heard of so many great bands playing there already. I will be led there soon, I am sure. (Don’t worry, I also had A LOT of fun in Amsterdam, first with the incomparable The Interrupters and afterwards in a pianobar. More on that later.) But no fear, there was still to be a sequel!
So, this story is going down at Den Oude Ketel in Heist-op-den-Berg, 19th of June. Fun fact, if you look that place up on Google Maps, you can see the show advertised on their window. It’s as if the Google Maps people were like ‘We have to commemorate this special event by sending out our mapping car’. I can’t say I blame them.
Now, this was my first visit to Den Oude Ketel, shamefully, because if that place was near me, I would probably live there. I was too focussed on the performances and the experience to really look around and take it all in, but I am pretty sure you’ll be finding me there more and more in the not too distant future. From the few impressions I got, it felt like a very Purple Place.
James Hunnicutt @ Den Oude Ketel | Photo : Bakkie Photography – June 19th 2023
Big shout out to Robin aka Bakkie Photography for being so kind as to share his pictures of the night with me. Thank you very much, I had a REALLY hard time choosing since there were so many great ones. ❤
Before we travel to Heist-op-den-Berg though, I need to tell you about the road to the show. I had been exchanging excited messages with Jo again throughout the day. I was humming ‘Don’t let teardrops fill your eyes’ ALL DAY. I had collected four jet black feathers during a long walk in my surroundings. I’m not sure why I picked them up, which I voiced out loud. Someone told me finding feathers meant someone wanted to tell me something. Okay. I didn’t put two and two together. I was too excited to see my three new favourite artists, to read into the synchronicity.
It had been a HOT day. I wanted to wear something nice, that didn’t feel too constricting. I turned over my whole closet, nothing worked and in a panic (time was running out fast) I picked some things at random, figuring I am okay with the outfit. Too hot to even care, really. I step into the car to drive myself to Heist and notice them. The feathers on my dress. Like the feathers I picked up during the day. Like the feathers between the strings in James’ guitar. (Check them out in the pic below, it’s a little blurry because the focus is on the Reverend, but you can just make them out.)
Whiskey Dick and James Hunnicutt @ Den Oude Ketel | Photo : Bakkie Photography – June 19th 2023
My playlist on the radio seems haunted by songs that connect me to my father. I laugh along with this fun soundtrack, that seems so specific for this drive. When I pass a cart drawn by two Belgian Draught horses (Also a shared passion!) it gets too much and I say out loud ‘Yeah dad, I hear you. I am on my way there.’ After I park, a brief struggle ensues with trying to get the electric car charged. I eventually give up and run after someone I suspect is going the way I am. He wasn’t and I am not where I need to be. Shit. I start running again, this time in the right direction. I finally located Den Oude Ketel.
I am greeted by a loud ‘Julie, you made it!’ and a hug. It takes my frazzled and heatstruck brain a while to understand what happened but I finally utter an enthusiastic hi back to Fritz. I see James and get the same genuine and excited welcome. I see all the Purple Flamingos sitting at a table, surrounding the Reverend. I do what I normally don’t EVER do, go up and hug the Reverend and even give him an awkward kiss on the cheek out of pure consternation of ‘what is my life right now’.
Later that night, the awesome Tiho would help me make sure I got this picture with all three musical magicians or magical musicians (I’m not sure which of these is the more accurate statement, so I am leaving them both.) together.
Julie plus three magical musicians or musical magicians, Fritz, James & the Reverend. (Look at me beaming through tear stained!)
My mind is melting, both from the heat and the welcome and I end up yelling to the table something along the lines of ‘HI AND I LOVE YOU GUYS BUT I NEED A DRINK I AM SO HOT WHAT IS THIS HEAT I HATE ELECTRIC CARS.’ And run in without even checking in and letting the bar people know I did pay for my ticket. A quick look around while waiting for my drink says this is a place that would be my go to bar if it was a little nearer. Den Oude Ketel has that great dive-bar energy I love, with nice people all around. I gather my manners and go say a proper hi to everyone, hydrated and ready for a great night.
James Hunnicutt @ Den Oude Ketel | Photo : Bakkie Photography – June 19th 2023
James Hunnicutt starts off pitch perfect as always. He claims he gathered up two to three frogs in his throat over the last few shows, but if that is how he sings with frogs in his throat, I should invest in frogs. Now, this is where I stopped taking notes. I was too transfixed to even try and put it into words right there. I was swaying on my feet, drinking in the music. All around me I saw smiles and happy people. And then the moment was there, I heard Fritz call out ‘that’s my cue’ and run to the stage. It was time for the song (and dance) I have come to love so much.
What you don’t see in this video? Me, sitting on the floor in front of the stage, filming with one hand, and dancing along with the other. The more he sings ‘don’t’, the more teardrops fill my eyes and stream down my face, past my huge smile. Now, usually, crying on the floor of a dive-bar wouldn’t exactly be a good sign mental health-wise. In this case, it is the culmination of a mourning process and I have found peace.
James Hunnicutt @ Den Oude Ketel | Photo : Bakkie Photography – June 19th 2023
Notice the black bird sticker on this guitar? Yeah, part of the feathery synchronicity. I could go on, superlative after superlative about how great James’ voice actually is, but much like the video I took, I don’t think my words can do it justice. You just have to experience it to know just HOW good it is. By the way, I am not sure if I already talked about his guitar playing. Because of that voice, you might forget to notice how incredibly well and with how much passion he plays the guitar. It is really a sight to see and sound to hear. This video doesn’t do it much justice, but try to hear through the awful sound quality. It’s also got a little of that lovely Fritz Hetfield/Cash bass as a cherry on top!
It is break time. Time to go back to the terrace and get a little breather in the night air that is slowly cooling. A few drops of rain bring a delightful relief from the heat. And then we spot it. A HUGE FULL RAINBOW. At 10pm. MAGIC? Yes. Tiho saves the day again by running in and bringing out the rainbow man we believe is responsible for this spectacular sight.
Another huge thank you to Jo for taking this impossible shot of me and James (rainbow tie dye shirt and feather dress included), somewhere under the rainbow in Heist-op-den-Berg. In the process of revelling at the beauty of nature, we almost missed Whiskey Dick starting their set inside. We run in, just in time for an epic time.
Again, what can I say about these men that I haven’t already. That voice, that guitar playing… It is mesmerising to the point where I barely have the words to describe it. It also made me forget how to make decent videos because all I could find on my phone was this short bit that doesn’t come close to doing them justice, but I am sharing it anyway.
Again, I was paying too much attention to the show and didn’t take that many notes. One of the few notes I have that makes any sense is ‘Fuuuuuuuuuck, that guitar‘. I also mention that I am prepared to believe the Reverend when he says that what he does with his guitar is magic. And that he’s even better than Kyle Gass from Tenacious D AND HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW IT.
The Reverend – Whiskey Dick @ Den Oude Ketel | Photo : Bakkie Photography – June 19th 2023
But you can tell from these above and below pictures just how much he enjoys making the music. You can practically SEE the magic coursing through his veins.
The Reverend – Whiskey Dick @ Den Oude Ketel | Photo : Bakkie Photography – June 19th 2023
I go on to write about Fritz that he’s the best goddamn rhythm guitar I’ve ever heard, more energetic than Jack Black, and I don’t say shit like that lightly.
The Reverend – Whiskey Dick @ Den Oude Ketel | Photo : Bakkie Photography – June 19th 2023
I write to my dad: ‘Heavy metal honky tonk, who ever thought we’d have a genre that fit both of us equally’. Yeehaw, motherfucking Yeehaw man!
And somewhere in all this chaos of feelings they start to play this song. I’d heard it first in The Black Flamingo and it had the same effect on me as Teardrops by James. They wrote this song for Dimebag Darrel, but in my mind it was instantly linked to my dad and my (and our) fallen heroes in music. From Johnny Cash to Luc De Vos. My dad used to text me religiously when there was anything to do with either of those artists on tv. He understood the love for the person behind the music as much as I do.
This video is almost 20 years old, that’s about how long they have been playing together!
So they are playing this song, and exactly like in The Black Flamingo, I start crying again. Having noticed this, Tiho rushes over and I am quickly comforted by an understanding and consoling hug. The musical magic of the Purple People emphasises again that I am exactly where I need to be in space and time.
Right before the show is about to end, there is a special treat! The sound man of Den Oude Ketel takes place behind the drums and plays a song with Whiskey Dick and James who has been the honorary third member for these past few songs. Kudos to the sound man by the way, the music sounded spectacular all through the night. Having followed bands around a little, it’s not always a given that the sound is so well balanced. (Come to think of it, that’s a compliment I also have to extend to Jo and crew at The Black Flamingo because the sound is always spot on there as well.)
I will end this with the following song. Fritz was delighted so many people turned up to see them on a lousy Monday night. He told us ‘Here’s where we tell Tuesday to kick our ass.’ He was right, Tuesday did kick my ass because I left there way later than anticipated and drunk as hell on music. I have no regrets.
JAMES HUNNICUTT & WHISKEY DICK – Monday, June 19th 2023 – Den Oude Ketel, Heist Op Den Berg
Part 1: An ode to The Black Flamingo Part 2: An ode to The (Purple) Black Flamingo people Part 3: Whiskey Dick and James Hunnicut: Live
Part 4: Post show Purple Flamingos!
So the show is over, alas. But it is still coursing through me. It is now part of my blood and my genetics. (I know that’s not how genetics work, that was a hyperbole.) But I am walking on air. I totally forgot to yell at Jo. Like I could ever yell at him. I talk some more with the Ann/Mia about everything music. (I cut her off quite abruptly mid conversation when Whiskey Dick was starting. Sorrynotsorry. You get it!) And then I am suddenly next to this man.
The Reverend. My thoughts have not found the proper order in my head so I loudly proclaim something along the lines of: HELLO DO YOU KNOW HOW GREAT YOU ARE AND WHAT IS THIS MAGIC ARE YOU A WIZARD. (Yes, I have the uncanny ability to talk without punctuation when properly fired up.) He accepts the weirdass compliment, that was actually a question, with a blushing smile. He just does something he tells me. He doesn’t really know what he does, he just jams out. He didn’t have a classical background in learning music. It seems to me he doesn’t know HOW MAGICAL he is! This is not false modesty. I probably embarrass him more by doubling down on my point that they might even be better than my beloved Tenacious D. I use more superlatives, then tell him thanks for the show and turn around so other people get the chance to gush to him.
I think of how the talented people in the movie Soul go into their zone when they make music. How their talent takes over and they are one with the artform they choose. (Or which has chosen them.) I believe the Reverend has talent like that. So much so, he doesn’t even fully grasp his own gift. I am reminded of this quote by another very Purple Person.
It doesn’t stop being magic just because you know how it works.
Terry Pratchett, The Wee Free Men
I almost bump into Fritz. I go on another tirade of DO YOU KNOW YOU ARE BETTER THAN TENACIOUS D and vaguely tell him why I am there. How Jo lured me into them without me even knowing it. How they’d gone from people I’d never heard about to ONE OF MY FAVOURITE bands with just this show. He seems pleased with being the love child of Hetfield and Cash in my mind’s eye. I tell him in as few words as I can manage about my dad, the synchronicity, the Purple People and the birth of Polexia Miller. And he totally GETS all the weird rambling crazy that spills out uncoordinatedly from my mouth.
We talk some more about band ideas and personas. I tell him about something I have in the works and even though it is partly impossible for him to understand what exactly it is, he still understands and loves the gist of it. I make another mental note about Los Bastardos and how I need to hear more about it asap. Also, the 20 other bands the three men are in. I have a big back catalogue ahead of me!
And then Fritz calls in James Hunnicutt who’s being fussed over by some other fans. I tell my same story and about how I am going to write about this night and that it might (will most definitely) turn into a series. James listened transfixed to my idea about being the rock journalist and the band-aid and how my blog is just that. He is so much into the idea that he invites me along for Muddy Roots, to come as their guest and tell the story of that amazing festival in between.
He understands how me doing this because of and for the music, can also be a big help to the music, artists and festivals. Artists are almost never good at self promotion. So I yell about how great they are for them. So they don’t have to. (Also because I can’t stop it. It is an affliction. A wonderful, magical affliction, Lisa!)
Unfortunately it would later turn out Muddy Roots doesn’t share this vision for the future (Yet), so no guest-pass for me. It is probably for the best, because my body was rejecting my rock and roll lifestyle, and I’m not sure if I’d have survived a three day festival at that point. Though another of my new musical obsessions Van Tastik played a fantastic set there, I am sad to say I missed it.
But something tells me I’ll be seeing him soon. And there’s talk of a Muddy Roots trip with the Flamingo people for next year, so there is that to look forward to too! Plus, for anyone interested: Whiskey Dick and James might be coming back to The Black Flamingo next year, but I digress.
At some point I start gushing to James about his impossible voice, in much the same way as I talked about the Reverend’s guitar playing. He reacts in the same completely-oblivious-to-his-own-actual-talent way. These people are special. And they don’t even know HOW special.
After this sea of words floating from my mouth towards the musicians, returned by their encouragement and interest, I am left with three big bear hugs and a huge smile on my face. (If it wasn’t yet clear from the above photos.)
My dad is in ALL of this. He is here, in the music. In the people. They’re all so goddamn Purple. This is where I am supposed to be. This is what I am supposed to do. This is what it is all about.
Somewhere in the chaos that is this night, I get to talking to two very bearded dudes. One of them had already signalled to me with a thumbs up during the performances. ‘Listen first, talk later’, he said between songs. (My kinda person!) Afterwards he asked me if this was the first time seeing all of this. (Was it that obvious? Yes.) He had seen me fall in total love throughout the entire night. My WOO’s getting louder and longer, and tears and smiles beaming on my face. He is Rob and the other one is Papa Juice , former owner of Bacchus café, apparently one of the hotspots I have the misfortune of missing in its existence. (I think that man represents a series of blogs in itself, so I’m not even going to take that side step now!) You can hear James mentioning him in the intro to Bad Girl.
Important to know is that the one guy (Papa Juice) owned a bar and the other guy started frequenting the bar. Why, you ask? Because of the music, obviously. His daughter, who is about my age, told him to come see a gig there with her. And then dad never left. He’s seen Whiskey Dick there before and followed the music to The Black Flamingo. This story is special for so many reasons. The music, the family connection and the new start it represented to him. So unbelievably symbolic for this night and this music and this month of synchronicity that is June.
After some more talking, I discover that Papa Juice has a corvid tattoo (I forget if it was a crow or raven) and he brings in James because he has one too. And you already know of my obsession with this subspecies of bird.
And with this, I set the stage for part five and the road to Den Oude Ketel in Heist-op-den-Berg where I will meet all of the above Purple People again for the next James Hunnicutt/Whiskey Dick double bill I will attend. The road to it was both literally and figuratively littered with feathers.
Part 1: An ode to The Black Flamingo Part 2: An ode to The (Purple) Black Flamingo people Part 4: Post show Purple Flamingos! Part 5: Whiskey Dick and James Hunnicut: Live @ Den Oude Ketel
Part 3: Whiskey Dick and James Hunnicut: Live @ The Black Flamingo
Stardate, Wednesday the 14th of June. We have finally arrived at the centre of it all. It is a beautiful, hot summer day. In driving up the yellow sand road towards The Black Flamingo, it clicks I have never seen this place in the daylight. It is even nicer and more peaceful than I could ever imagine. The little chapel with the Mary statue draws my attention and drags me back in time to my childhood. My dad would have loved this and probably hung it in his backyard, as well. I don’t have much time to mull on this however, because the music pulls me into the doors.
You have to know first, Jo and I have been excitedly exchanging messages about the night. He sent me a picture of three bearded men who seem to be having a good time in the garden of The Black Flamingo.
I ask who is who in the picture, so I have a better idea what to expect for the night. Somewhere my wires got crossed and I thought I was going to see a Reverend-something (There are a lot of them in the type of music I am expecting.) as the opener and that Whiskey Dick was a James and a Fritz. I had a vague idea I was in for a good night.
I’d never heard about that Reverend, but the attempts at listening to Whiskey Dick, (While simultaneously trying to tame my hyperactive brain into writing about other music.) had proven entertaining enough. And as I said, word from Jo was good enough. He was VERY excited, so I knew it had to be GOOD. I was amply amped for Whiskey Dick. I thought I was prepared for what was coming. I settle into one of the comfortable recliners and let the notes start to wash over me.
I WAS NOT PREPARED! Not in the slightest. Because first I am totally confused about who I am seeing. That’s the Reverend! Wait, is he a Reverend? No, his name is James. Oh. Okay. Who cares about names anyway at this point. THIS IS AMAZING. I didn’t write down much, because most of the time I was just staring in awe. Funny that Jo captured this song Bad Girl when it is one of the only ones I reference in my notes. (Great minds and all that!) Listen to THIS!
I barely remember where his performance ended and Whiskey Dick’s began, because they like to get on stage with one another. So next up is a jumbled mess of two performances that intertwined so much I’m not even going to try and untangle them. So from now on we have three key players. There is James (Hunnicutt), the opening act and occasional backing vocals to Whiskey Dick. (Weird to call him that, because his voice could never (and should never) just be in the back, but we will get to that.) Then we have Fritz and the Reverend who make up Whiskey Dick. Now that I got the confusion out of the way, let’s get on with the show.
James Hunnicutt’s voice is indescribably great. At one point he praises Fritz for his great bass voice but James goes from high to low without batting an eye. The notes are crystal clear and he can hold them for impossibly long. I am sitting there, absolutely gobsmacked. Thinking of all the ways I was going to yell at Jo: HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN! Nicely, mind you. As I said, I get loud when excited.
So, THAT VOICE. But more than that, he pounds his guitar and moulds it to his words. Chords that go so deep you can almost feel it in your teeth. His string gives out, but he plays the song until the end. But it was his final song, so that’s a nice magical way of rounding up.
The audience wants more though. He gives in with a request by one of the audience members. I later find out she is a really nice lady, who breathes music and lyrics as much as I do. This is her tattoo. Her name is Ann but her alter ego is Mia. (MIA! Like Gorki. In my head at least.) She told me the whole story but I was too entranced to write it down. Look at what it says. It could be my new life motto.
She’s followed James Hunnicutt for years now. I totally understand why. The song is ‘Don’t let teardrops fill your eyes’. He starts playing it, Fritz and the Reverend do a silly dance in the back and sing along. The more he sings ‘don’t let teardrops fill your eyes’, the more teardrops fill my eyes. See for yourself.
(The dance you see happening behind James is a thing that has started during a show when he felt sad to play that song. People from the audience started dancing it behind him to make him feel better and encourage him. From then on, it has been almost mandatory to dance the dance. If that isn’t Purple as fuck, I don’t know what is.)
The nonsense in between the songs is Purple. James, Fritz and the Reverend are three friends making music and touring. They love what they do and they love doing it together. (There is talk of them actually doing it together, as Tres Bastardos, but I will go into that another time. I will find out more, but what I heard made me SQUEE with joy.) It all adds a layer to the magic. They have voices and sounds that go all through your body, to the tips of your toes. This is the kind of mindfulness I can dig. Feeling the music rush through you, both physically and emotionally. James takes a seat in the audience while Whiskey Dick takes the stage. He pets Caramel and comments on HOW GOOD his mates are.
So I already told you a bit about Fritz’ voice, so I had already settled down on that while writing my next notes. I start off by going crazy about the Reverend and his guitar playing. I address him directly: ‘Reverend, seriously, one would start believing in God seeing such virtuosity. Effortless virtuosity no less, while chain smoking and quickly putting his butt between the strings and batters away on them. This is also where I call him the silent force of the group and compare him to Kyle Gass from Tenacious D.
You must know by now I am a HUGE fan of the D. The day before The Black Flamingo show, they had played at Vorst Nationaal. I hadn’t been there and up to this point I was a little bummed out. Jo and Tiho had gone and I had been SO jealous and reliving my night with Tenacious D in my head. Let me tell you. Whiskey Dick made me forget about missing Tenacious D. Like, I’d seen that and I hated Vorst Nationaal anyway. And the energy of this band reminded me so much about what I had lived there.
At this point, I feel the need to mention that by calling the guitar picking Reverend the silent force, I am not saying Fritz isn’t completely fantastic in his own way. Because the power chords he pushes from his guitar are mental. And that voice, it’s like James Hetfield and Johnny Cash had a love baby. Actually, the music also holds vaguely in between those genres. They themselves call it Yeehaw Metal and I am here for it.
I am in love with that voice, and entranced by that guitar playing. How the fuck do you get that kind of sound out of a very normal acoustic guitar. At one point it sounds like intricate violin playing. I see the Reverend’s feet move over the pedals in front of him and am completely transfixed. I make a note to ask him after the show ‘HOW’.
I feel like I am in second grade. I remember liking my teacher so much, he always made me smile. At one point I asked him if I could stop smiling, because my face hurt. This is how I feel right now. I am in the comfortable embrace of the nice couch letting it all wash over me and wrap me like a warm blanket. A metaphorical one, because it is still really hot out. Pour one out for our fallen heroes they sing. This is life.
All good things must come to an end, so unfortunately it’s the same in this case. But they didn’t leave without going out with a bang. There is one song they haven’t played. It was especially requested for Misses Black Flamingo, who usually doesn’t attend, but who was front and centre for Whiskey Dick. The song is a cover of Purple Rain by Prince. He is one of those artists I don’t have much of an opinion about one way or the other. (Yes, that happens!) But Whiskey Dick’s rendition of the song made me a fan of Purple Rain. Not only because it has Purple in the title. It was a perfect ending to an already perfect night.
I’m not only enjoying that cover immensely through my own eyes and ears. Most of that song I am watching this scene of mother and son bonding over so many different meanings to a song. Not just what is in the words, but what it represents to them. To Tiho it is about his friend who died too young. But he is with us in spirit, because his picture is a permanent fixture on the wall of The Black Flamingo. There may be a lot of music loving spirits here.
It is the end of the show but not the end of the night because I still have yet to meet these three amazing human specimens. And some other class act people.
But I’ll have to keep that for Part four: Post-show Purple People. Because there is still so much story to tell.
JAMES HUNNICUTT & WHISKEY DICK – Wednesday, June 14th 2023 – The Black Flamingo, Nijlen
Part 1: An ode to The Black Flamingo Part 2: An ode to The (Purple) Black Flamingo people Part 3: WhiskeyDick and James Hunnicut: Live Part 4: Post show Purple Flamingos! Part 5: Whiskey Dick and James Hunnicut: Live @ Den Oude Ketel
Part 2: An ode to The (Purple) Black Flamingo people
At this point in the story, we’re hanging out post Clyde McGee/pre Pete Bernhard in the lovely sunny garden of Tequila Tattoos. The two little doggos that hang out there flit from person to person, demanding pets everywhere. That’s how we get to talking to Mister Black Flamingo himself, we’ll call him Jo, because that’s his name and also very much shorter than writing Mister Black Flamingo himself. He’s accompanied by his son Tihomir (what a fucking BAD ASS name, by the way!) and since we’re all animal lovers, we bond instantly over the nice dogs.
I took a while before I realised who I was actually talking to. (That happens a lot more to me than you would think, especially when there are animals nearby.) When I realised he was the owner of THE BEST PLACE IN THE WORLD, I suddenly remembered I used to do this thing called writing. Like in general, but also more recently, specifically about music. I tell Jo that I would love to write a piece on the best hidden venue in the world and start telling him what kind of articles I already wrote. “Yeah, I did this bit on Amanda Palmer and also this photo thing on The Dresden Dolls”, full-on expecting the only half interested “who?” I usually get it when I tell people about my idols hyperfixations. But, get this. He not only knew of them, but he really liked them.
So in true Julie style, I start bombarding him with questions and recommendations and I go into full hyperfixation mode. If I hadn’t already lost my audience at the “who?“, this is where the rest usually take off. But not in this case. I had found my match, someone who is as hyper-fixated on music as I am. It wasn’t the longest of talks because we had to cut it short for the Pete gig and after that I got distracted by the whole setlist thing.
When I got home, I sent him the link to Amanda’s solo gig in New Zealand which felt so much like the one I wrote about in Antwerp. As you can maybe tell by the above, my self esteem was apparently so low, I wasn’t expecting much of a reaction. But then. He responded in exactly the way I would have. He GOT it. And we haven’t stopped messaging since. Whatever kind of crazy theory, idea or brain fart I throw at him, he just simply gets and runs with it.
Him, and his band of merry vagabonds at The Black Flamingo, might be just as much the instigator to my Purple People vision as that specific song by Gogol Bordello is. A lot of the synchronicities I talked (and will talk) about between the first Pete Bernhard gig and today have also been related to the music, The Black Flamingo as a safe space and all the people surrounding it, and Jo and his son Tihomir in specific.
The synchronicity in threes has not stopped since. Jo sees them everywhere now too, much like the Purple People. I am infectious! I start the Pete, me and The Devil Makes Three series off with a reference to a certain black flamingo with pink on the inside and me as a pink flamingo who is black on the inside. Turns out we’re both just different shades of purple.
Also birds. (Another hyperfixation of mine, go figure!) Lots of synchronicities with birds and feathers. Not just flamingos; black, purple or otherwise! Like the Crane, which I use for a nickname since my name is Van Craen. Turns out Jo has a taxidermy Crane. The road to WhiskeyDick and James Hunnicut was also littered (both literally and figuratively) with them (feathers, not cranes, thankfully), but I will get to that in one of their parts of this series.
I genuinely believe that I missed that first The Rabids gig for a reason. I feel like I needed to discover The Black Flamingo exactly when I did. A bit earlier and I might have missed the magic and the synchronicity. Life had knocked me out. I was battling my inner demons when my dad first suffered and then died. Nothing made me happy or hopeful. The world was too dark to see the pin pricks of light. Another thing I feel deeply (Not necessarily believe, but FEEL, so I chose to believe in it.) is how my dad had a hand in getting me there. It was all so intrinsically linked to each other with so many weird and wonderful signs and timings, it has been a helping thought in healing.
Nothing wrong with your brain…just a little bit jumpy I guess 😁
Jo
So what I have found here is a place full of people where I don’t have to pretend to be normal, because normal is boring. They see the passion behind the awkward and clumsy and are fully passionate about something too. They see the Purple. They ARE the Purple. I give a crazy band idea and everyone is in for it. (To be continued!) I blurt out all the wrong words in the wrong order and they understand the meaning behind the uttered words. When I am worried if my crazy theories and stories on here are even remotely understandable to read, I get a message that tells me they are.
In discovering new friends at The Black Flamingo, I found enough light in the dark to start up my old blog again, and then in turn synchronicitously getting back in touch with all the people I forgot I counted as friends. Music is one of them, but I also mean some actual Purple People in my life which have resurfaced. So for them, but also for all the people struggling with depression or burnout or whatever you (want to) call it. You see enemies everywhere, but that’s only because you are looking through the wrong glasses.
In the words of The Rabids:
AND YOU SEE ENEMIES EVERYWHERE FEEL LIKE YOU DON’T BELONG ANYWHERE YOU FEEL ABANDONED BUT YOUR PEOPLE ARE STILL THERE DON’T TELL YOURSELF THAT THEY DON’T CARE
The Rabids- Enemies Everywhere
And while simultaneously giving me LOADS to write about, Jo and The Black Flamingo, and everything that happened in the wake of my first visit there, gave me the actual confidence to find and use my voice again. So I started writing, writing and writing and I have barely stopped since. Meanwhile, Jo is always one of the first ones to read and like my blog. Better yet, he even started his own blog about music. While you wait for part three in the series, in which I ACTUALLY see the band for the first time and talk about their music, you can go read his The Blog Flamingo!
Beware though, you might also go down the rabbit hole of hyperfixation on music, because I can’t believe some of the things he recommends to me. Like, I can’t believe they haven’t been in my life until now and HOW COULD I HAVE MISSED THIS!
Like this guy. Wait for the voice. My immediate thought was ‘My dad would have loved this!’
So when this man tells me to not forget to come check out WhiskeyDick at The Black Flamingo, I say YES. Even though I have no idea who they are and bad imagery in my brain links them to about the complete opposite of what they turn out to be. Even though I barely have the time to even think about listening to them since it seems there’s a show every day. So I say fuck it, and just go.
PS: There is a ridiculous lack of photos in this post. It’s the music’s fault. See, I went there last Saturday in my Flamingo-est of outfits, fully prepared to take just one pic with Jo and Tiho and some internal shots of the place. I was NOT going to write about the bands there, I didn’t CARE HOW GOOD THEY WERE. I was there with a purpose. To enjoy the music and to get some pictures and hang out with nice people. About Three seconds into Kevlar, I was writing merrily away in my notes, and though I did notice SO MANY things to photograph for this post, I just simply forgot.
So one day, I will add photos. Or make the photos into another thread of this series, who knows. There’s also talk of a blog dedicated to all the animals at The Black Flamingo, I heard. (Where, who told you that?) But for the next few posts, this series will finally talk all about WhiskeyDick, James Hunnicutt and why the fuck they are so special. (And all of the synchronicities in between. And more of the Purple People.)
Onto part 3: Wherein WhiskeyDick and James Hunnicutt rock The Black Flamingo and leave me unexpectedly crying.
Part 2: An ode to The (Purple) Black Flamingo people Part 3: WhiskeyDick and James Hunnicut: Live Part 4: Post show Purple Flamingos! Part 5: Whiskey Dick and James Hunnicut: Live @ Den Oude Ketel
Yes, you read that title right. This is a series about a band and their opening act, but in this specific post I will not mention much of either. I am pretty sure they will understand. (I will sing their praises loudly and proudly later, don’t you worry!) But this story begins somewhere in March, long before their actual gigs in June. Long before I had even heard of these three men. (Three! It is ALL connected.) The story of The Black Flamingo and its people (and amazing animal friends) is too integral to the story of the music. And moreover, too integral to the story of me and of DownSideUp.
It all began with an invitation to see Static. ‘It’s in this little place in Nijlen, you will love it there!’ Here’s the band at rehearsals in that very same place! (They are the artists in residence, yessiree Bob!)
I remember hearing good things after their (and my) friends of The Rabids played there in August. Unfortunately I couldn’t attend that gig, but fortunately they made me a video! (And I have had the pleasure of seeing them play at The Black Flamingo since this all started.)
So, two months after sticking my toe in to feel the water at Trix with Amyl and The Sniffers (who also got their very own three parter), I venture out to see live music again. As you can read in that post, the timing of the Amyl and The Sniffers gig had been horrible. I did not feel like going out. I couldn’t give two fucks about music at that point. But that band sparked something in me, kickstarting me for the night everything changed and the light went on again. I wasn’t sure about going out to see Static that day, but because I really like them and was curious what all the fuss about The Black Flamingo was about, I reluctantly ventured out.
I now note, trying to track down all the dates, that I unknowingly crashed Jo’s Birthday Bash! (Happy belated birthday Jo, I’ll try to do better next year when I actually already know you before crashing the party.) Anyway, I had a great time. I talk to a few people I haven’t talked to much before and discover there is a BAR CAT.
Not just any bar cat, meet the beautiful and cuddly ball of fur that is Caramel. (LOOK AT THOSE PAWS.) She loves live music (unless it gets too loud *cough*Static*cough*) and milk creamer from a fancy plate. Anyone that knows me, knows I have now fallen in love with this place the second I laid eyes on her. There is music, nice people AND a cat? And the nice man behind the bar gave me a creamer to give the cat. I mean. That’s like my perfect night out, can I get a season pass please?
So as you can tell by the above video, Static was really nailing it as well. The night was a success. Not a mind blowing success yet, but at least I had something resembling fun. It got me into gear again and I went to a few more shows before finally driving back on the yellow sand road towards The Black Flamingo at the end of March. I had been told some Pete guy would play there. You know, from The Devil Makes Three. Had you told me then about the ride that one night would take me on, I would not have believed you.
Julie and Caramel the cat bonding before or after The Rabids gig.
As you can tell from my three part love song, I pretty much fell in love with music again that night. I realised music needed to be a big part of my life again. And that I needed to hold it there, because it is such an important puzzle piece to surviving in a world that is not made for me. Music and animals are my only two off-switches. Without them, my head is constantly on high volume. I need loud music or purring to achieve silence in my head, something like that.
We already had tickets for The Devil Makes Three in June but I decided to go see Pete at Tequila Tattoos about a week later. (Still kicking myself for missing the Titanic gig. I had no excuse!) It is there that I finally meet mister Black Flamingo himself. But that story is for part two. Yup, just decided The Black Flamingo gets TWO parts in a series about a band and their opener. It is just that great a place. And I promise it is connected. I believe wholeheartedly that James, Fritz and the Reverend will understand why I have to write this all down before I can get to their bit.
Let’s just conclude I have found my new happy spot and my newest favourite venue of all time. It’s not open to the public (yet), but I’m sure if you ask nicely, someone could let you know how to find that beautiful yellow sand road, that leads to a place of happiness, good people and fucking great music.
And I’m pretty sure that one day a band like Nirvana will only have played at The Black Flamingo before hitting it big. And then everyone is going to claim they were at that show that had only twenty to fifty people in the audience. And I will know which people were actually there. Because the people around The Black Flamingo have a different shade of Purple. It nears black, but holds all of the pinks inside!
I leave you with The Rabids with Clarity at The Black Flamingo. For your viewing and listening pleasure, while you wait anxiously for part two in the series. More ode to The Black Flamingo and its people incoming!
So, I have been hinting at this so-called review in a fewpostsnow. I labelled it a concert review, but it has turned into so much more than that. It’s an ode to music, punk spirit, Purple People and community. My notes started off in Dutch, but then quickly veered into English because of all of the people who touched the experience. (I’m sorry if this is confusing, but this is just how my mind works.)
Plus there’s another part to Gogol Bordello that isn’t even about the music or the people but is highly relevant in the world right now. By this I mean their activism and support for Ukraine. (I will definitely touch on that , but will have to expand on that subject in yet another post because there is just SO much to tell).So in saying all this, English makes my little voice louder, and that can amplify their message too. So there. Another three parter. Plus a Fourth. Which will really be the Fifth. (Hey, did I just declare a triology in five parts. Speaking of kindred spirits, I mean!)
It was done. Gogol Bordello has left the stage. I am left behind very fulfilled, wandering around smiling a bit, before checking out my coat and finding the merch stand. I had already decided on the t-shirt I was going to get while waiting before the show. (Sadly I have yet to wear ANY of my merch since June was so FUCKING HOT. But it’s fine, new threads for Autumn, when my body can handle sleeves again!)
I quickly tell my preference to the lovely lady behind the stand and note Eugene walking back there. Sadly he is on his way backstage again, probably completely knackered after such an energetic show. No matter, I had been lucky enough as it was in the last week and months, I wasn’t planning on making band friends that night. I also add one of their lovely (and super practical) totes to my purchase, after seeing the proceeds go to support Ukraine.
Sergey Ryabtsev and Julie
I turn around and who do I bump into but Sergey Ryabtsev aka mister electric violin himself! I manage to get him to sign my bag in pink sharpie, (Yes, I might never use this beautiful, practical bag again for irrational fear of it washing off. I will still very much enjoy and cherish it.) and have a quick picture taken. After ‘smoothly’ blurting out how much I loved the show and his playing in particular, I leave him to enjoy his after-show breather.
On my way out the door, I suddenly decide to turn back. During the show, the opener Puzzled Panther came on stage for one of the songs, and it just registered in my brain that they were the lovely ladies behind the merch. I venture over there and swiftly bond with Victoria Espinoza and Kay Buontempo who hail from NYC and have just been picked up by Gogol Bordello’s label.
Improvised photoshoot with Kay and Victoria of Puzzled Panther and Julie
I tell them how sorry I am to have missed two seemingly bad ass women on stage and promise to listen to their music. As is usual with Purple People, they aren’t mad I missed their show, but really enthusiastic to tell me all about it. At this point, there haven’t yet been any releases, (that I am aware of, correct me if I am wrong in the comments!) but I am anxiously waiting to tell you about it when they do release something!
What I did find was this lovely excerpt from a live show they did with two of their songs. I’ve also seen bits and pieces on the Puzzled Panther Instagram as well, so give them a follow and wait with me to add them to all the playlists!
Dumb European as I am, I comment to Kay: ‘Oh, you’re from NYC, like all cool merch people I meet. Do you know Joey Steel and Van Tastik?’ Of course she doesn’t, because one isn’t even from NYC (Van Tastik, he lived in the NY area but has since moved all over and now lives in the Netherlands) and NYC itself has a population nearly the size of Belgium, but I just get so excited.
Like I didn’t already think there had been too many weird coincidences that week, Kay drops the bomb on me when subsequently asking me if I normally speak French because I have a French accent in my English. The same question one of those broad NY area merch people, Fallen Reverend Van Tastik, had asked me not two days earlier. Feeling like this is synchronicity nudging me along, I end up buying a Puzzled Panther shirt as well. I thank these amazing Purple People, tell them I will write about their music and almost hop skip out of de Roma, drunk on music and life yet again. It is right then and there that the idea to Polexia Miller is born. I will write my own Almost Famous story. Let’s see how this ends! But first, read on about how it starts!
At this point, I am floating on clouds through the streets of Antwerp, back to the car that had eventually been parked about a half an hour walk out. It is a nice night and as soon as we leave the Turnhoutsebaan, it gets pretty quiet and we don’t see any passersby. A few silent streets into our journey I hear some English from a street corner and turn my head. I turn back. I do a double take. This CANNOT be. It is the three Brits I lost between the encores. This is Polexia’s time to shine!
Let’s finish what we barely started here. I begin an on the road type interview and try to take as many notes as I can. (I fail miserably to write anything down coherently, but I still got the gist of it all. Note to self, use recorder.) I ask them if it’s their first time in Belgium, which as it turns out, it is. Not only that, but they hadn’t really thought about a visit and had just followed Gogol Bordello because they rocked their socks off. They saw them a week earlier at Slam Dunk Festival in Leeds(For all that is holy, look at that line-up. I need to incorporate festival vacations!)
They came back from the festival, went on a leisurely trip to their friends in Normandy to eventually end up in Belgium for the show. It had been a good but also very rough week on them since they told me they had been drinking since the previous Wednesday. (The night this takes place is Friday in case anyone wants to do the math.) Though the conversation and information is a scattered chaos at best, I must say they hold their drink well. (I would have toppled over somewhere on the first Thursday probably.) And I thrive on chaos, so this is my ‘normal’ and I am enjoying every minute of our half hour walk. Because yes, they need to be in almost the same place as we do, because the universe has made it so.
As a beer loving Belgian, I can’t help but ask how they’re liking our beers since their version of Stella is watered down. The poetic words ‘I wouldn’t poke Stella with the dick of an enemy’ were followed by the second ode to Pimm’s I had heard in ever. (Apparently it is like the nectar of the gods. So much so that when The Rabids played the coronation party at the British store Stonemanor, they ran out and there was a public outcry. Which was then followed by the first ode to Pimm’s by an amazing British woman I still need to tell you about. Anyway.)
A great tit sits at the top of a pine tree – Lasse Nystedt
A lot of other amusing profanities are thrown around that I won’t repeat here, because some things are better off the record. Speaking of record. That part I forgot, to take an actual picture of the guys. At some point I had tried to shoot a video of their rendition of ‘Start wearing orange’. (My incapacity to do three things as well made me fail this miserably.) Well, Ian and Toby’s rendition. Tim mentioned that they had been changing the word Purple for whatever they could find the whole trip and it had been bugging him to bits.
Then, out of nowhere they give up on the Gogol and go straight for MMMbop. (Read here why that song/band is so important to me.) In my confusion (also, I was trying to cross a street and not get run over) I missed filming it. Lucky for me they pretend-believed me when I said my camera was off. If only for 15 glorious seconds.
Tim, Ian, Toby (and also deceased asshole cat Ralph), it was a pleasure meeting you and I hope to see you on my musical travels again! Have fun going viral, maybe!
Looks like we made it to the end! There will still be a part four, about the Gogol Activism, but I have another live music story to tell that needs to come first. I am not yet sure how many parts it will contain, but it is also FILLED TO THE BRIM with the Purpleest of Purple People.
GOGOL BORDELLO – Saturday June 3rd 2023, De Roma Antwerpen
So, I have been hinting at this so-called review in a fewpostsnow. I labelled it a concert review, but it has turned into so much more than that. It’s an ode to music, punk spirit, Purple People and community. My notes started off in Dutch, but then quickly veered into English because of all of the people who touched the experience. (I’m sorry if this is confusing, but this is just how my mind works.)
Plus there’s another part to Gogol Bordello that isn’t even about the music or the people but is highly relevant in the world right now. By this I mean their activism and support for Ukraine. (I will definitely touch on that , but will have to expand on that subject in yet another post because there is just SO much to tell).So in saying all this, English makes my little voice louder, and that can amplify their message too. So there. Another three parter. Plus a Fourth. Which will really be the Fifth. (Hey, did I just declare a triology in five parts. Speaking of kindred spirits, I mean!)
I had made it in time. The show was about to start. To contain myself, I start typing basic notes. As usually happens when seeing bands, I discover they made new music since I got to know them. (I am very lax in following up on things that are not hyperfixations. That does not mean I love something less, it just means it hasn’t seared itself into my brain yet for some reason.)
Always good to see new music! Solidaritine is the full studio album from 2022. Even better to see is that, in true punk spirit, it is not just a collection of nice sounding notes and chords to dance to. It is a rebellion to the Russo-Ukraine War, taken on tour even as far as the actual frontline. (That’s that WHOLE other blogpost I was talking about. I am not going to go in it, because by now you must be sick of me bait-and-switching you. Just be aware at this point, new music exists. I feel I have to mention this fact on my honour as a journalist, because I will not be able to be neutral when I go on.)
I quickly rush over to the bar to get hydrated before dancing my ass off, but to no avail. The line is too slow and the first tones of Gogol Bordello are sounding out. Oh well, I follow the music, skipping into the beautiful hall that is de Roma and I am instantly smiling.
The energy is purple today. Gogol Bordello radiates something unique from off of that stage. A vibrant life energy, as strong as the sun. You are drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Rhythmically moving your body to the tones, as if controlled like a puppet on a string. It takes you over. Their unique sound, their full-on enthusiasm, mixed in with what looks like absolute chaos. That’s the way I like my music! It is exhilarating. It breathes life into a whole room full of people who are transfixed in happiness. It is a sight for sore eyes.
Gogol Bordello @ De Roma | Photo : Mathias Verschueren – June 3rd 2023
It’s just an instant party from note one, is what I am saying. We are all the Purple People here and you can’t help but feel a part of something bigger. Unlike most Belgian crowds, this one dances and screams with joy. It’s all that purple, it bleeds out.
Meanwhile, the interval workout my Fitbit is telling me I am in, is wearing me out. These guys play no slow songs, I really have to work on my cardio for next time. But it’s all good, I have some notes to take to try and explain what is going on and why I am so ecstatic here.
A lot of my notes are about beautiful instruments again. Firstly I notice the gorgeous seafoam green archtop (not resonator) guitar that singer Eugene is handling. Then I go on to mention the electrical violin with a resolute ‘fuck yeah’ behind it. I am impressed by a solo the violinist Sergey was playing which I wrote down was a painful song that reminded me of El Tango de Roxanne from Moulin Rouge. (A huge plus in my book, I cannot tell you how much I love that movie and that soundtrack.)
I also get pretty excited about the ‘fucking accordeon lady, yeah’ further on in my notes. I also note she strapped a giant drum to herself and banged her heart out. Unfortunately, I was too far off to see who I was mentioning and my pictures are not helping. I also wrote ‘see X rocking the Banjo‘ but also have no photographic proof of banjos on stage to reference the great X. I am sorry for not being able to name these, clearly amazing, musicians. YOU ROCK so much I have no way of finding out who to shout this at!
Gogol Bordello @ De Roma | Photo : Mathias Verschueren – June 3rd 2023
There’s nine people on the stage dancing around the fire. The lung capacity of Eugene is impressive, how he can sing, jump and bellow out the words is an impressive feat to witness. This band has the same breaking-down-the-house energy as SONS did in this very same room. No wonder I had to be reminded of them pre-show. When the band is just as drenched in sweat as their audience you know it’s a good show. Insert teaser pic from the last post:
During-show-selfie up the top of the stairs at de Roma. Sweating and smiling. (THE sign of good music!)
The best mosh pit breaks out, people are surfing across the heads like there’s no tomorrow, so I run upstairs to the balcony to get a better look. I stop to take above selfie of my happy face and head in. What an amazing aerial view of the party of bobbing heads and bodies below! I sit myself down, (mostly because a nice man asked me to get out of the aisle, but happy to grant my body a little much needed rest.) and enjoy a few more songs like this. Excuse this crappy video quality below, but it serves to just to give you an idea of the mayhem and beauty of it all.
Then I hear it. I get up and thrust my Roma Feestbier in the hands of my compatriot. (Literal HOLD MY BEER moment.) I run up the aisle and see a like minded spirit doing the same. I call her out: ‘we have the same idea, you’re doing exactly the same thing’. We smile broadly, both rush downstairs and start dancing to ‘Start wearing Purple’. I dance so fast as to blur the reds and blues of my dress into pure purple. I lose her in the crowd. Besties for life, still, nameless person. ❤
There’s a little lull in the music. Is it over? A break? Someone saw that I was unsuccessfully trying to Soundhound a song, and comes over to help me out. (Somewhere in the dancing confusion, I lost track of where I was in my notes, so I had to go full on investigative journalist on myself to find out what song I was even referencing. Turns out it was the song I compared to El Tango de Roxanne earlier and is an Angelic Upstarts cover called Solidarity.)
Alright, thanks again Joris from Ruddervoorde for helping me out. I asked him if he’d ever seen a Belgian audience go wild like that and if he had danced himself. And he agreed he hadn’t yet seen that level of enthusiasm and he’d danced himself. He is a big fan and his last time at de Roma had also been for Gogol Bordello. The encore starts up and we lose eachother in the sea of happy, sweaty people.
More hopping around ensues and I keep stepping on my dress that is really too long for this. It’s all good and well. (I notice my preferred personal space circle gets a lot smaller in a happy dancing crowd, oddly enough. I don’t even mind the people bumping into me or getting drinks poured over me (usually). It’s just what happens when we’re having fun.) Gogol Bordello keep on playing encore after encore. This band is indestructible!
So many encores already, that in another lull between encores I think they can’t possibly play anymore, so I strike up another conversation with some people near me. Turns out they can’t help me with my ‘enthusiastic dancing Belgians’ question since they’re British. They do confide in me that they were dancing like crazy because of the band and the beer.
I almost follow them out for their smoko, but decide against it when I hear some more music blasting off the stage. No way I am missing even a second of this party. Bye unknown strangers, no way I’ll ever find you in the crowd after the show to finish this story. (Spoiler for part three: I DO find them, in the most unlikely of places and they serenade me with MMMbop. Proof incoming.)
In short. Gogol Bordello is life. The music and the musicians are amazing and wild. The crowd is a joy to be a part of. It’s not just a show. You make friends here. It’s a place to just enjoy life. It’s a world of its own. Full of purple people. Full of hope.
The end of part two. Part Three will contain all after show events. Which includes:
The lovely ladies of Puzzled Panther, the opener I sadly missed!
A meet and greet with violinist Sergey.
A chance encounter with three Brits, long thought lost.
Huge thanks (again) to de Roma for the beautiful professional shots I get to use. Featured image in this post also by Mathias, as shown in part one-ish.
Huisfotograaf Mathias Verschueren en Jef: <3!
GOGOL BORDELLO – Saturday June 3rd 2023, De Roma Antwerpen
The drawing series ‘Rounding off the Edges’ is a work in progress, much like this post. I am still filled with ideas on where to take this, but I figured I should already give an overview of the process for prosperity. Waiting until I decide it is done (it might never be) or even when the hyperfixation ends (if it does, it won’t get posted here anyway) is never the best strategy, so here goes.
Editors note: I am planning on photographing all drawings in the series and add them into their own gallery chronologically and then add to it as it evolves. That in itself might prove a huge project so in the meantime, I’ll show you a few not-so-great shots from my phone I made while drawing. Note that not all drawings are 100% finished, some still need some detail work.
It all started one sunny afternoon while browsing Instagram. My friend sent me this video and I was immediately triggered. Seemed like a chill way to spend an afternoon doodling. Found some paper, markers and set to work.
I started off exactly as the video suggests. Just drawing random intersecting lines on paper and rounding off all the corners where they meet. Started with black marker and pens and did a few versions like that.
After that, my ADHD brain excitedly started screaming all sorts of ideas at me on what I could do next. What if I used my colour markers? (My mind always goes to ALL THE COLOUR!)
Not happy with how the colour versions turned out, but maybe if I can find the right markers that resemble the standard acrylic black markers I used for the black & white ones, it can be done. I have however already spent a small fortune on said black pens, so I’m tabling the idea for now and going with black and white.
Rounding off the Edges – first drafts
Then: What if I used symbols like the ampersand or anarchy sign? What if the lines themselves weren’t rounded? What if I used intersecting circles? What if I use letters and WHAT IF those letters were words?
What if I define a specific shape (hexagon) in which the lines are contained on the paper? Which letter(combinations) and words get the best results stylistically?
What if the words were short sentences? What if I used the words to a short-ish poem? What if I designed unbidden cover art for my band friends The Rabids? What if I use lyrics? What if I don’t just write down the words and have them intersect, but actually put some thought in placement before the rounding?
Rounding off the Edges – Rounding the edges of Anarchy – Number 13 in the series
Rounding off the Edges – jagged line testing
Rounding off the Edges – Everything moves in circles start – Number 8 in the series
Rounding off the Edges – Everything moves in circles – Number 8 in the series
Rounding off the Edges – Hex boundaries test – Number 16 in the series
Rounding off the Edges – H is for Hilary – Number 12 in the series
Rounding off the Edges – Hyperfocus – Number 18 in the series
Rounding off the Edges – Rounding the edges of Anarchy pt. 2 – Number 32 in the series
What if I draw the regular lines again, but try to find/form a creature with them and highlight that?
Rounding off the Edges – BlubFish – Number 30 in the series.
Rounding off the Edges – The AmperSandmand (Second of the Ampersands)- Number 31 in the series.
Rounding off the Edges – Pokhen – Number 29 in the series.
What happens when I digitally fiddle with the colour levels of the original artwork to bring out some sort of colour? (Yes, I can table the idea, but the colour somehow always seeps back in.)
Rounding off the Edges – BlubFish v2 – Based on Number 30 in the series.
Rounding off the Edges – The AmperSandmand (Second of the Ampersands) v2- Based on number 31 in the series.
Rounding off the Edges – H is for Hilary v2- Based on number 12 in the series.
Rounding off the Edges – first digital test
Rounding off the Edges – Everything moves in circles v2- Based on number 8 in the series.
About 36 drawings in: What if I go from vertically placed A4 pages, to horizontally placed A3 ones?
Rounding off the Edges – Voicemail to Jill pt. 1 – Number 36 in the series.
Rounding off the Edges – Guided by Angels pt. 1 – Number 37 n the series.
Rounding off the Edges – Voicemail to Jill pt. 2 – Number 38 in the series.
Rounding off the Edges – Peaches – Number 39 in the series.
Rounding off the Edges – And then my brain happened- Number 41 in the series.
Rounding off the Edges – Forced Collaboration – Number 52 in the series.
Rounding off the Edges – Forced Collaboration – Number 52 in the series. Detail
Rounding off the Edges – Forced Collaboration – Original artwork
Having not even completed that last one: What if I join The Rabids while they’re recording in the studio and do a series in a series based on the songs they are recording for their EP?
Editors note: More on that great weekend later, I’ve written a play by play for when the band releases their EP. So bookmark this page to be the first to hear all about it!
Rounding off the Edges – Series in a Series – The Rabids @ Riverside Studio Antwerp- Number 45 in the series
Rounding off the Edges – Series in a Series – Free Land- Number 46 in the series
Rounding off the Edges – Series in a Series -Clarity- Number 47 in the series
Rounding off the Edges – Series in a Series -Rocksteady Beat- Number 48 in the series
Rounding off the Edges – Series in a Series -Enemies Everywhere – Number 49 in the series
I will only annoy them a little – Series in a Series -Enemies Everywhere – Number 50 in the series
Anyway, about a month after I started, I now have some 53 drawings ‘done’. Most of them were made in a trance-like state of finding the corners and losing the big picture, which is what makes doing these drawings so fun. I can listen to some music, podscasts, conversations or nature sounds and just zone out. I let my hand do the work and try not to think too much about what I’m doing.
It is SUPER relaxing, so much so that it might end up to be a form of fidget toy thing for me. My mind is free to listen and come up with ideas while I do the ‘menial’ work of the rounding.
My brain finally shuts up and does what it does best when not impeded by rational thought: be creative!
I was never good at asking. I’d rather fall flat on my face several times before asking anyone for help. I still suffer from this affliction to some extent. But I’ve learned asking or receiving it is not something disgraceful. It is helpful. It creates a positive energy that you in turn can pay forward. Without help from our parents, we wouldn’t have a decent car or the house we live in. Should I be ashamed of this? No! I should however be very thankful of the help received.
I’ve only come to this realisation recently, when I started reading The Art of Asking by Amanda Palmer. I’m only halfway through this already fantastic book, so please don’t expect an elaborate review.
2023 note: I have read this book countless times since then and wormed its way again onto my ever growing to (re)read pile.)
This is my written ode to Amanda Fucking Palmer: musician, singer, writer, artist, poet and all-round voice of so many people that don’t get, or dare to yell out themselves.
Getting The Art of Asking signed after the Amanda Palmer gig at Die Kantine in Cologne in 2016. Receiving a big hug after telling her how much it meant to me.
In the book, she describes beautifully how she felt like a beggar while working as The Bride at first, a living statue she took on the road.
How she tried her hardest to connect with people, all without uttering one word. And how it felt when she broke through the shell of one of the busy commuters.
How she made her eyes speak “I SEE you”. She recalls the thankful looks of recognition. I’ll never look at a living statue the same way again.
2023 note: Having met her, I can tell you this is not a gimmick. She SEES and FEELS her fans, her people. They are both her driving force and safety blanket.
Her music and lyrics inspire me. They break me when I feel fragile, and kick my ass when I need a boost. I keep discovering more and more layers within the songs. In the words and the notes. In the silences in between. I fall in love all over again, with every note and snippet of lyric, every time I put any of her music on.
The beautiful lyrics she writes down represent full honesty and fragility. When she whispers or screams them out on stage, only then do you understand them fully. They are what you want them to be. They can be everything and nothing in between. On a road-rage-fueled morning commute, they can be a release for that anger. On a quiet drive in the fields, it can be a lovely friend who tells you how beautiful the world is.
The beautiful lyrics she writes down represent full honesty and fragility. And then when she screams them out or whispers them on stage, only then do you understand them fully. They are what you want them to be. They can be everything and nothing in between. On a road-rage-fueled morning commute, they can be a release for that anger. On a quiet drive in the fields, it can be a lovely friend who tells you how beautiful the world is.
Amanda Palmer & The Grand Theft Orchestra at Botanique BXL -November 2nd 2013 (Potato quality courtesy of crappy iphone)
Her shows, both with The Dresden Dolls, solo or with one of her many side-projects always radiate an energy that every fan takes home and treasures for years. I’m still talking about a Dolls show in 2006 like it was yesterday. She & Brian shook the AB venue in Brussels on its foundations. Just the two of them, an electric piano, a drum set and a set of lungs. Oh and his guitar, which he smashed. I still have to small part of it I managed to get a hold of!
AFPiano: Amanda Palmer & Edward Ka-Spel – Trix – June 9th 2017
AFPshoes: She commented on my blingy shoes my friend put on the stage after I took them off because they hurt. (Amanda Palmer & Edward Ka-Spel – Trix – June 9th 2017)
Pre-show selfie with bestie Hilary. We go all out for AFP.
During show picture by bestie Hilary! I was crying because it was so intense. (Amanda Palmer & Edward Ka-Spel – Trix – June 9th 2017)
Hanson was at Trix too that night. (I was actually supposed to go see them, sorry again sis.) I unfortunately lack the photographic evidence, but there was a little football match going on back-stage between them. It was the mind-fuckiest thing having those two artists existing in that same space at the same time.
Post-show-hug-selfie, with an honorary mention to Merch Queen Alex in the back!
Me, Edward Ka-Spell and the I can Spin a Rainbow merch (Amanda Palmer & Edward Ka-Spel – Trix – June 9th 2017)
I got this picture courtesy of the only person I ever met at an AFP thing who was weird in a bad way. He let me know he snapped this pic (way better quality than my selfie) so I added him on messenger and then he turned full creep in 2 seconds. At least it brought me this picture. Photo credit,: THAT guy.
Remember the during-show picture by bestie Hilary? Well, she’s an amazing artist and turned that moment in time, that wonderful emotion into a beautiful piece of art.
The love she shows her fans and opening acts is astonishing. The pure brutal force with which she brings her music is borderline maniacal. She lives her stories and music on stage. She leaves behind a breathless, satisfied audience that can forget about using their voice the morning after. If you’re not hoarse as a barmaid the day after a DD or AFP show, you’re doing it wrong.
The fire with which she storms the world head on makes her my most appreciated female artist of all time. She isn’t afraid to give out her opinion, but isn’t afraid to retract if she feels she was wrong. She tackles misogynists and uses wit and art to make her point. She does not back down. She isn’t afraid to ask (for help).
The way she reacted to the Daily Mail article about her Nip-Slip on stage during a festival. No. I’m not quoting the source. I am however quoting Amanda on the matter of this type of journalism:
“Anything that seems to exist just to taunt, denigrate, bully, bemoan or demean others (especially if it is wrapped in a shroud of self-righteousness) is click-bait. Instead? Fuck it! Share something actually useful and wonderful! We need more of that, always. Preferably something deep, profound, mind-blowing and enlightening, but seriously…. sloths n’ kittens are still vastly better than yet another article shit-click-baiting.“
AFP
Here’s the video. Warning NSFW!
Not only is the song pretty fucking hilarious, she dares to fight the misleading media. In this case she refused to be reduced to a nipple. Deceptive journalism is a dangerous and slippery slope. Because of what is not written, a lot of important points aren’t made. In Amanda’s case, it was about her music and how it should speak for her, and not a silly wardrobe malfunction. But it is bigger than that too. It is about some stories being reported on profusely, while others die on the metaphorical editorial floor. And it’s mostly the stories that matter, that don’t make the cut.
Amanda isn’t afraid to speak her fears, as well as her mind. She evens the path for people who have something they fear or are anxious about, to speak their mind about it.
To let them be heard, so they can start to heal. She lends her ear to fans in need in the signing queue. In turn she has a shoulder to cry on when she doesn’t feel her best.
This is how she connects with her fans. Through laying it all bare. Through showing that it’s okay to talk about it, however much it hurts. However much people might reject you. She encourages you to grow from and empower yourself with this rejection. You cannot please everyone. Deal with it.
I feel she brings a healthy and much needed voice to femininity. She posts pictures to instagram & facebook without make up and her signature painted on eyebrows. She tells girls, young and old alike, that it is okay to be yourself. That we’re all flawed. That we all have bags under our eyes on most days. That real women have pores. And taches de beauté. And that that is okay.
Someone should write a book about this woman’s life. Oh wait. That’s right, she already did. It is called “The Art of Asking” and you should read it now. (Also, this post is turning into my version of her biography: ‘My life with Amanda Palmer.’ I’m only slightly kidding. Hyperfixation much?) Then start asking, stop worrying and let people help if you can’t do it alone.
Editors note: Originally posted on February 7th, 2015
So much has happened to Amanda, me and the world (both good and bad) in the 8 years since I originally wrote this post in February 2015. Hence me feeling I have to add this rather long addendum and instead of just reposting the original from the depths of the Way Back Machine. (If it wasn’t for that site by the way, I’d have lost all my content since I started DownSideUp originally.)
Between the original post and now, I have met this beautiful person after shows on several occasions and even got to spend a day with her and her entourage.
Biggest and only regret of the day is not telling Neil Gaiman what a fucking fantastic author he is. Instead I kept gushing about my love for his co-author to Good Omens, the wonderful Terry Pratchett. (Sorry, Neil, I LOVE YOU but I google other authors!)
AFP and Neil Gaiman at Speelgoedmuseum
AFP and Neil Gaiman at Speelgoedmuseum
AFP and Julie + youngest fan (He got his uke signed!)
AFP & Neil Gaiman browsing for a new kitchen. Shortly after we lost Neil who in turn posted a cryptic thread to Twitter you can read below.
Prized possession: my battered copy of Good Omens signed by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett (at least in spirit).
Rolemodels we need growing up, Neil Gaiman & Amanda Palmer as a boxed up Ken & Barbie.
Driving Neil & Amanda back to Borgerhout. Shout out to the lovely person on the right of Amanda whose name escapes me..
Group picture we just had to take because I am still having trouble believing all of this really happened.
Pre-show selfie with bestie Hilary, note the 3 AFP related badges on my coat and the There Will be no Intermission tour poster – 20 september 20
Post-show selfie with the one and only AFP
The only problem with wandering around a bit of a children’s museum that’s closed, on your own, is that suddenly you are in a Brian Clemens scripted 1960s tv episode. It’s only a matter of time before the murders start. pic.twitter.com/kfqCB7ftcp
Attachment to the gallery: We lost Neil Gaiman somewhere around the creepy old dolls and he started a cryptic play by play thread of trying to find us again in the maze full of oddities that is the Toy Museum.
Another sidenote from the gallery above. AFP inspires people to create unabashedly, like how Hilary made her beautiful painting from my picture and I got to go wild in my Dresden Dolls inspired Photoshoot. (Plus countless other fan art I am not mentioning because this article is already TOO DAMN LONG.)
Anyway, since that first The Dresden Dolls gig, I have seen her most every time she’s been in Europe. Every iteration has been completely different, from the loud punk-esque sound with The Grand Theft Orchestra, to the haunting tour with Edward Ka-Spel, and her various (solo) projects.
She released at ton of music in the past decade, fueled by her Patrons. There were the collaborations with with the extremely talented Jason Webley for Evelyn Evelyn and Sketches For the Musical JIB. She brought her family along for the ride with ‘An Evening With Neil Gaiman & Amanda Palmer’ and the album You Got Me Singing she made with her dad Jack Palmer. Her last tour de force was There will be no Intermission with musician Jherek Bischoff on which you already know my opinion. There is just too much to mention everything individually, so just check the full discography on her website. Do note though, that The Dresden Dolls have started hitting the stage again as of this year.
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