Tag: WhiskeyDick

Gipsy, Kiel and Coco – A Story of musical synchronicity in Three Parts | Part 2: Gipsy and Kiel play De Floeren Aap

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.

In Part one, we find ourselves in The Black Flamingo.
In Part two, we spend some time at De Floeren Aap:

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!)

Ann & Me at de Floeren Aap
Ann & Me at de Floeren Aap

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Gipsy, Kiel and Coco – A Story of musical synchronicity in Three Parts | Part 1: Gipsy and Kiel play The Black Flamingo

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!

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(Re)make myself.

White Fluffy Clouds

A promise to no longer be my own worst enemy. A story about neurodivergence and acceptance in three songs.

I got my ADHD diagnosis last year at the ripe ‘old’ age of 36. In learning more about it, a LOT finally started to make sense. Why the life I was building for myself never really seemed to fit me. Why I never seemed to reach my own potential. However, there was still a puzzle piece missing. I got tested for both ADHD & Autism Spectrum Disorder at the same time. I had become so adept at masking myself, I did not get diagnosed as being on the spectrum. In subsequently talking to people, and reading up about autism and neurodivergence, I realised that diagnosis was wrong. I am both autistic and have ADHD. All those little quirks and difficulties I experienced all through life suddenly became one of two. The constant battle in my head between order and chaos was suddenly very clear. 

My life was made of masks, one for every occasion. First I hid my true self away, out of fear of not being accepted. Of being seen as weak. Of being perceived as weird. Of being thought of as a failure. Of being known as difficult. I became the person I thought I should be, not the person I actually was. It was a recipe for disaster. I was a ticking time bomb waiting to erupt. Last year I finally learned why everything always seemed SO much harder for me. Life in general, school, work and interpersonal relationships. 

But when I learned about, and started to accept and work around my (self)diagnosis as AuDHD, that became a mask in and of itself. I started to apologise for myself and my way of thinking about things and my way of doing things because of what those disorders meant to me. I have ADHD so I must be LOUD and OBNOXIOUS, SORRY. At the same time I am autistic, but because I am such a LOUD AND OBNOXIOUS ADHD’er, I didn’t feel like I had the right to claim the space, peace and tranquillity I needed. It was a constant struggle with myself and not in the least, with the people around me. 

This year, right around the time I was rediscovering myself in the music and the words, I started group therapy in a clinic near me. I am so unbelievably grateful for having found that path. In the last three and a half months I have learned SO much about myself and moreover, myself in the world around me. It has been challenging and confronting at every turn. But I am slowly learning to understand myself and treat myself with the same compassion and empathy with which I approach other people. It’s a process with big ups and downs, but it is so unbelievably rewarding.

It really should not have come as such a surprise to me that I am my own worst enemy. I make life so much harder on myself by trying to do everything right. For myself, but especially for those around me. I adapted a mask very early on, hid myself away and pretended to be strong for years. Because I thought that was helping those around me, not having to worry about me and the dark abyss I was tumbling into. In reality, by pretending to be made of stone, I continued the fallacy that we should all be made of granite. That there is no room for us to crumble, even just a little. 

I am now slowly learning that vulnerability is a strength and not a weakness. How it’s okay to not be okay. And how in showing and talking about my own struggles, others learn to find the words to describe their fragility and pain as well. There is beauty in recognition and unity in commiseration. We all struggle with things, why not struggle together? A sorrow shared is a sorrow halved. Because in sharing and commiserating, we can all grow together.

This blog started as a simple foreword to a piece about music. I was going to write about finding synchronicity in music again thanks to two shows by Gipsy Rufina & Kiel Grove. (Don’t worry, I WILL get to them!) How reconnecting with Ann, whom I met at the James Hunnicutt & Whiskey Dick gigs, led me to watch Coco again and what that meant to me in this dark September month. But the foreword developed a mind of its own and turned into this. It was meant as a sort of apology to all the bands and artists I promised my words to over the last couple of months. But in letting loose and just following the words, I realise I have nothing to apologise for.

There’s something to be said for continuity and following the precise sequence of events. It’s nice and neat and comprehensible. (Some might even call it Nice & Accurate!) It is expected. I’m usually a stickler for doing things by the rules. It brings order to my disorderly brain. But I keep losing myself in trying to do everything perfectly. In thinking more of what my actions (or inactions) might signify to others, than in realising how hard those thoughts are weighing ME down.

I am trying to break away from that to preserve my own sanity and build myself back up in the best way possible. So I don’t get burnt out from the thing that was curing my burnout. So for now I am done following the rules and promises I made in my head, because they were preventing me from telling the stories. 

From now on the stories will be posted as they present and write themselves in my head. The stories recorded during this magical, musical summer (and beyond) WILL get told with all the love I felt while experiencing it. But in their own time, in my time.

Here’s to chaos and anarchy. Here’s to doing things my way. 

RESIST. UNLEARN. DEFY.

An aside about the songs: The three songs in this blog are by a band that has a very special significance to me. Remember that message board I wrote about in my last blog on Terry Pratchett? Well, it was called Incuboard and was dedicated to Incubus. Sort of, anyway. I met some very special people there and I still remember that period very fondly. I lost track of the band a little around when they brought out Light Grenades. But I will never lose track of their previous albums and songs. They helped make me who I am to this day. They ring as true now, as they did back then.

I subconsciously chose three songs off the same album Make yourself. This was not planned, even though the title of this blog was inspired by the title song from that album. Synchronicity I guess. In threes, as always. The cover picture is inspired by a lovely art book the singer made, called White Fluffy Clouds. His art very much inspired my own. The piece below was my vague interpretation of the cover art of his book.

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Whiskey Dick and James Hunnicutt on Tour. | Part 5: Whiskey Dick and James Hunnicut: Live @ Den Oude Ketel

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

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Whiskey Dick and James Hunnicutt on Tour. | Part 4: Post show Purple Flamingos!

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.

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Whiskey Dick and James Hunnicutt on Tour. | Part 3: Whiskey Dick and James Hunnicut: Live!

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

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WhiskeyDick and James Hunnicutt on Tour. | Part 2: An ode to The (Purple) Black Flamingo people

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.

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WhiskeyDick and James Hunnicutt on Tour. | Part 1: An ode to The Black Flamingo

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

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.

Caramelleke at The Black Flamingo

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!

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