That's not exactly right.
It's more like The Slick Skillet Serenaders...
But I thought it looked good (albeit confusing) blended all together.
Sooooooooo.... I'm just a little behind on editing pictures from The Vault.
Though I shot these back in May I've been so ridiculously busy with client work that I hadn't even been able to look at them until this week.
And I'm so glad I have, because I adore this guy and his amazing voice.
Adore him.
Amazing.
I'm repeating myself for emphasis.
I think he may have had a lisp...maybe.
Did that stop him from belting it out?
Uh. That's a big fat no.
I think my daughters and I have a slight lisp (though no one will validate those claims when I question them).
Does that stop us from being loud and obnoxious?
Uh. That's a big fat no.
Sometimes it's really hard for me to come up with a way to explain the sounds of certain bands and why I like them.
It's as if there aren't enough adjectives.
Or the right ones.
Or ones I haven't used a bazillion times already to describe some other band.
So I stall.
By talking about lisps.
And adjectives.
Please forgive me.
And know that you should definitely check these guys out.
Particularly if you like jug band and/or ragtime music.
I think my favorite is "Fourth St Mess Around".
Click it.
Listen to it.
Buy it.
Or at least come see them live the next time they're at The Vault.
This is Mister Gunn and the Pistol Packin Mamas.
Remember, I heard this back in May, so I'm diggin' deep in this old rattlebox brain of mine to remember specific things about them.
One thing I remember for sure is that when the girl (or "Mama") in the front row started singing Matt and I looked at each other and started grinning.
She's fabulous.
With a voice vaguely reminiscent of Betty Boop.
Sort of.
It was so refreshing to hear someone that didn't sound like their voice came from the cookie-cutter-voice-making machine.
And this guy (the fiddle player)?
Picture in your mind's eye a moderately clean beggar complete with fingerless gloves and an overcoat walking down a city street in the late evening hour. 
Everything is wet from a recent rain and a little steam is lifting from the pavement.
The air smells like dirt and exhaust.
The beggar is walking under a rickety bridge carrying his battered up old cane and being followed by a wiry haired dog with a limp.
He's singing a song to himself and for himself....no one else is around.
And he's happy.
Even though he's poor.
And alone.
Because he can sing.
And no one can take that away from him.
That is what he sounds like.
With just a pinch of wine.
A pinch.
Gasp!!
What's this, folks?
I think B just got her adjectives back!
I think this may be the weirdest blog post yet.
Not counting the one about the dead mouse/cat and the baby with the magnetic butt.
That one was definitely more weird.
B
1 comments:
I think you make pictures with words just like you make pictures with the camera. Love the description of the fiddle player, I see him so clearly:)
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