The Ryno Pen

Herself has written it up already, but Sunday afternoon is too good to go without mention.

Is. Not “was”, or any piddling acceptance that the experience is now part of a past. I go to sleep, and Django’s “Swing 42″ is the soundtrack of whatever dreams I have. Dammit, the whole thing kind of snuck up on me in a mess of signs and portents¹, and its tentacles reach out over time and space.

Cue the Wee-oo theremin music, like an episode of The Outer Limits…

Sunday afternoon kicked off with a trip to the Toowoomba RSL Club, where a local guy has set up a small venue-within-a-club for classic movies, with a few side excursions into folk and jazz shows.

As I chronicled earlier, my sudden Django kick, sparked by chance viewing of a movie

when I had nothing to do, was fuelled by the (also) chance discovery that a gypsy swing outfit would be playing on (what was then) the following Sunday.

The show was a little late getting under way: we met one or two people we knew outside the club.

After threading down a labyrinth of corridors retrofitted into the old RSL club, and past a small bar/snack area, we arrived in a sort of mini-cinema, perhaps 100 seats, with stage and (thankfully) small PA system.

There were earlier acts. A young Richard Thompson lookalike, (missed-his-first-name) Fielding, played skilfully on a dreadnought, a fine f-hole flat-top and a very nicely done banjo, and sang quite well into the bargain.

(Sorry I wasn’t taking names: I get peopled-out quite easily and being in the crowd was almost too much without actually chatting.)

A bearded chap named Rhys shone as accompanist to the second act, improvising some very Knopfleresque lines on a small Martin.

After interval, at long bloody last…. Paris Dreaming! Ewan MacKenzie and Kay Sullivan, on “petite bouche” guitar and accordion respectively.

I can’t do this music justice with words. Get over to the website yourself, and listen to some of the song samples.

They’re this good live, too. Tighter than Swiss clockwork: there’s unison passages where guitar and accordion couldn’t be separated with a crowbar and graphite, then suddenly it’s harmony, then wild counterpoint, and still the fingers dance. Mad stuff!

I bought the latest CD, Cascades, from a table in the lobby. (Well, I’ve got to have something to tide me over till the next gig we can get to.) Anyway, here’s where the Freaky Stuff continues…

Here’s a JPG of the inside cover notes from the album. You can click to enlarge.

Anyway, note the location. Where the Twilight Zone stuff comes in, is that my old friend Beako was in touch earlier this week, via email from the UK. We haven’t seen each other in something over twenty years.

So what does this have to do with the album? Well, you see, Beako attached a scan of a photo of your humble blogonaut from about thirty years back…

I think I’ll go and think about astronomical odds now. G’night, the both of you.

TFF^™0

⁰ Those Francophonic Footnotes^™.

¹ Note for Herself: That’s portents, not Hortense. (I’d link the reference, but it’s in her old blog, which was eaten by a grue.)