I BELONG TO NO ONE
There’s a rumour that she’s singing tonight. Whispers fill the backstreets, a queue grows outside the boarded window bar but you know the secret knock and you’re in. They’re serving Mama Moonshine, the lightning live show like no other. It’s the bootleg sound of London’s basements and 1920s speakeasies filtered through the static of a thousand pirate broadcasts. Funk jam fragments rise from 60s blues and rock, Hendrix’s Experience and early Mac recordings lock into hard groove rhythms, Pink Floyd jet propulsion melts into Frusciante’s fret board then explodes into the joy of Motown freak out!
The crowd are on their feet now, ain’t ever heard these sounds together, they hoot like they’ve caught madness, throw their bodies into strangers, and now the singer’s stood above them, a humble smile, hair on fire, she’s purring feline Franklin, draws cassette spools through her cats claws, shimmers red gold glitter, swoons silk metal soul.
She’s got that prohibition jazz thing, the cocktails and the sequins, got her sweetheart stories rolling off a husky tongue, launching notes that punch your guts out and pulls you in to kiss it better. They’ve honed their sound in these four walls, heard it back on national radio and now they’re taking to the road. There is no prohibition on imagination.
I MADE THIS WEBSITE.
I COULD MAKE YOUR WEBSITE.