image: luxembourg (xxxiii)

There’s a blues festival on tonight in town. When I say in town, I mean eleven stages surrounding our flat. No early night for us.

Two things make me respond to music: skill and originality. Well, it’s the blues, so forget the originality: that’s not what it’s about.

I wandered round the stages. Some of the stuff I heard made me wonder why I bothered to get out of bed. It was dismal: pedestrian, as in glued to the pavement. Fortunately, there’s some skill on show, and, even more fortunately for us, the stage closest to our flat is hosting some of the finest musicians.

image: a band on stage

First guys up were Dynamite Daze, a bunch of old geezers who seem to be playing purely for the hell of it. Old geezers? Erm ... perhaps a couple of them are younger than me. Anyway, they were about as together as a bunch of drunks at a bar, but when the drummer showed off, wow! Jesus, that guy is good. I guess the other guys had something going for them, too, but I only caught the end of their set, unfortunately. Daze is a very appropriate name.

The second band on the stage are not as exciting, nor as drunk, as the first. It seems to be a band for the guitarist singer to show off, but he’s very very good, so fair enough. Furthermore, they were tight. Between them, they took the audience on a great blues journey. The band is Laurence Jones, and, if you’re into the blues, go hear them. They’re about as original as a bag of chips, but we’re talking Michelin starred chips.