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Rating: When Luke Winslow King plays, he has the ability to bring out the dust from the amplifier, but not that annoying dust that makes you sneeze, rather one you gladly inhale to take a dive into the past, a past we listeners could never live through, and there he is exchanging loving glances with Esther Rose while she plays a washboard, one of those used down by the river.
He idolizes New Orleans, he loves jazz, the classic kind. The atmosphere is welcoming, few chairs, few but genuine applause, a couple of laughs, and the evening concludes with harmony, with that festivity injected into you without your knowledge, and I can already imagine people going home snapping their fingers to the rhythm thinking of that retro sound. This is what I personally call a wonderful evening.
The beauty of necessity is a scandalous matter for an audience accustomed to the necessity of beauty.
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