When the music takes my feet, I know I’m alive. The rhythms move me and no matter the pain, no matter the random nature of life and death, youth taken too soon, absurdity and insanity, there is life in dancing. There is life in the flirting dance I do with Jésus, the Colombian man at the club. There is life in the duende of Jacky’s voice, doing great covers of Manu Chao, the young man I met busking on Bourke St, long hair, goatee, gorgeous Spanish accent, just my type. There is life in the glint of the eye of Ugo, the young French guy playing bongos, who chats me up in three languages.
This is the heart of it. This is the key to the soul.
And, apparently, this is a residency. So: next Thursday, people, El Dorado on Flinders St near Spencer, Jacky Rios on guitar, Ugo and David on percussion, me on dance and enthusiastic clapping… See you there?