Caroline Waters

On the opening night of the carpeted velveteen musical debut…

It was, a buffet of hand and mouth instrumentals, with a wizened base, bobbing in the Kings fever of a deep dark cadence, standing beside a spring, skating through the arid base, with a fluted ministry and with those genius two… the velveteen she’s played.

One churns the long drone of receded strings, massaged in sonorous tempting pheromone rhythms of come-hither, while the other tickled the long teeth of ivory and jade, drummed in a strum of pressed finger pricks. And then there is the breath, pulled and sent towards calls of hopeful’s and thankful’s, those intermittent needs and our effervescent wants.

It was the yearning eclecticism of a divas debut.

When love is sung there is a rise, toward hand-played notes descending to anoint, and buried within the recesses of those is a scent that recalled a spry happiness and a remembrance of youth. Scents of purity and cleanliness only found in the innocent yearnings of childhood dream sleep.

There were those who’s hearts stood, seduced in the tango. Stepped. And dipped. And stepped again. To one mind there was a rose and a tuxedo and in the shuffled fro and toward of the lavish fun there was togetherness, found in the quartette dancing in an apocalyptic playful shift of souls. Hip to hip with hands in a clasped step of grace. Dip, kick and fro.

Awakenings sprung in seduction through the masterful fluted beatbox, broken and skipped through based twangs. Hearts shifted as feet tapped into a neck bob, calling yes in a fever of continuation. All things fast, all things furious and exaltation baked in the teatro del jazz, for even the masters listened on for these tones were never privy in the days of Monk and Blakey.

The eve grew as a long strum or pull, and the assemblage adjourned to pop corks and break toasts to friends found, on an evening enhanced and sought through the displacement of time. All frozen in the majesty of “a sensual evolution”. A fine tasting of the velveteen she’s, dew-dripped berry waters, which flowed smooth and easily went to ones head to intoxicate and stagger out into the Los Angeles night of the lonely and the loved.
- James Gabriel