I first saw Paul-Ronney Angel across the room at a Boys gig, The Garage I think, some time in the noughties. You couldn’t miss him. You couldn’t forget him. There isn’t anyone else who looks like him. He looks exactly the same today as he did then. I never said hello that night as I didn’t know him. I’m not that kind of guy.
The next time I saw him was at something called The Gypsy Hotel, a club night at The Lexington in London. I had no idea I was in for an evening of Burlesque dancers, magicians, swamp bred rock n rollers, a DJ from small town 50’s Louisiana with a collection to die for and, at the end, a performance by the Urban Voodoo Machine.
On they came one at a time, marching and playing to the slow lament of a down South funeral parade. And on they kept on coming. Millions of the blighters, all dressed in red and black. Two drummers, one of them with green skin, a very attractive tuba player in fishnets, trumpets, accordian, guitarist with a white streak in his hair, on and on building to a crescendo and the appearance of their leader, that distinctive looking fella I’d noticed at the Garage.
It was wonderful. Chaotic, vibrant, larger than life, all to the soundtrack of New Orleans via Memphis and Prague. Topped off by a man dedicated to what he does and living a life the rest of us wouldn’t dare to.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Brothers and Sisters I give you:
A Conversation with
PS: This conversation was recorded a couple of days before events overtook us and we were forced to pull our Lexington date.