An exquisite party at the Whitehaus

The Whitehaus is the kind of spot that America and the rest of the world needs. A place where you can read “sharing is the gateway to abundance” at the bottom of a hand-crafted mug. A place where people hug the real hugs, care with the right care and smile with a straight smile. A place where art is taken seriously without forgetting the fun of it. It is awesomely located in the pulsing heart of Jamaica Plain, or should I rather say, “JayPeeh”, a very multicultural neighborhood, host to a very vibrant art community. We were welcomed with open arms and hearts, and very soon stories were shared: everybody was still very excited about a big show that happened a few days earlier outdoors with twenty underground experimental bands performing in the bear cages of Franklin Park.

The house show there was a blast, the bomb, the bee’s knees of the cheez whiz. When playing, my knees went from trembling to sweating in the matter of half an hour thanks to the quickly rising of the temperature. More than forty music lovers were gathered and sitting quietly on the wooden floor of a great sounding room, leaving me against the wall with the watching eye of godfather Jimi Hendrix watching over me.
The opening act was a fantastic performance from a hot and inspired couple showcasing rare body interactions, but I won’t say much more about it as I put a excerpt from their great piece on the blog for your enjoyment. Deth West and Cha Feliz continued to break the ice of the room full of bodies warming up by delivering some “heavy mellow” music in the form of quiet and fun acoustic punk. Laura Jorgensen’s rich and pretty voice stood strong on top of her bandmates’ tasteful and intricate playing, involving subtle violin, playful trumpet and groovy rhythm section. This great and diverse niht of music wrapped up nicely with an energetic and friendly set by The Meadowlarks, who had never performed their songs live before, even if studio sharks for years. They had this magical crowd up in no time, stomping and chanting, the smiles were too many to keep track of.

After many great conversations and encounters (including the visit of my friend Dexter, who used to play bad-ass bass in The Keys in Montreal, and his awesome bandmate Nigel, studying music in Boston) We slept in the same room where the show had taken place, which I always love: feeling the electricity slowly settling down, the thick human warmth hanging in the air, the scent of all these sweaty bodies squeezed up in a tiny space for one short magical moment still lingering around and tickling the nostrils… The Whitehaus is the kind of spot that I want to go to and come back from.

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