Silke and I took a trip to St. Louis over the weekend. We went to see Mingo Fishtrap play. But I’d never been to St. Louis, so we did some touristy stuff as well.
Those of you who know me will know that, although I enjoy many genres of music, I consider funk to be mankind’s crowning accomplishment of musical genius. I’m talking big-band horns-wailing funk. Tower of Power funk. James “Holy Shit It’s James Brown” Brown funk. It doesn’t just move your booty, it moves your soul.
Those of you who know me will know that I love a good jam. Where you throw away your sheet music and all the stuff you’ve memorized. Where the band members hear each other and play off of each other. Where the band isn’t just playing the music, they’re breathing it. A good jam is an amazing thing to see and hear. I’ve seen some damn good jams in my life (Tea Leaf Green, Groovatron, Garaj Mahal), but Mingo Fishtrap takes the cake. Eight band members. Four horns. Sweet, delicious, funkarific jams.
As much as I love a good show (and I love a good show), that wasn’t even close to the best moment of the weekend. After the concert, Silke and I went for a walk. And that’s when this happened:
And she said yes. I love you, Silke.
