Beso Negro February 26, 2012

Beso Negro embodies gypsy jazz at its height of romance, what one could call the Django Tango. This group assembles beneath the moonlight to take a shovel to the peat and dig up the adventure, grit, mystery, ceremony, and mirth known by true vagabonds through to the marrow. The ensemble is comprised of one fiddle, a wayward accordion, a cajon which stomps counter to Franco’s war drum, two acoustic guitars, a cello, an upright bass, and enough sultry voices to woo the dead from their slumber. Their songs illuminate the loneliness of the way that no man goes, the way the nomad knows. They range from funeral marches to raucous celebrations of the sultry birthright of humanity. Stage draped with silken tapestries, smoldering incense, dried flowers and herbs with a mounted jackelope to watch over the spectacle, Beso Negro fills your head with dancing bears, jangling ankle bells, and inutterable spells which make you forget that Vaudeville ever met its match. The group recently hitched its wagons for the South by Southwest tour and if you were a fortunate enough soul to witness the affair, you know that you’ve received an incurable bite. So if you happen to spot smoke billowing from a hilltop campfire and catch throbbing bass tones and tawdry fiddle diddies floating on the dusky breeze... you’ll know you’ve arrived at the place where life and death dance side by side. Kick up your heels, feel the dust between your stockinged toes, let your skirt twirl, and your hair fling wet tendrils about your flushed flame-toasted cheeks and let Beso Negro steal a big, wet tainted kiss