Fishguard Yacht Club, Aberjazz 2025
Harbour Notes
The tide rolls in with a hush of brass,
Sunlight dapples the decks of glass,
Boats nod gently in rhythm and rhyme,
As music drifts on maritime time.
Rich bends notes like sails in flight,
A six-string shimmer in golden light,
Dilwyn breathes blues through silver reeds,
A harmonica sigh where the seagull feeds.
The Yacht Club glows with quiet grace,
A haven carved in a salt-kissed place,
Laughter clinks in glasses raised,
While harbour winds applaud, amazed.
🍰 And on the table, heaven laid—
Apple, blackberry, tray bake made,
Golden crust with berry burst,
Each bite a hymn, the soul rehearsed.
Each chord a ripple, each riff a wave,
Echoing tales the sea once gave,
And as the dusk begins to fall,
The music dances, harbour and all.
From 2024 photo from Miku the Bard Bear
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🎤 Pink Flamingo Reviews: A Feathered Witness at Aberjazz
ReplyDeleteI came for the tray bake. Stayed for the bassline.
But left with a broken wing of unmet expectation.
From Row Three, beside a pensioner named Maureen who mistook me for a novelty umbrella, I watched the Maharaja Blues unfold like a velvet curtain in a dream. The harmonica cried. The guitar moaned. The crowd swayed like reeds in a whisky wind.
But not one flamingo on stage.
Not a single sequined strut.
Not even a nod to the beak.
We were there—three of us, feathers fluffed, hearts open.
We clapped politely. We sipped cider.
We mourned the absence of our kind.
The Maharaja, radiant as ever, glanced our way once. I think.
Or maybe it was the lighting.
Either way, we felt seen. Briefly.
Next year, we demand representation.
A solo. A spotlight. A perch.
Until then, we remain
The pink in the shadows.
The rhythm in the wings.
— Pink Flamingo, Audience Member & Critic
Ode to a Bewildered Bear
ReplyDeleteIt was a Thursday masquerading as a day of reckoning, twas the evening before the show.
Maharaja Miku the Bear, resplendent in velvet epaulettes and a crown made of recycled tambourines, took to the practice pad with paws poised and princely pride. But alas! The regal roar was replaced by a hesitant honk. His fingers, usually fluent in the dialect of blues and cosmic funk, fumbled like a raccoon rifling through a recycling bin.
He stared at the fretboard as if it were a map of forgotten lands. C-sharp looked suspiciously like a tax form. G-minor whispered betrayal. The notes, once loyal subjects, had staged a coup.
Somewhere in the shadows, Von Hatstand twirled his moustache and sipped a suspiciously musical martini. Had he siphoned Miku’s groove through a straw of sonic sabotage?
The Maharaja blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. Still no chord came. Maharaja Rich, watching from the wings, exchanged glanced with concern.
The Pink Flamingo scribbled furiously in his velvet notebook: “Bear loses bearings. Possible existential crisis. Investigate.”
And so the rehearsal ended not with a bang, but with a bewildered bear gently plucking the wrong string, producing a sound that could only be described as “existential jazz.” The band, ever loyal, rallied with a chorus of supportive nonsense. Lord Tremolo offered a hug. Rich the Rooster crowed in solidarity. And yet deep within this one could sense his consternation.
In the distance somewhere, Maharaja Dilwyn’s harmonica wailed plaintively. This wasn’t a Requiem, this wasn’t a lament that he was playing to a thousand capsized Yachts, no this was his call of sadness at seeing a brother broken.
Perhaps in the Yacht Club, the Maharaja shall rise again. But for now, let the lament echo through the halls: Even the mightiest bear may forget his blues, but never his band.
Footnote
Commeth the show, commeth the bear.
The trio of Maharaja Rich, Maharaja Dilwyn & Maharaja Miku stole the show amidst a stormy evening and a captive enraptured audience.