Devauden House of Roots Reviews 2026
Maharaja blues
Maharaja Blues took to the stage on Saturday on a hot summer’s afternoon.
We were joined by Satinder’s son on the Dhol and he worked up some steam. Last time he joined us was at Rhythms of the World 12 years prior.
Looks like we braved the heat well and rocked the show ‘coz we’ve had good feedback from fellow musicians.
Thank Anju, Carmen and Harpreet for the photos and video.
The cutest bit was that someone went up to Richard and mentioned that it was the first gig he saw with his 4 year old and is therefore memorable.
Nice to see some folk wearing our tees.
Cant Be Satisfied
🦩 The Pink Flamingo Nonsense Chronicler's Review (Classic Absurdist Edition)
On the sun‑scorched plains of Devauden House of Roots, where flamingos wear sunglasses and the air tastes faintly of Bloody Mary with a circular hint of silver, Maharaja Blues materialised on stage like a mirage but with better rhythm.
The afternoon was so hot that even the Pink Flamingo Chronicler had to fan himself with a Devauden Festival programme, yet the band played on, unmelting, unbothered, and apparently unstoppable.
A surprise portal opened and Satinder’s son, Jus-Karun leapt through, armed with a Dhol that could summon monsoons. Instead, he summoned steam. Actual steam. Witnesses are still discussing it.
Reports from roaming musicians confirm that we rocked the show with improbable swagger, despite the heat trying to sauté us.
Huge thanks to Anju and Carmen, who captured photographic evidence before the cameras themselves began to wilt. I’ve tinkered with the images, but more artefacts may surface from the festival’s archaeological layers.
The highlight? A tiny human — approximately four years old — informing Magaraja Rich that this was his first ever gig. A historic moment. A rite of passage. A future blues historian in the making.
Also: people wore our tees. This is how cults begin.
Afro‑Welsh Connection: A Glorious, Celebratory Finale at the House of Roots
The House of Roots at Devauden Festival reached its crescendo on Sunday evening with an electrifying and deeply moving performance by the Afro‑Welsh Connection, led with heart and fire by Liz and Bunja Conteh. Under the warm glow of the tent lights, musicians and audience alike were swept into a joyous rhythm that transcended boundaries — guitars, koras, mandolin, bass, violin, percussion and soaring vocals weaving together in a vibrant tapestry of sound.
This dynamic seven‑piece ensemble with Liz Conteh on guitar and vocals, Bunja Conteh on the Kora and vocals, Jo Suvarna on vocals, Terry Payne on the mandolin and violin, Chandra Moon on the flute, Marc Smith on upright & electric bass, and Oumar Alex Sagna on djembe and calabash created a musical landscape that felt both intimate and expansive. Each player added their own colour, their own pulse, their own spark to the moment.
But what made the night truly remarkable, and profoundly poignant, was learning that Bunja had just lost his father, and would be flying back to The Gambia the very next day. And yet there he was, offering music of love, healing, and resilience. His kora lines carried both sorrow and hope; his presence on stage was a testament to the power of music to hold grief and joy in the same breath. The audience felt it; a shared hush, a shared heartbeat, a shared uplift.
This is, in every sense, what Roots music is all about:
music grounded in the community it comes from,
music that is inclusive, generous, and open‑armed,
music that unites and sweeps everyone into its embrace.
Behind the scenes, the fantastic technical team of Richard Staines and Simon Richards worked with remarkable speed and precision, setting up excellent sound for this richly textured group. Their skill ensured every voice, string, and drum found its place in the mix, allowing the music to breathe, lift, and ignite the room.
And it must be said: the House of Roots itself was a triumph this year. Curated, run, and even performed in by Richard Staines, it reached wonderful heights — a space where community, creativity, and cultural exchange flourished. (And I know I have a lot of bias when it comes to Maharaja Richard the Rooster but this is the absolute objective truth)
Sunday’s finale was the perfect embodiment of that vision.
As the final rhythms built, the crowd rose to its feet, dancing with abandon, laughter and movement filling the space. It was a finale that felt both deeply personal and joyfully communal: a celebration of connection, culture, and sheer musical energy. The House of Roots truly lived up to its name, grounding everyone in shared emotion while lifting spirits sky high.
🦩 Pink Flamingo Nonsense Chronicle — Afro‑Welsh Connection Edition
The sun had barely finished buttering the hills of Devauden when the Afro‑Welsh Connection strode into the House of Roots like a seven‑piece meteor made of rhythm, emotion, and at least three types of cosmic bird. The tent lights glowed with the warmth of a dragon who’d finally learned to love, and the crowd leaned in as if gravity itself had been replaced by groove. What followed was not just another concert. It was a cross‑cultural weather event.
Liz Conteh strummed her guitar with the calm authority of someone who has personally negotiated peace treaties between rival constellations. Beside her, Bunja Conteh summoned kora lines so shimmering, so tender, they briefly convinced several audience members that they could see into the emotional life of trees. And then — the poignancy.
The kind that arrives quietly, sits beside you, and places a hand on your shoulder. Bunja played with a depth that made the air itself hesitate. His music uplifted the Devauden House of Roots out of the field, circled the Wye Valley and returned it with the occupants sensing some amazing journey had occurred, not fully realising.
The crowd felt the emotion — shared heartbeats, moments where everyone remembered that music is the world’s oldest form of joy.
The ensemble around them? A kaleidoscope of joyful chaos.
Jo Survana (or possibly Jo Seren Flamingo Nirvana, depending in which dimension you’re reading this review) sending vocals skyward like enchanted carrier pigeons.
Terry Payne, switching between mandolin and violin with the energy of a man who has misplaced the laws of physics.
Chandra Moon, whose flute summoned breezes that were not forecast by any meteorological service.
Marc Smith, cosmic bass glowing with the quiet confidence of a man who knows exactly how to anchor a universe.
Oumar Alex Sagna, wielding djembe and calabash like ancient artefacts capable of summoning festivals from thin air.
Behind the scenes, Richard Harrison, Richard Staines and Simon Richards operated cabling and the sound desk with such speed and precision that several flamingos filed formal complaints about unfair competition. Every string, drum, and breath found its place in the mix — a sonic tapestry woven by men who apparently moonlight as audio‑wizards.
And the House of Roots itself?
A triumph. A sanctuary.
A mildly magical tent of communal joy curated by Maharaja Rich the Rooster, whose bias‑proof brilliance continues to be scientifically verified by independent flamingo‑based committees.
As the final rhythms rose, the crowd erupted — dancing, laughing, lifting the tent into a state of collective levitation. It was a finale that felt both intimate and enormous, like a family gathering hosted inside a comet. A celebration of connection.
A celebration of culture.
A celebration of the beautiful, improbable miracle of being human together.
Summary: the perfect way to experience flamingo energy.
Message to Liz Conteh 🦩Just another day in the astral lagoon of an interdimensional cosmic reviewer with pink‑feather clearance. 🦩
Coming soon:
Bethan Nia
Tom Rugg and the Tenuous Connections
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