The Cosmic Range, Toronto ON

It’s starts with swirling congas. The colours grow more luminous with each rotation. The bass line finds the pocket and I’m dancing. A modest dance though, just shimmies and shakes. The groove feels tribal as if it was drawn from the earth centuries ago only to be dug up by Matt “Doc” Dunn and the Cosmic Range – in Toronto of all places. I can feel the band dancing too.

It doesn’t take long for one of the musicians to get overtaken by the groove. His fingers twitch and tap. It could be random or preordained; some freaky spirit possessing that keyboard player’s hands. The others start to feel it too. A familiar face feels his fingers being bent by the rhythm and he too finds the notes. They can’t help but scream over top of eachother. The groove is in charge and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it.

I’m dancing harder now and the screaming intensifies. Colours are pulsing, brighter and brighter. The man on the saxophone is speaking in tongues and is wailing louder than everyone else, his cry pushing everyone deeper into the groove. It’s jubilation and exultation and it’s getting to be too much to stand. The power has reached its peak and the band knows it. They give the groove one more spin and end with a prayer to the spirit that brought the rhythm of “Kowboy” up from the earth. The Cosmic Range have tapped into the past and future and will possess your soul. Do not run. Dance.

KINLEY, Letters Never Sent
Letters Never Sent
John Southworth, Small Town Water Tower
John Southworth
Small Town Water Tower