One night only, straight from the Sahara!
He takes the stage seated, wearing white robes and scarves around his head and neck that reflect the low light with their own importance. His fingers seem longer than is human, as though they could wrap around the neck of the guitar several times.
Singing low, winding notes and nasal ululations, he balances the loneliness and power of the desert on his voice and draws it into the crowded room. Cold seeps in from the open doors and the night bears down darker.
He says into the microphone "Ça va, ça va. Merci boucoup."
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