Beckoned by the dulcet tones of violin, bass, and the female voice spiraling through the darkness, the stranger was helplessly drawn towards the last lit trailer in camp that seemed to have sprung forth from another time. This chance meeting’s outcome: lePercolateur.
Fueled by coffee black as the night the musicians played ’til the sun began painting the eastern horizon red, and carnivale rose ’round them from the ether.
Winding their caravan through the windiest of cities, lePercolateur has spent the time since this fateful night sweeping in to transport concert-goers to a time where music was a liberating and cathartic respite from persecution–where the frenetic energy of struggling to simply ‘be’ coalesced with the unbridled spirit of gypsy music and burgeoned into swing dancing.