Angel Forrest
Photo by Beckie O'Neill
“Angel Forrest is a four-time winner of Canada's Maple Blues Awards for Best Female Vocalist, as well as this year’s Album of the Year and Singer-Songwriter of the Year,” Laura Carbone, Producer of Plattsburgh Blues and Jazz, told the crowd at Olive Ridley’s.
Before the show, I got to ask Angel a few impromptu questions in her 45-foot-long van, named Maggie - after Angel’s mother. Lead guitarist Ricky Paquette, with long, dark hair and a beard, let me in. Angel’s husband and music partner, Denny Coulombe, bald and husky with a pierced eyebrow, lay stretched out on the couch. From the bedroom in the back, Angel called to me. Past the living room with its built-in bar and through a curtain of silky, red strands, I found her curled up on a large bed surrounded by pillows. Dim streetlight penetrated the tinted windows. She invited me to sit on the bed and placed a battery-operated candle between us. Angel said that day, Laura had shown them the wind turbines in Chateaugay, and brought them to Dick’s Country Store which sells gas, groceries, guns and guitars.
“How do you manage to bring fresh energy each night?” I asked Angel.
“I rest here in the tour bus. It doesn’t matter what kind of shape I’m in. When I get up there [on stage], everything kicks into gear.”
Photo by Beckie O'Neill
“What would you like people to know about you?”
“Hmm, that’s a good question. I’d like them to know I love what I do. I like to share my joy.”
“Do you have any disciplines to feed your muse, like yoga or meditation?”
Angel laughed, “I dabble in everything healthy but the stress of the road leads me to chocolate and TV. We’ve been busy since January. We went to Switzerland, Spain, Italy, France, then out west for three weeks and all over Ontario and Quebec.”
“You and Denny just renewed your vows. Right?”
“Yes, our tenth anniversary was October sixth. Our trip to India was postponed so when we saw we had a gap, we had a big Thanksgiving dinner [Thanksgiving in Canada was on October 9]. I had henna done on my hands and feet and the same guy who married us the first time did it again. We had about sixty people in our home.”
I further learned she has two daughters, 25 and 18, and Denny has a 13-year-old son. I wanted to let Angel rest so I thanked her for her time. I did not mention how thrilled I was to be given such an intimate look into her life on and off the road.
Photo by Beckie O'Neill
Back in Olive Ridley’s, four lights, two red and two blue, shone above the Barktoberfest: Blues and Brews banner. Tara Powers, Executive Director of North Country SPCA, welcomed the crowd, thanked her staff, board of directors, sponsors and supporters, by name, and offered a special thanks to Larry Mousseau, Brenda Mousseau, Tammy Forget, Kim Peets, Phung Pham, Barbara Powers and Cassi Soper. Tara then said, “Here is the Mother, Mistress, Madam of Blues in the North Country, Laura Carbone,” who then introduced the band.
Denny took the stage and a stool. Ricky did the same. Their guitars started talking.
Angel in a gauzy-thin, blue cloak, short dress and jeans tattered at the knees stepped between them. She clapped her ring-clad hands with lots of silver on both wrists and a red necklace swung as she stamped her bare feet. “All The Way” showcased her raspy, a la Janis Joplin voice. Ricky kicked-in with his lead while Angel danced and Denny held the foundation with percussion, rhythm and bass. Angel pointed to Denny and said, “I’ve got a good man that’s loving me all the way.”
For the next number, she pushed her mass of auburn hair back up out of the way, sang and danced to the excellent pairing of Denny’s driving beat and Ricky’s complementary picking. It was all met with loud applause and whistles.
When Angel belted out “Piece of My Heart”, Ricky and Denny harmonized and jammed their guitars for more whoops and cheers.
Photo by Beckie O'Neill
For a hammering, grooving rendition of “Walkin’ Blues”, Angel flipped her head, shook her curls, snapped her fingers, and swung her sparkling-silver trimmed cape.
“Here’s a slow one. We started doing this one this summer,” she said. “Am I the only one sweating here? If I am, that’s not good.” She smiled and slowly sang “There is a House in New Orleans” in a voice confident, clear, present. Ricky, with his background in blues, classic rock and classical guitar, presented an enchanting flamenco solo and Denny, who had formerly been Angel’s bass player, held it all together with his funky rhythm. They made a familiar old standard sound new and blue.
With Angel, Denny harmonized in “Move On”. To his steady rhythm and Ricky’s Spanish flavor, Angel whirled with a groovy jive. A funky conversation ensued between the musicians. At the end, Denny tossed his guitar pics into the audience and Angel shrilled a two-finger whistle.
“I wrote this song, needing to get back to the blues,” she said. With a slow start, it quickly kicked in. I loved the smiles and looks Denny and Angel shared. He added the refrain, also the title, “How You Do?” to her sultry, throaty, and gutsy voice.
Angel said she’s been singing in Quebec for 30 years. For “Goodbye,” she provided a hint of mountain twang, a lot of foot stomping, hand clapping and expressive dancing while the guitarists cranked. Ricky debuted the new Dobro Pearl guitar he’d purchased at Dick’s. He leaned back and pointed his boot. About Ricky, Angel said, “He’s very easy going. He’s been touring with us all summer.”
“Hold on Tight…Mr. I’m alright” – had swing… right down to the glistening, glimmering top twirling around Angel, and Denny and Ricky’s instrumental virtuosity. My husband John leaned over and whispered in my ear, “She has excellent, dance moves!”
“Denny is the love of my life, my partner through the good, the bad and the ugly,” Angel said before she and he harmonized to, “To Love Somebody”. The guitarists kept it and held it. The singers finished their duet with a kiss
“I wrote this next song… It doesn’t matter what language you speak. It’s what people feel.” For “Mother Tongue Blues,” Angel’s soulful voice as large as the room, nailed the notes, her feet stepped double-time, the music like a locomotive churned down the track. Angel swept up the mic stand and soared on her final notes.
“Turtle Blues” – passionate. Angel’s voice - riveting. Ricky pronounced his notes and chords with such precision, clarity, sweetness and meanness to Denny’s percussive beat. It was tight – streaming, gleaming, screaming, steaming. The crowd cheered. All I could do was smile and shake my head. It was a crowd-pleasing finale.
That is, until, “Bobby McGee”, as an encore, brought all of the nostalgia of the sixties into the room where Angel, now off the stage, with her mic, mingled with the crowd whose median age was 40. They sang, danced and connected. The guitarists had it. Angel shook it. The crowd took it. Could they smell her patchouli, which my husband had detected when he met her? Angel stood on a chair conducting the la da da da da’s, punctuating the notes with arm thrusts. The crowd rocked while she shimmied, let loose her vocal chords, and the guys played from the stage. Angel returned there to finish the song with pizzazz. The trio received a standing ovation.
Who knew the best was yet to come?
All three stood together. Denny’s tattooed right arm rubbing Ricky’s shoulder. “Thank you so much Laura Carbone,” Angel cried. Then she pointed to her husband, “This one is mine, ladies!” She took a big sip, tipped her head back and squirted water high and wide. Then she launched into, “Mama He Treats Your Daughter Mean”. The guitarists grabbed the chords and strummed fast while Angel blared and wailed and pulled notes up from her toes. She delivered her heart and soul through her powerful, gravelly voice. “Whole Lotta Love” was somehow expertly woven in and the room became one. Angel had us. She was Janis Joplin channeling Robert Plant – raw, sexy and good looking. The guys were rocking, the audience was singing, our hearts expanded, our spirits soared, Ricky added his mastery, Denny kept rhythm like a speeding metronome. Angel danced. The trio, this side of a frenzy, cooked, baked, and smoked. Angel’s voice reverberated with haunting echoes not unlike East Indian chanting. She leaned way back and held her mic like a long, medieval trumpet or like a sword swallower. The three of them rocked so tight I was teary with ecstasy and gratitude. I felt electrified.
When John and I passed the band, celebrating on the side of the stage, I leaned in and said, “One word. Orgasmic!”
[“Angel Forrest” Laura Carbone Facebook page and PB&J: Plattsburgh Blues and Jazz Facebook page,October 20, 2017, Beckie O’Neill]