Angelle’s Whiskey River – Analog Artist Digital World

Terry and I had been to Angelle’s Whiskey River once before. When we returned to Louisiana this is the one place Terry wanted to share with her niece Claire Brown. This Cajun dive bar can only be found by driving over a dirt road over the levee. Terry’s iPhone apple maps sent us in a round about way through trailer park suburbs. Finding the dirt road was tricky because it forked back making it impossible to see the sign from behind. There was a five dollar cover but the band played tirelessly hour after hour.

Whiskey River is a ramshackle place built on stilts right next to the river. The floor is just plywood planks and the place shutters when everyone is dancing. The band ironically was the same group Terry and I danced to last time we were there, called “Gene Delafose and French Rockin’ Boogie.” This weekly Cajun dance hall was once again packed. The dance floor was always full for every dance number. Older gentlemen in cowboy hats knew every Cajun dance move and the whisked a new woman around the dance floor for every number. Terry danced with several men who spun her ceaselessly as I did this quick sketch. For some dances, everyone knew to dance in sweeping circles clockwise.

Men lined up to dance with Claire and one asked her for her number, but she has a boyfriend. When the sketch was done, I joined Terry on the dance floor until we were both exhausted. Huge fans cross ventilated the dance floor but with so many heated bodies the place was hot despite the cold temperature outside. The dance floor would always empty the second the band stopped playing. Terry was the one person who wanted to remain on the dance floor waiting for the next song to begin. She loves Cajun music. We even had a Cajun band perform at our wedding. My family seemed confused by all the dancing but Terry’s family danced the whole time.

By the time we left we smelled like cheap beer and cigarette smoke. The fans kept the air breathable but the smoke seeped it’s way deep into our jackets. Claire offered to wash our winter jackets at her place and the next day we smelled squeaky clean.

Terry and I had been to Whiskey River the last time we were in Louisiana. The place is a dive bar located on the edge of a swamp in Henderson. We exited off the rural road and climbed a steep dirt road up an embankment over a levee. Dust rose creating a cloud behind us. The bar was a ramshackle place with a crude dance hall built with exposed beams and plywood. Five dollars at the door got us a wrist band. The band was doing a sound check. I sat at a bar at the back of the dance hall. When I started the sketch the place was almost empty but by the time I finished the place was packed wall to wall with people. The beers flowed. When the sketch was done I decided to drop my bag of art supplies off in the rental car.

Walking back to the bar a fellow stumbled towards me. His eyes were bloodshot. He had already had too much to drink. I shook his hand as he welcomed me. “You are going to have the time of your life buddy.” he said. I smiled thanked him and went inside. The band was called Geno Delafose & French Rockin‘ Boogie. Terry was on the sidelines of the dance floor swaying to the Cajun beat. I tapped her on the shoulder and we made our way out on the dance floor. We couldn’t help but bump into other couples. People were twirling, stomping and dipping to the beat. The accordion twisted its notes in a frenzy. A musician with a washboard on his chest scraped his spoons in quick and fluid wrist movements.

Terry and I did a dance move we learned at a folk festival once. We held hands and I twirled her keeping our grip until our arms formed a graceful knot. We then spun to untangle ourselves and we went the other way. The fellow from the parking lot was dancing up a storm. He was suddenly all balance as he gripped a girl close. These folks all knew how to dance. The plywood floor was pounding and swaying. A sign on a ceiling beam read, “No parking on the dance floor.”

Terry and I danced to the point of exhaustion. She confessed that this was her favorite place in the universe. Outside the light dimmed and the silver blue green hanging moss grew dark. We ordered some food from a food truck out in the parking lot. The lady inside got every order wrong but it didn’t matter I would have eaten anything. Mosquitoes the size of humming birds buzzed around us. When the music and dancing ended, we drove back towards our hotel getting lost on the rural roads.