Queen Porter Stomp use their dirty swamp magic to shirk those Prohibition blues – swinging skirts and scuffed shoes for hardwood and concrete dancefloors alike. This is jazz where swing is the key you play, Melody is your gypsy mistress, and signature is what you’re trying to avoid committing to paper until you have a shot of bootlegged whisky. They pack horns that scream straight into your soul, squeezed tight into a caravan they’ve taken up and down and through the smoke and mud of the festival circuit (like the Falls Festival), supporting the hardened and never weary (like Charles Bradley).