File: MP3 @ 320K/sTime: 32:09
Size: 75.7 MB
Released: 2002
Styles: Acoustic blues
Art: Front
1. Dyslexic Blues (4:48)
2. Frustration Dream (2:43)
3. Low Maintenance Ford (3:17)
4. I-70 Blues (2:36)
5. Up the Road (2:05)
6. Dead End Street (3:06)
7. Cold Muddy Water (3:50)
8. Thursday Night in Frisco (2:34)
9. Sweet Honey Mead (4:26)
10. Trouble No More (2:41)
Deep Blues from the Colorado high country.
9000 ft. above and 1000 miles away from the Mississippi Delta I contemplate a lonesome sound. Sifting through stacks of CDs containing the transferred archives of scratchy 78s. Poorly recorded expressions of the injustice of another time and place I struggle to make interpretation of veiled meaning and archaic slang. Bookshelves full of volumes of musicological interpretation by erudite scholars pick away the viscera leaving only the bones to be mounted in a museum like Muddy Waters cabin packed up and shipped to New Orleans to be put on display at the House of Blues. Authentic relics, sites of pilgrimage, the spirit confused with the object, the descent into idolatry and an art form embalmed in cliches to preserve its authenticity. Still, beneath the dithering scratches of the acetate is that sound. It does not come to you like modern recordings you must go to it and when you do that sound breaks between your ears like the crack of thunder over the interminably flat delta plane. Dressed in plain spoken words that sound cuts to the core of the human experience and reveals the indomitability of our souls. I think that I am forever changed having heard it. I feel compelled to add my voice to those who have given it expression before me. The Sweet Honey Mead.
9000 ft. above and 1000 miles away from the Mississippi Delta I contemplate a lonesome sound. Sifting through stacks of CDs containing the transferred archives of scratchy 78s. Poorly recorded expressions of the injustice of another time and place I struggle to make interpretation of veiled meaning and archaic slang. Bookshelves full of volumes of musicological interpretation by erudite scholars pick away the viscera leaving only the bones to be mounted in a museum like Muddy Waters cabin packed up and shipped to New Orleans to be put on display at the House of Blues. Authentic relics, sites of pilgrimage, the spirit confused with the object, the descent into idolatry and an art form embalmed in cliches to preserve its authenticity. Still, beneath the dithering scratches of the acetate is that sound. It does not come to you like modern recordings you must go to it and when you do that sound breaks between your ears like the crack of thunder over the interminably flat delta plane. Dressed in plain spoken words that sound cuts to the core of the human experience and reveals the indomitability of our souls. I think that I am forever changed having heard it. I feel compelled to add my voice to those who have given it expression before me. The Sweet Honey Mead.
The Sweet Honey Mead
1 comment:
Thanks for this album as well.
Much appreciated.
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