Pretty weird how these things happen – just a corner from midnight I was tryin’ to groove along to a rainy day mushroom pillow with my ol’ skin n’ bones banjo that I built outta roadkill, but I wasn’t nailin’ it, too much headspace taken up by the blues. And while this was goin’ on, somethin’ else was goin’ on too, I was vibin’ like you wouldn’t believe! Must be the doors of perception… or the keys… or the blues… in any event the key was in the blues that was in the ether. Good ol’ buddy Pet had been feelin’ the blues too, to the extent that he wrote a song about it, recorded it with the usual hoodlums – whom I suspect are just a wee bit bluesy themselves, this is after all the wild Northland, the glacial east coast & the time is winter sorrow – with a guitar that’s endless in its callin’ out to the howlin’ wind, a vocal that comes from within n’ it ain’t goin’ nowhere else either, a vibe that came out here to the farm when I was in need of it & even if it’s an Evil Mind, so what – on a good day Pet even looks like a frost rippled La Vey. All I can say is this: the song’s damn short but it takes me places. If more music was like this, I wouldn’t have to make my own.
(B.C. Wolff is a hoedowner, a hideouter & a going-down-the-road-feelin’-bad boho hoboer. He stakes out claims, digs skulls n’ chains & grows scarlet ribbons in autumn rains.)