More miserable and pitiful mountain music from a strangely guitar-free stringband; newgrass is what they call it. Bluegrass, schmoograss, what does it matter, so long as yer married to yer first cousin.
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The chronicles of Ruin, continued. Call me Ishmael said....intelligence is knowing what to do when you don't know what to do. Anonymous said... When I don't know what to do,I come here. 10 September 2009 22:59
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6 comments:
A nice noise, Mr I, and I quite like 'True Blood' too. it is nonsense, of course, but a lot less precious than all that forensic nonsense surrounded by acronyms.
Groovy
God, I love string bands
Part of this lyric appears in In My Time Of Dying by Blind Lemon Jefferson and doubtless other Blind Mississippeans, although you may know it, mr mongoose, from Dr Bob's first, eponymous album, which contains a couple of truly groovy death songs, See That My Grave Is Kept Clean being a startling exposition from one so young.
Never too sure, Ms Lilith, of the difference between a string and a jug band but as you know, for me, the Incredible String Band, with their riffs, reels and ragas are the sound of the new moon rising, the angels washing their windows, the sound of Krishna colours on the wall and Be glad, for the song has no ending.
"See that my grave is kept clean", Mr Ishmael, should be a sentiment on the national curriculum - if we must have one. Those early, unstilted Bob ones were very fine. Before the fall.
Can't think of a poor track on that one, maybe House of the Rising Sun. Baby, Let Me Follow You Down as good a piece of finger-picking as he ever did do, Song to Woody a poignant classic of hobo Americana. I often think it's his best work. Shame he doesn't.
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