Friday, June 4, 2010
You're thinking Maine or Rhode Island, right?
Nor'easter boys who ran among conifers, found guitars with partially rotted soundboards. Violins with sprung catguts and cast-off splintery drumsticks.
They busted out from obligatory tea times on Martha's Vineyards; throwing bowties on the ground and taking up their misfit instruments.
Instinctively following their fingers to colorful, eccentric, grassroots sounds and easy harmonies while looking out over the grey Atlantic.
Well - sorry charlie, they started in a field in Ohio and really just happen to like the tome of Moby Dick. But dream what you want to dream, I'm not going to tell you you're ridiculous until it's entirely necessary.
The Lighthouse and the Whaler // Under Mountain, Under Ground