This compilation houses the psalms of America’s dead soul. It’s a spinning vortex, a time capsule, a grimy window showing a wide, open plain, a road map for accessing a mysterious, remote America – an America not yet stained filthy with strip malls and fast food chains and parking lots, untamed by instant coffee and plastic siding and double gulp sodas. This is a world filled with undocumented past, before the creeping reach of photography and television wires and laptops blasted all perspective of space and time.

These are songs sung in flophouses and beside campfires. Theses are songs about lovelorn mornings, sweating hot afternoons, dark nights pierced by lonesome train whistles. Amazing