From yesterday's barstool comes tomorrow's lamp-post cool: stumbling grog and bedfellow freedom pasted top down and mid center. A special LP tentatively titled, "The More You Order the More You Get," or alternately "Live at the Blood and Bones" (subtitle?) - in any case, it's a variety of artists warming their bellies and rosining the bow in a stoney cafe somewhere south of never never. I know I may be preaching to the choir, but stuff like this completely owns me even if it doesn't face off with the hyperion finish line. It's a night carved out just for the blokes. And maybe tonight they're south of stoked, but the fiddle, well it ain't yet broke. On display: it's human endearment armed with soft tokes and crowd patter. Kind of the sonic equivalent of post coital cuddling with a hairy stranger that randomly began giving you a back-rub in a crowded, auburn lit hippie night-cave. And those little candles blinking bravely as the stone rolls away from the door...
