Friends. Woof.

I will be brief. (or, ok at least I will TRY)

But out of respect to those of you who work for a living, HERE’S THE ELEVATOR PITCH:


(not 3/4, but instead, a 5 song acoustic blues record about the Big America and What Happened/ Is Happen-ing that we wrote and recorded last week)



For those of you with time right now, here we go.

This week was rough. For the whole world, it looks like, but for Americans in a specific way that we have sadistically gotten kind of used to. It’s a sore we keep reopening.  I will not lie to you. 


At this keyboard,

(the typey one, not the play-y one,)

(at 3 in the morning in my wreck of a studio in my old lady robe and the clothes I’ve barely slept in, next to Sasha, off one plane and onto another in 5 hours, doing his laundry while he builds a website and loads lyrics into the bandcamp)

(sober as priests. Stinking and full of noise and the desire to start something. 12 thousand cups of coffee and an unwashed head of hair.)

At this keyboard right now, I feel like I have to qualiy the tone of this love note. The jokes will not be great today, I’m afraid, but I’m gonna try and at least keep it moderately amusing so you  read on to the important part: the part where we give you the record.

Short story and then a big ole sloppy joe of a heart bomb into your lap:

Here’s the deal folks, I am an organized person. As an organized person, I have arranged for Sasha, guitar slaying right hand to come over and listen to final mixes of the Summer record, 3/4, with me and start overdubbing 4/4, the conclusive record to this year of cyclical sereneding. 

I am an organized person, guys. Sasha got here 6 hours after the news hit that Orlando had happened and that organized person tried to stay organized despite, but it was just. not. gonna. happen.

Here is ALSO the deal, folks, we chose music and we do it for a living but also music chose us and we do it when we need it. We talked. Sasha wrote some things down in a fever that first night. We needed it. Hell or high water, we had to get this shit out.  

Here is ALSO ALSO the deal: I’m from Mississippi.

I know from blues music. I try to use it sparingly. Partly because I have an enormous reverence toward it, and I’m not sure I’ve experienced a grief large enough up to this day to earn its growl. 

Maybe that’s true. Maybe until now. Even if that grief is an empathetic one and not one from a direct hit to my person.

Sasha and me wrote and recorded this record in two days padding the walls of woe and loving the place we call home and all the myriad of different people that inhabit it. We made it with all the feelings: scared and proud and ashamed and dumbstruck and hopeful and heartbroken and extremely freaking tired of this.

This is a thing that needed to be expelled. We are proud of it.  We are not primarily musicians who make political work, and I’m not entirely sure this is entirely a political work even though the source of its growl is political in nature.

In short:

Summer is coming my loves,  and so, too, fall, 

but before we can get to the convertible, we gotta sober the drivers up.

And with that:

In all its gnarly heart-spent woe and wanting

In rasping and railing and in loving all of you just so

(but especially, at this moment, Y’ALL.)

(Y’ALL know who Y’ALL ARE.)

who have been made to feel anything less than the total obliterating Beauty that you are by the simple and now totally undeniable fact that we got WORK to do 


to Y’ALL.

Into your lap with it:  

(click that)

 The money you spend on it goes straight to the Orlando Victim’s Families Go Fund me Campaign, and once that’s done, we will sure as shooting find some other place to put it where it cushions a blow someone else felt from the giant problem we haven’t sorted yet as a country.

There will be more soon. This is ultimately one piece of a larger project that we hope will invite musicians who are not inherently political by nature to say what they feel and lend their musical two cents to the wishing well of what COULD be. One perspective is not gonna get er done.

we love you. Immensely, today.

and after that, til we croak.


h + s