Lately, as in, since Saturday, when I imbibed far too much Trout Slayer beer and ended up across state lines playing a decidedly British version of Never Have I Ever in a hotel parking lot at 2 in the morning, I have no desire to write. Or listen, for that matter. Something has broken in here and as any writer will tell you, there is nothing worse than a lack of appetite for that which typically sustains you. Music feels hard to me now. What a fucking shame.
So with that and after having pondered what it is I can do about a situation such as this, I went off on an investigative dig through the pages of bandcamp. When I first started here this was my modus operandi. It was life sustaining and in certain respects, a life maker. There it was, all this unearthed music just waiting for someone to expose it further to the light, and there was endless promise and goodness there. I am back at that place now because I need it. A press release and note from a label holds little for me currently. The bands you’ve already heard about? I hung out with them and instead of feeling lucky about that experience I just feel dejected by something that has previously and on multiple occasions saved my life. My heart kind of hurts. It’s a bunch of shit really, but it is what it is.
Yesterday, wallowing in a previously unknown pit of despair (I’m not being dramatic; fuck you for saying so), I picked a genre and set out to discover some of the best of that particular, well-worn tag at bandcamp. Alt-country. Scott Orr.
I trust in the atonement of a harmonica and choral harmonies of good men. I trust in the saving grace of a tambourine. You know I believe the banjo can save me. I expect all those things, combined with the quiet strum of a guitar, to stitch me up, just as they always have.
Scott Orr :: All This Light [mp3]
Scott Orr :: The Found [stream]
Sidebar: I met some amazing people in the ghetto of St Louis. Amazing people who were lovely in every sense of the word and who were excellent reminders that humans are more often than not a fantastic fucking species. Kristen and Kelsey. Ben (not the headliner; knows his way around an accordion). Marcus, he with the camera. Maz. And Carson. Sweet Jesus, Carson, you are a stellar hominid. The 6 of them, plus my sibling, saved the night.