Dudes, shit. I’m gonna be honest, this second beer is my only motivator to write something right now. Also, please note: the third-fifth beers will be the only motivators to actually finish something here on the interwebs. Don’t worry ’bout me though ya’ll, I’ve got a high tolerance. THAT SHIT IS IN MY DNA.
Here are some things you should know about, if you like anything good at all. And I know that you do. It’s why we’re friends.
There’s a new Hip Hatchet jam which means a new Hip Hatchet album. The liner notes tell me that there’s banjo on this album. Say it with me: B is for banjo and B is for badass. That CANNOT be a coincidence.
Apparently this is a new Mumford and Sons jam. So, that’s cool. Soundman needs to turn up that banjo feed, though, seriously. Is that the technical term? Banjo feed?
Speaking of banjo, I’m seeing The Avett Brothers in two fucking days. This is awesome because A. I love the shit out of those bearded brothers, B. I only have to drive an hour to this gig as opposed to the usual three to see anything remotely awesome, and C. I’m going with my sister, my mother (!), my bestest pal in the whole of the damned world, and my smallish-son. This is his second concert. I am curating that kid’s Attended Gigs roster like a boss.
In honor of that, you get this.
The Avett Brothers :: Spanish Pipedream [mp3]
If I have to tell you who originally sang this jam, we’re not friends anymore. And seriously, eat more fucking peaches. Blow up your tv and move to the country.
Conrad Plymouth is now Field Report, a name I will admit a fondness for. Also, holy shit you guys, these songs are so fucking perfect, it ain’t even funny.
Daniel Sheron alerted me to the fact that Barna Howard is a Missourian. Just as that automatically inspires love for one Nathaniel Rateliff, it does so for this dude as well. Represent, Show Me State!
So, there’s all that for you. From my heart to yours. Jams. Just for you.