and the Devil himself...

and the Devil himself...

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Walpurgis Night, Ogden Nash's 'Tale of the Thirteenth Floor'

Walpurgis Black Cat

The hands of the clock were reaching high
In an old midtown hotel;
I name no name, but its sordid fame
Is table talk in hell.
I name no name, but hell's own flame
Illumes the lobby garish,
A gilded snare just off Times Square
For the maidens of the parish.

The revolving door swept the grimy floor
Like a crinoline grotesque,
And a lowly bum from an ancient slum
Crept furtively past the desk.
His footsteps sift into the lift
As a knife in the sheath is slipped,
Stealthy and swift into the lift
As a vampire into a crypt.

Old Maxie, the elevator boy,
Was reading an ode by Shelley,
But he dropped the ode as it were a toad
When the gun jammed into his belly.
There came a whisper as soft as mud
In the bed of an old canal:
"Take me up to the suite of Pinball Pete,
The rat who betrayed my gal."

The lift doth rise with groans and sighs
Like a duchess for the waltz,
Then in middle shaft, like a duchess daft,
It changes its mind and halts.
The bum bites lip as the landlocked ship
Doth neither fall nor rise,
But Maxie the elevator boy
Regards him with burning eyes.
"First, to explore the thirteenth floor,"
Says Maxie, "would be wise."

Quoth the bum, "There is moss on your double cross,
I have been this way before,
I have cased the joint at every point,
And there is no thirteenth floor.
The architect he skipped direct
From twelve unto fourteen,
There is twelve below and fourteen above,
And nothing in between,
For the vermin who dwell in this hotel
Could never abide thirteen."

Said Max, "Thirteen, that floor obscene,
Is hidden from human sight;
But once a year it doth appear,
On this Walpurgis Night.
Ere you peril your soul in murderer's role,
Heed those who sinned of yore;
The path they trod led away from God,
And onto the thirteenth floor,
Where those they slew, a grisly crew,
Reproach them forevermore.

"We are higher than twelve and below fourteen,"
Said Maxie to the bum,
"And the sickening draft that taints the shaft
Is a whiff of kingdom come.
The sickening draft that taints the shaft
Blows through the devil's door!"
And he squashed the latch like a fungus patch,
And revealed the thirteenth floor.

It was cheap cigars like lurid scars
That glowed in the rancid gloom,
The murk was a-boil with fusel oil
And the reek of stale perfume.
And round and round there dragged and wound
A loathsome conga chain,
The square and the hep in slow lock step,
The slayer and the slain.
(For the souls of the victims ascend on high,
But their bodies below remain.)

The clean souls fly to their home in the sky,
But their bodies remain below
To pursue the Cain who each has slain
And harry him to and fro.
When life is extinct each corpse is linked
To its gibbering murderer,
As a chicken is bound with wire around
The neck of a killer cur.

Handcuffed to Hate come Doctor Waite
(He tastes the poison now),
And Ruth and Judd and a head of blood
With horns upon its brow.
Up sashays Nan with her feathery fan
From Floradora bright;
She never hung for Caesar Young
But she's dancing with him tonight.

Here's the bulging hip and the foam-flecked lip
Of the mad dog, Vincent Coll,
And over there that ill-met pair,
Becker and Rosenthal,
Here's Legs and Dutch and a dozen such
Of braggart bullies and brutes,
And each one bends 'neath the weight of friends
Who are wearing concrete suits.

Now the damned make way for the double-damned
Who emerge with shuffling pace
From the nightmare zone of persons unknown,
With neither name nor face.
And poor Dot King to one doth cling,
Joined in a ghastly jig,
While Elwell doth jape at a goblin shape
And tickle it with his wig.

See Rothstein pass like breath on a glass,
The original Black Sox kid;
He riffles the pack, riding piggyback
On the killer whose name he hid.
And smeared like brine on a slavering swine,
Starr Faithful, once so fair,
Drawn from the sea to her debauchee,
With the salt sand in her hair.

And still they come, and from the bum
The icy sweat doth spray;
His white lips scream as in a dream,
"For God's sake, let's away!
If ever I meet with Pinball Pete
I will not seek his gore,
Lest a treadmill grim I must trudge with him
On the hideous thirteenth floor."

"For you I rejoice," said Maxie's voice,
"And I bid you go in peace,
But I am late for a dancing date
That nevermore will cease.
So remember, friend, as your way you wend,
That it would have happened to you,
But I turned the heat on Pinball Pete;
You see - I had a daughter, too!"

The bum reached out and he tried to shout,
But the door in his face was slammed,
And silent as stone he rode down alone
From the floor of the double-damned. 

Walpurgis Night, Fantasia

Walpurgis Night, Fantasia - Night on Bald Mountain


Tonight is Walpurgis night, the night witches were said to fly to the mountains to dance with the Devil. In some traditions it is as significant a holiday as Christmas Eve, with May Day equiv. to Christmas.

Mephistopheles takes Faust to the Brocken to dance with the witches in Goethe's play:

The witches t'ward the Brocken strain.
When the stubble yellow, green the grain.
The rabble rushes - as is meet -
To Sir Urien's lordly seat.
O'er stick and stone we come, by jinks!
The witches f... the he goat s...

The broomstick caries, so does the stock;
the pitchfork carries, so does the buck;
who cannot rise on them tonight,
remains for eye a luckless wight.

More Walpurgis Night, Ogden Nash's Thirteenth Floor

Friday, April 29, 2011

My Favorite Alfred Hitchcock Episode - The Jar

My favorite 'Alfred Hitchcock Hour' of all. Today is the 30th Anniversary of his death.

More spooky film, Melies

Monday, April 25, 2011

Vanished New Orleans: Bellocq's Storyville

More from New Orleans, Some traditional Hoodoo beliefs.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

More from Hoodoo and Lizzie Brown's Dodge City Gang - Billy Wilson

Another member of the Dodge City Gang was Billy Wilson, the "Mystery Rustler", who was also associated with Billy the Kid.  Accounts differ as to where he came from but he's believed to have been born William Harrison Wilson on October 30, 1859 in Arkansas, to have run away from home in his mid-teens after a fight with his father and to have soon thereafter fallen in with outlaws.

He left Arkansas after killing a man in a bar fight and is then thought to have traveled through Mississippi, Missouri, and Indian Territory. After another unfortunate murder, this time what's believed to have been the accidental killing of a friend in a hunting accident, he moved on to Dodge City. There he joined Dodge City Gang members, was given the nickname "Buffalo Billy", and traveled with them to Las Vegas, New Mexico.

He didn't stay long with the gang but long time friend and Dodge City Gang member Dirty Dave Rudabaugh would soon join him. Wilson opened a livery stable in the boom town of White Oaks. Around 1880, he sold it and went on to Lincoln, where he began riding with Billy the Kid's gang. What he didn't know was that he'd been paid in fake money.  Dave Rudabaugh, on the run from Las Vegas law, such as it was, soon joined Billy's gang with him.. 

Word of the counterfeit bills in Lincoln County reached Washington, D. C., and a special agent from the U. S. Treasury Department, Azariah Wild, was sent to New Mexcio to investigate. Wild determined that Wilson was part of West, and the Dedrick brothers counterfeit ring.

Though innocent of counterfiting, on Nov. 27, 1880, Wilson was involved in the killing of Deputy James Carlyle, when a posse surrounded Billy the Kid and his gang at Jim Greathouse's ranch. Between the murder of Carlyle, and the Wild investigation's, local law enforcement was more determined than ever to catch the Rustlers.

On Dec. 19, 1880, Wilson was with Billy the Kid and other members of the Rustlers, when they rode into Fort Sumner and Pat Garrett and his posse opened fire on them from ambush. Rustler Tom O'Folliard was killed, but the rest escaped.

Wilson was again with Billy the Kid and the Rustlers on Dec. 23, when they were captured at Stinking Springs by Garrett's posse,(Rustler Charlie Bowdre was killed in the fight.)

Wilson went to trial at Santa Fe for counterfeiting and robbing the U.S. Mail, the latter a crime he committed with the Rustlers when they held up a stagecoach. He was convicted of the counterfeiting charge and sentenced to seven years in prison. However, he managed to escape in Sept. 1882 and became a rustler again in Mexico and along the Mexican border, falling in with another gang, which also included Tom Pickett. He left the gang after an attack on four unsuspecting Mexicans. He's believed to have gone back to Missouri, gotten married, and had a child, settling down and changing his habits under the name Robert Levi Martin. Robert Martin died on September 30, 1935.

Other researchers say Billy Wilson was born David L. Anderson in Ohio on Nov. 23, 1861, moving with his family to Texas when he was still a child. It's said that he first became a cowboy and then began rustling, changing his name to Billy Wilson and travelling to Dodge City. Those who believe this account of Billy's life think that after escaping from jail he fled to Sanderson, Texas, where married, had a child, and opened up a bar.

It's said that in 1895, by pure chance he ran into Pat Garrett and that the two talked and Garrettbecame convinced that Wilson had changed so decided to try to use his influence to have him pardoned. Sometime in 1906, Garrett achieved this and Pres. Grover Cleveland issued a full pardon for "Dave Anderson, alias Billy Wilson."

In 1905, Wilson was elected sheriff of Terrell County, and is said to have been much loved by the people of the town. On June 14, 1918, he was called to silence a disturbance. A drunk ranchhand named Ed Valentine, who Wilson knew and had been on friendly terms with, was causing trouble. Anderson tried to talk Valentine down, but Valentine shot him in the chest, killing him. Valentine was then lynched by an angry mob.

No one knows for sure if William Harrison Wilson/Robert Martin from Arkansas was THE Billy Wilson, or if it was Dave Anderson. Because of the Garrett Pardon, it is generally believed to have been the latter of the two.

Some Traditional Hoodoo Beliefs

If a woman visits you on a Monday morning you'll have bad luck for the rest of the weeHaving a woman visit you the firkst thing on Monday mornings is bad luck for the rest of the week.

If you sweep trash out of the house after dark you will sweep away your luck.

A spider seen in the morning is a sign of grief; a spider seen an noon, of joy; a spider seen in the evening, of hope.

Take a lodestone and some brimstone to a crossroads at midnight. Light the brimstone with a match, and a spirit will appear and give you advice in gambling.

Place a dime under your client's tongue: If the client is under a spell, the dime will turn black.

To ensure the safety of your child, cut a lock of its hair while it is still a baby and keep it with you. The child must have all it's hair before it can die.

A evil person can take the length of your fingers and hoodoo you in two days, to make you do what ever they want.

A love powder is a half teaspoonful of sugar, teaspoonful of peppermint and a teaspoonful of grated candied orange peel; give a teaspoonful of this mixture in a glass of wine and the person will love you forever.

A person can make you get very thirsty by putting a whiskey bottle under your porch for three weeks, and then throwing the bottle into a fire which will make you very thirsty for whiskey.

A sure way to hoodoo a person is to catch their eyes when talking to them and don't let them go.

A witch can cure her pain by rubbing sugar, salt, vinegar and hot water over her pain.

A witch is one that sells her soul to the devil and she has to keep someone in her power all the
time; if not, the devil will make her suffer untold agony.

Always carry a black cat's bone in your pocket, if you think someone is bewitching you.

As you eat the wing of a chicken, take the little bone that is near the end and drop it into the pocket of the fellow you are going with, without him knowing it, and he will ask you to marry him.

Burn your shoes as soon as you are through with them and you will never be bewitched.

Bury some hair from the top of your husband's head under the front doorstep and he will never leave home for good.

Bury your husband's shoes in the front yard with the toes toward the door and he will never leave you.

Carrying a rabbit's foot keeps all evil away.

Grave dust is what a witch uses to hoodoo you, and you will conquer her if you get some and wear it.

Hang black coats over all the outside doors at night, to keep witches out of the house at night.

If you don't want your man to talk to another woman, take a nail and drive it at the end of his heel prints, and he will run from her the next time he sees her.

If you take a strand of hair out of a person's head and wear it in your pocket for two days, it will give that person the headache.

If your husband is running around, take some of his hair and a piece of his necktie and put them in a bottle, then throw that in the river; and when that necktie rots, that will change him.

If a man carry a gun all the time, he will kill someone soon; because a gun can hoodoo him.

If a man get your hair and put it in a bottle of vinegar, it will make you crawl on your stomach for him.

If a man loves you and you love him, don't let him get a strand of your hair; for if you do, he will run you crazy.

If a man sees a woman he wants, he can get her by taking a picture of her and sleeping with it face down under his head for a week; and she will look for him until she finds where he lives.

If a man wants to run a woman crazy, he can take a strand of her hair and wear it in his shoes for a week.

More from New Orleans, Bellocq's Storyville.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

The Return of the Grateful Dead Movie

art by Bob Masse

The Grateful Dead movie returns to the screen in 540 theaters nationwide for one night TONIGHT! (4/20) The film, directed by Jerry Garcia, was released in 1977. It documents their 5 nights at Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco.  The screening includes footage not seen in the 1977 version, including an interview with Jerry.  

Music by Drive-by Truckers artist Wes Freed, Magnificent Bastards

My interview with Wes Freed.

The Mountain Gothic Mythos of Wes Freed, (featured in "Fine Art Magazine"

Johnny Cash by Wes Freed
Wes Freed’s paintings, like his f ilm r oles , ( J im S trammels ’ “Thrillbillies” and “Degenerates”), can be savage, extreme, imperative. His songs are no less intense, though by contrast, quietly fierce.
He communicates, through all of these mediums, a one-man universe full of stark dualities that are uniquely Southern. It is not the South you are accustomed to seeing, not one you expect to see. He exposes the dark, gritty underside of all that, both good and bad equally.  The omnipresent possibility of both permeates his strange, sparse landscapes.

“To me”, Freed said when I asked him what the ominous tone that crept into his work was reflective of in a recent interview, “ominous isn’t really bad, it means something interesting is going to happen.”

His work overlaps to such an extent he almost sings his paintings and paints his songs. Freed himself, his wife and long-time collaborator Jyl, his truck and his home studio all seem to overlap with it as well. All are best described as looking like live people, places and things from Crow Holler, the setting for most of his work.

Crow Holler is a world built from memory and memory of memory. In all of the forms Freed's art takes, its' corners and crevices are exposed, piece by piece.  As this occurs, an anticipatory peace emerges.
A one-eyed owl hovers on the edge of an eerie landscape.Withered trees scratch a lonesome Moon.  You have the sense, as you look and listen, that something surprising is just around the corner.

Pat MacDonald,Wes Freed, Lonesome Liz
Smiling sirens beckon, hint that you should come closer; their moon-round eyes all aglow. Faceless
men linger on lonesome roads, creep out of dark caverns, waiting, expecting. You feel they look back at you. Their expressions have an effect similar to that of Goya’s portraits; their glances suggest
secrets, possibly profound ones. Here, a pipesmoking skeleton grins, leans in to tell an ancient tale. There, women with their souls in their eyes wait for you with half-hidden smiles.

The images and words that emerge from Freed's inner world are haunting. Once you have seen and heard Dixie Butcher, Cecil Lone Eye, the Conjure Man or any of the other Crow Holler folk, you find you can leave them for as long you like but neither they nor the place quite leaves you.   It's familiar, comfortable but also foreboding. Some of the people and places are just shadows. Some are skeletal. Others burst with life.

“We've found it! Come in! Come see! Here! It's right over here!”, the people and creatures who live there all seem to say.  You feel the “It” they speak of is something you’ll recognize the second you see it. “It” is something you wanted so badly you hid it far, far way long ago. “It”
vanished in the material world but hasn’t gone away here.

No, in Crow Holler you find it again, tucked in a corner of the world of dreams where it’s almost always autumn. There air is thick with the odor of hay and spilled gasoline. Crow Holler is, in part, a re-creation of Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, where Freed spent his childhood. He described it as a
place, "full of old dirt roads, straggling trees on hillsides; corroded by time and progress.”

He left the Valley for Richmond's Virginia Commonwealth University, where he received a degree in painting and printmaking. Like Chagall, he never returned to the place that his work often reflects wistfully but his memories permeate his work. His memories are layered with those of his Grandfather who in turn, was layering stories his Great-Great Uncles told him as a child.

“My Grandfather’s Uncles filled his head with stories and he filled mine with them and some more of his own. When you’re a little kid you believe everything adult’s say. They’ve blended together in my mind, formed a backdrop.” He laughed.

“My brother and I spent a lot of time with my Grandfather," he continued. "We lived on the same farm
and he was just a walk down a dirt road away. He had a ‘51 Ford pick-up , open on both ends, that we'd sit in. He parked it in his corn crib to keep it out of the rain. We'd play with our jack knives
while he told us stories.”

“That truck is almost a shrine now, still full of the things that were in it the day he died", he told me, "like an old corn shucker with “The Boss” engraved on the bottom, Lucky and Camel packs,
receipts going back to before I was born. I used to go sit in it every day and pretend I was driving," he laughed. “One day, the truck disappeared. I asked my parents what happened to it and they suggested I call the Sherriff,” he laughed again, “turned out they’d gotten it running for me for my birthday. They forgot to flush the radiator though; it never drove right after that.”

There are not only Southern but also outlaw undertones to Freed's work. These may center most strongly on tales of a Confederate General named Mosby. His Grandfather's Uncle's, who had been
Calvarymen with him in the War, painted tales of him that match the devil-may care spirit of much of Freed's work.

 “Mosby did a lot behind the lines,” he said then laughing added, “he and his men also robbed trains. Some of the men were hung a public square with a note on them that read, “This will be fate of Mosby and all his men.They weren’t outlaws; they were all sanctioned but were spies and guerillas.”

“ It ’s such an intangible thing, communicating the whole idea of the War, Mosby, the Valley,” he said. “It’s just a feeling for me, something personal that would be hard for someone else to understand because it’s so much a part of what’s going on in my brain. It’s like when I was eight and had this buzzing in my head after I’d taken some Robitussin for a cold. It’s just a feeling. There’s smells, sounds, sights; the smell of the truck and the corn drying in the cribs, the barn.”

The nostalgic wistfulness of his work is not unlike that seen in the paintings of Brueghel but with darker undertones. It's as though we're looking at the phantoms of lost dreams. In a sense we are. The places and times he draws from are irretrievably gone.

“Brueghel was painting a vanishing culture. His landscapes weren’t completely romanticized but you get the feeling that he loved the farms that he drew,” Freed said. “My paintings are in some ways are similar, like a memory."

Also like Brueghel, Freed sometimes brings out chimeras from a gallery of oddities that's often a little sinister, frightening. They lend a supernatural quality to his work, which has a touch of the Danse Macabre to it as well. Skeletons often dance in Crow Holler and other ancient rituals unfold.  Unlike traditional Danse Macabre paintings, the common themes of remorse, hysteria, hopelessness, the grave, are absent.  There is a common sense of mystery, however, of both profound contentment and wild abandon.

I asked Freed if the idealized dream of lost happiness spread across an often ominous, spooky landscape didn't seem like a contradiction to him. He said, “both the dark and light of it are reassuring to me. Beautiful is a subjective term. I see it as a paradise. When I was a kid, the idea of the Sunday school version of Heaven scared the Hell out of me. No dead trees? No old cars? No rust or broke down old barns? That didn't sound like Paradise to me.”

“What would you find in Paradise?” I asked.

“A beat up old garage with a cool car and a bunch of motorcycles; a place where it wouldn’t rain a lot but it would be cloudy a lot and the temperature would be just right,” he replied with knowing calm. “It would be full of the smell of baking chicken, gas and motor oil, things like that. Paradise isn’t really planned out. Crow Holler is almost like a dream state, like that half awake place you go to when you’re a kid."

“In the winter, my Gr andmot her cooked on a wood stove and my Grandfather had a rocking chair that sat next to it. There was a set of steps that went up the back way to what used to be my Dad’s bedroom. We’d sit on the steps and look out the window while she cooked. In that sort of setting, you can romanticize just about anything. That setting, to me, is part of Paradise; full of the smell of a wood stove and whatever's cooking; with Grandma downstairs plucking a chicken.”

“I think with my art I’m mostly trying to convince myself that the place really does exist somewhere. Maybe I’ll find it, in a metaphysical sort of way,”  he concluded.

In Freed’s work, fantastic imagery is used to create a dream world that mirrors our own. The monsters, chimeras and bizarre fantasies that come to life in Crow Holler are visual metaphors, a private language of symbols. As with Bosch's, the paintings lead the viewer to question the conflicting qualities encountered there. Sometimes this leads us to question the ones we encounter within.

Music by Wes Freed's Magnificent Bastards

More Wes Freed at his website

Sunday, April 17, 2011

More Southern Gothic Perception Goes North, NYC Photo Adventures

photo by Beth Hommel

More photos by Beth that day of Katelan Foisy in an interview with Katelan by Molly Crabapple in China Shop Mag

With Katelan Foisy at the Chelsea Hotel, photo by Molly Crabapple
After a Cynthia Von Buhler Dr. Sketchy's with founder Molly Crabapple

Circus Skirt by Julie Schworm

photo by Brooklyn Hellbetty
More by Brooklyn Hellbetty at Saving Country Music

with Mike Layla, guitar by Katelan Foisy
See Mike and Katelan's photos in Italian GQ

Eleggua gourd photo

More about Santeria in an interview with Katelan's Godfather, Ochani Lele about his new books at The Conjure Woman's Corner.

Santeria house, East NYC
photo by L.L.
photo by L.L.
Trump World Tower, photo by Brooklyn Hellbetty

With Katelan Foisy, photo by Beth Hommel

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Kara Clark, Anthony Scarlatti, Eerie Von and Kenny Olson in Nashville

Photo by Scarlatti
Kara Clark recorded a video this week in Nashville with Danzig's Eerie Von and Kenny Olson, (Kid Rock), at McFaddens' on Second Ave.

Amazing photos were taken of both shoot and rehearsal by Anthony Scarlatti.  (Check out photos of Marty Stuart by Mr. Scarlatti in Nashville Arts Magazine.)

I wish I had been there not only for the shoot but for the post-video Scrabble match I hear Kara had with Eerie.

Can't wait to see the video!
Photo by Scarlatti

Monday, April 4, 2011

Southern Gothic Perception Goes North, Lonesome Liz in NYC Trip 2

Liz & Katelan at the Chelsea Hotel

1.   Dr. Sketchy's tribute to Cynthia Von Buhler followed by a fabulous get together hosted by the lady of honor. (We later discovered the room was built where Nancy Spungen's had been!) There Cynthia's magical doves munched birdseed on the mantel while we ate fabulous donuts with Sketchy's mastermind, Molly Crabapple, (donuts provided by the talented Fred Harper).

2. Tarot with the ever brilliant Katelan Foisy, extraordinary musician, Kai Altair, (who played later in the week with the also exquisite Gabby Young - Circus Swing, you'll love it) and Larisa Fuchs of Gemini and Scorpio productions.

3. Having a whiskey party with Katelan and fellow poetry/photo conspirator, Mike Lala to celebrate their being featured in Italian GQ.

4. Visiting the talented Beth Hommel, (who works with the epic Amanda Palmer),  who not only took fabulous photos of Katelan but included me in a few as well with very cool graffiti in the background.

5. Reading tarot at Susan Gardner's unspeakably fun Sugar Shack Burlesque show in Katelan's circus skirt, (pictured), created by Julie Schworm.

6. Changing trains in a torrential Santeria rain after visiting with her God family at a Tambor in East Ny. (For more about Santeria, check out her Godfather Ochani Lele's books/my interviews with him at The Conjure Woman's Corner).

7. Telling Cab Calloway's grandson's fortune after he observed that Katelan's apartment reminded him of Josephine Baker's place in Paris.

8. Seeing Hubert Sumlin, Howling Wolf's guitar player, perform.

9. Inspiring Manhattan bar patron's to put 'The Gambler' on the jukebox, (Katelan balanced it out with Sex Pistols).

10. Repeated champagne, cake and dance parties with Katelan's fabulous room-mate, Shannon Moran, creative director of Freshly Inked Magazine

To  Be Continued...

Ramblin' Liz, Where I Lead Me by Townes Van Zandt

Things to Check Out - From Nashville and the Land of the Outlaw Amish

1. My favorite outlaw, Kara Clark, is recording a video live in Nashville Wed. at McFaddens on 2nd Ave.  8pm-10pm with Kenny Olsen and Eerie Von, (Danzig).

Kara Clark, 'Sinnin'

2. Speaking of Nashville, one of my favorite things there is Nolan Neal's songwriter's night at the Hotel Indigo, Friday's and Saturday's from 7-11pm.

3. The Lost River Cavemen, who include my favorite fiddler EVER, Kerry Pruitt, are leaving the Land of the Outlaw Amish, (Ky), for a tour that's including 3 NYC dates: 4/13 at P & G Cafe, 380 Columbus Ave., 4/15, Brooklyn Rod & Gun Club and 4/16, Red Hook Bait & Tackle. The Lost River Cavemen Tour Dates and Other Info

Lost River Cavemen, 'Watchin' Knob Creek Run Dry'

3. Speaking of Kentucky mojo, check out Jack Montgomery's extremely cool book, 'American Shamans: Journey's with Traditional Healers' more about American Shamans.

4.  Other excellent music I've encountered in the Ky/Tn badasslands:

Lee Harvey

Pat Haney

5. Last but not least, speaking of all this Kettle Country, yours truly will be making a guest appearance Friday  night, 4/8 at Poe's in Richmond, Va with the Lonley Teardrops, J.B. Beverley and Andy Vaughn & Driveline.