He reads like a bible, acts just like a birdcage,
roars like an engine, dying out on burnt rage,
you can blow out all the candles and fire up the lime light,
she looks through him with the cold canary gaslight.
Oh sister, don't you look at what I've done.
Fathers at the front door, dusting off the floor mat,
brittle like his thick bark and tired like his old hat,
he used to wonder how a young boy travels to a grown man,
said he walked on water he was dancing on quicksand.
Oh father, don't you look at what I've done.
You see me tearing up the floor boards, white sheets covered you,
fire in my eyes and water pouring through the roof,
you heard I found a mine shaft, digging past midnight,
i crawled into the dark with the cold canary gaslight.
I tried to throw a rope down and didn't feel it pull back,
dead canary chirping now, cold blood in pitch black.
Inspired by their travels in New Orleans, Naples, and the UK, the “Italian-hills country blues” duo pen a global love letter to roots music. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 30, 2022
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A concept record about coming-of-age gleefully grifts from all types of rock music, from garage to glam to power pop. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 13, 2022
With virtuosic guitar-playing and evocative singing, Carl “Buffalo” Nichols returns Black stories to folk and blues. Bandcamp New & Notable Sep 9, 2021