“Mariuch She Make a da Hootchie Ma Cooch”

 Standing in the center of a vast circular piece of hand embroidered lace, a cosmic doily stitched by the creator, it is a solid knot at the center where I stand.  As I look out the patterns become visible.  The threads of American music are as intertwined and hand embroidered as the lace in my visions.  The techniques, inspiration and poetry tangled exquisitely into the past. 

The ancients believed music was integral to life, that this world, the planets actually vibrated to notes.  Poets chimed in to create impressive lasting monuments to humanity.  We are but notes in the great cosmos and our sound waves exist in space in perpetual vibration. 

Songs are small portals to the great cosmic heebie jeebie, the superspirit.  These songs… whether symphony or street songs, are solid and practical, useful like a hammer and chisel, a Cadillac car.  An anathema to the ancients, 

The Squirrel Nut Zippers sack and plunder the old, weird America then sail off to further distant lands. They use New Orleans as their hideout and base of operations.  Jean-Lafitte-like theY hide in the lee side of barrier island, receiving goods and making dark back channel deals; hiding in cellars or in plain view.