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Fact.
And, after all, that’s what all of that is — all of this: the one track, ever altering, ever reincarnated, that speaks in some way from and to and for that which is ineffable inside us and with out us, that’s each prayer and deliverance, folly and knowledge, that conjures up us to bounce or smile or just to go on, senselessly, incomprehensibly, beatifically, within the face of mortality and the reality that our lives are extra ill-writ, ill-rhymed and fleeting than any track, besides maybe these songs — that track, endlesly reincarnated — born of that fact, be it the moon and June of that fact, or the wordless blue moan, or the rotgut or the elegant poetry of it. That anonymous black-hulled ship of Ulysses, that lengthy black practice, that Terraplane, that thriller practice, that Rocket ’88’, that Buick 6 — identical journey, identical miracle, identical finish and endlessness.”
— Nick Tosches, The place Useless Voices Collect
“My songs, they’ve simply the one chord, there’s none of that fancy stuff you hear now, with plenty of chords in a single track. If I discover one other chord
I go away it for an additional track.”
-Junior Kimbrough
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