For a time I lived in Duluth, MN. Besides my wife of 30 years and our 7 children I knew no one there. It could get a bit lonely there on the edge of Lake Superior. What with it's dark waters calling you to plunge into the black abyss and finally come to terms with the ever-present and gaping maw of an impersonal and ego-extinguishing universe. All the while taunting you with it's majestic and horrible beauty. Oh, the horrible, horrible beauty.
After long days of chopping wood at the local saw mill I would kick off my boots, light a pipe and spin this album. It spoke to me and my beard. We would listen and contemplate our loneliness and blow really cool smoke rings. We appreciated the sparse production. It felt intimate and lent itself to introspection. It reminded us of Leonard Cohen's earlier albums. Will Oldham was now like Kris Kristofferson to Leonard Cohen's Johnny Cash. And pink was the new black. These songs transformed my sawdusty, completely valid and workingman's tears into an alchemist's whiskey. And I, in turn, drank my own tears for power.
Some days, when I didn't have to work, I'd sneak into this unfinished house in the neighborhood and do a lot of sweeping. I'd put on these huge headphones and this really heavy duty air filter mask that had two straps and I'd listen to "Master and Everyone". I didn't have a dustpan so I just used this shovel. Once I tried sweeping with the shovel but it didn't work so good. Sometimes I'd just sit in that house and stare off like a creep. And then, suddenly, without any warning, I'd get up real fast and start sweeping again. I was totally into sweeping there. This place was like my own secret Zen rock garden. One time I filmed these two guys doing actual work at the house but they didn't see me. And then there was that time I was listening to "Wolf Among Wolves" and I was staring into this light and the light burned out at the exact moment the song ended. Weird.
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