For all of three seconds you'll be convinced it's Neil Diamond. Then, positive it's Ian Anderson. But wait, it could only be Nick Cave! New Hampshire's Spongefinger might be the bastard son of several of rock's greatest antiheroes, but is that so bad? Gleaming country guitars set up deliciously villainous vocals.
Spongefinger emerged from the Oran of Camus.
The peril that plagued us all wasn't found in 1974 where the statesman and generals stashed the bodies of the forever young. Instead, it was found in a basement in London.
Four musicians fused the music of country rock and heartache into one dream.
Betty Grable and Carl Furilo would of been proud of ther masterpiece don't worry about the teargas of 1968 Chicago, just listen to the lyrics of Dave Wilson so masterfully rendered by Steve Hatfield "Howard Johnsons Motel is just one nights stop away/ another bar, another bill that I forgot to pay/ collect calls and motel walls are all slipping away."
When you hear it you'll know that totalitarian art tells us what to feel.
In this album, forget the mungers of the idiot wind.
Listen to Spongefinger and see where the wind is blowing.