Just back from my festive galumph around the country, and I’ve already resumed position at my desk, staring at my computer like it is the most obscenely advanced piece of technology I’ve come across in my life.  I feel like one of the villagers in Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years Of Solitude who has just been shown a magnet or a block of ice for the first time.  What is this?  It does what?  Can I give you some of these gourds in exchange for it?  Anyway, perhaps as a result of my pre-xmas list-building frenzy of over-consumption, on my travels I really didn’t listen to a great deal of music.  Apart from this.  Although its 43 tracks felt like more than enough.

And while I’m kicking off 2008 (oh yes, happy new year to you dear reader, may all your gourds come gilded in gold until such a point that you have no room for any more gold-gilded gourds, and at this point may you find a storage facility that meets your gold-gilded gourd storage requirements at a most reasonable rate) with another dip into the already only distantly-remembered travesty that was the 365 consecutive days which had the affront to call themselves 2007, this truly feels timeless.  It has as little do with the year 2007 as it does with the years 1992 to 2002 emblazoned on the cover.  These songs could have been recorded at any time: they are elemental, as much earth or water or fire as they are air.  With his fragile flecks of guitar, Connors conveys sentiments more ancient even than our desire to celebrate the meaningless transition from one four digit number to the next.

You can listen to “Child”, “Air No.4”, and “The Kiss – A Moment At The Door” courtesy of Family Vineyard, who will probably give you a copy in exchange for any excess gold-gilded gourds you may have accumulated.

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