traditions don't often go softly into the night. they may fest under the surface of things for a while, but they don't truly disappear. the lost domain's john henry calvinist prepares a set of limestone-dusted originals which snake their way through the muddy rivers of days gone by. dirt-soaked radio transmissions from distant dimensions scorch the reels and get things moving. there's enough space in these towering guitar explorations to suck marrow from the sky. these back porch acoustic blues sing to the heavens, "come down and get me, i'm just waiting..." 100 copies