This song made me feel like I'd been walking around in Paris on a stinky summer's night, looking for relief from all the electronica clubs along the Seine. I left the last party a little drunk, but still energetic and looking for a place for dancing and intelligent conversation. But Old Paris was long gone, though I'd come all this way to find it. I meandered across the broad and mighty longing of the river, and the light here seemed more promising. Suddenly a clean, slender fiddle note caught the very, very back of my hearing and made me turn my face down a long, cobbled alleyway. As I ventured further in, I heard the crystal bowl of a magic guitar bought for a song, and then a man sang and holy shit Tom Waits has joined the gypsies, or I'm a dachshund. A soulful voice like a rocky creek bottom in spring flood reached out and scratched me everywhere my soul needed it most. He sang of a girl who rounded a street pole like I did just now, no longer a girl. The dark smoke of the Left Bank tavern took my hand and I drank and danced a slow, tipsy waltz and sang with everyone there, and felt as though each person was someone I'd known for centuries. I was young again and fully my age all at once. Thank you, dear minstrels. Music like this is a sad, beautiful story that reminds us who we really are.
by JC Lamb of Washington