Picture, if you will, a basement filled to the brim with a sound that is rough and pure as a honky-tonk fist fight on a hot Louisiana night. The doghouse bass thumps like ones’ true heart crying and being answered by the deep lone kick drum. These drums simultaneously makes you want to mourn and stand up to fight in rows like the men of Gettysburg. The beat, like the bass line, is patience, intentional, and points to the Beginning and the End. The lone man behind the vintage Shure 55 mic moans out with all the pain of his passed losses and the hope of dreams not yet crushed. He sings with a tenor voice born of gravel, blues, and fire. Lonesome but not alone, he sings with his band of brothers to fight back the wounds and bring in truth. One question. Where are you? Come with us.