Concert Vault

Rosco Bandana

Daytrotter Studio (Rock Island, IL)

Dec 12, 2012

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  1. 1 Welcome to Daytrotter 00:03
  2. 2 Move So Slow 05:53
  3. 3 Some Kinda Thrill 03:02
  4. 4 Tempest 08:38
  5. 5 El Luna 04:35
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Liner Notes

Too much time is wasted on worrying about the things that are headed straight for the crapper. It's such an easy proposition: Something takes a turn and we just stew in it, letting the blood boil hotter than coffee. We crankily let all of our thoughts be contaminated and worked over, wondering how we're going to get out of this fine mess, knowing that there is likely nothing that can be done to get out of it. It's going to go down the way that it's going to go down and that's all there is to it. Still, we waste away, thinking about all of the things that could have been done differently, knowing that if we had anything close to that kind of hindsight, or foresight (however we'd prefer to think of it), we would really be something else, something borderline all-knowing and omniscient. It was never going to be anything other than how it turned out so it's okay to just let it all go, fading away.

The great state of Mississippi brings us a band of folks who might understand this. When everything starts hitting the fan, it could be the time when they fork in the last mouthful of pie and ask for the check. They'll pay it, leave some big coins for a tip and then walk out the door, heading for the car that's going to deliver them away from most of the shrapnel.

Lead singer Jason Sanford writes songs about people who are pretty sure they're starting to know who they're going to wind up being, even if they don't have the foggiest who they're going to wind up being with. There's always much left up to the stars and the fates, but for that which is controllable, they're coming more into their own and there's a sweet kind of peacefulness that has set in. They'll be damned if they tire themselves out, contemplating all of the matters that will barely matter too many days down the road.

Sanford sings, "Been sitting here like a dog with a bone," so we know that these people are capable of letting themselves get carried away by the trivial, but there's a smooth, sipping bourbon out of mason jars feel to the way these Southerners sing about their wandering hearts and the problems that manifest themselves that makes you certain that nothing's too heavy that it can't be lifted.

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More Rosco Bandana

Too much time is wasted on worrying about the things that are headed straight for the crapper. It's such an easy proposition: Something takes a turn and we just stew in it, letting the blood boil hotter than coffee. We crankily let all of our thoughts be contaminated and worked over, wondering how we're going to get out of this fine mess, knowing that there is likely nothing that can be done to get out of it. It's going to go down the way that it's going to go down and that's all there is to it. Still, we waste away, thinking about all of the things that could have been done differently, knowing that if we had anything close to that kind of hindsight, or foresight (however we'd prefer to think of it), we would really be something else, something borderline all-knowing and omniscient. It was never going to be anything other than how it turned out so it's okay to just let it all go, fading away.

The great state of Mississippi brings us a band of folks who might understand this. When everything starts hitting the fan, it could be the time when they fork in the last mouthful of pie and ask for the check. They'll pay it, leave some big coins for a tip and then walk out the door, heading for the car that's going to deliver them away from most of the shrapnel.

Lead singer Jason Sanford writes songs about people who are pretty sure they're starting to know who they're going to wind up being, even if they don't have the foggiest who they're going to wind up being with. There's always much left up to the stars and the fates, but for that which is controllable, they're coming more into their own and there's a sweet kind of peacefulness that has set in. They'll be damned if they tire themselves out, contemplating all of the matters that will barely matter too many days down the road.

Sanford sings, "Been sitting here like a dog with a bone," so we know that these people are capable of letting themselves get carried away by the trivial, but there's a smooth, sipping bourbon out of mason jars feel to the way these Southerners sing about their wandering hearts and the problems that manifest themselves that makes you certain that nothing's too heavy that it can't be lifted.