This is a a sonic recreation of a Dave Barry column, the noted humorist. It represents a cross-pollination of media strains that have been tirelessly attenuated via the audiophonic exegesis common to these times, as well as common to the past and common to the future, and the present as well. Space as a dimension is a concept we can't escape, but the ontological implications of this realization core us like an apple, rendering the husk an inert mass like a corn stalk dead in the winter of desert.
I suppose my style could be described as applying classical technique and sensibilities to the free improvisation idiom.
I'm concerned with spontaneity, exploration, expression, honestness (no editing, overdubbing, effects etc., a kind of fetishizing of the cliche warts and all) and especially the singular beauty and moonlight of the nylon string guitar.