Recorded in the kitchen of Delaware Ave house. I sat on the countertop and sang. The room had a good sound.
Hooded though the owl's eyes are, they see so well/He knows every leaf that dies & falls/And from the branches of a hollow tree, he knows where to find his prey
I want every night to be like this, under icy stars that revolve/Never to worry about the sun, or to clamp our hands over our eyes.
[Hooting]
So many great local artists collected here for the first time since the quarantine began, and all for such a low low price! It really restores your faith in the restorative healing power of the sounds of a community of musicians, recorders, performers, and whatever the hell 'arbitrary labor' is. That thing is WEIRD. Keith Sonin