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“Sure, I could ask myself where I'm going, but most of the time I'm like a scarecrow on a swing,” thus spoke Dr. Strangely Odd. And if your name is Dr. Strangely Odd, you have to earn it, damn it. And if you earn it, I care about you.
Type: load the harmonium onto the car, strum by the riverbank, whistle out of tune, blow into a middle school flute...
In short, unconscious and ramshackle grace, like absolute beginners, like buskers. Or like first cousins of the Incredible String Band, but more surreal, sweeter.
Vocal harmonies sometimes angelic, sometimes ragged, simplicity that goes mad even if gently. Over everything, there's something childlike and at the same time ancestral, the world seen from a branch.
Track one is a kind of clownish and staggering ecstasy, track two is transcendent and naive, on three they pay homage to the cousins.
Four is absolute purity and sweetest madness, five is a circus struggling to escape from a box. Six, let's leave it at that, you don't want me to start describing the utterly raggedy angel on my left, do you?
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