John Hartford
Mark Twang

This record is by Mr. Hartford, and what you hear is all true, except for a few exaggerations. Mr. Hartford likes to exaggerate, to amaze. To amaze is his vanity, someone could well say. Here, in fact, he wants to do everything alone. But how can you do everything by yourself, I say, let someone help you, accompany you! No way, he doesn't even listen to me, that stubborn one. He only needs a banjo, a guitar, and a violin, he says. Oh yes, and some plywood. Plywood? You must have gone crazy, my dear Mr. Hartford, I tell him. What does one do with plywood? Madness. Here, here’s your plywood. What he plans to do with it, he just wants to be eccentric in my opinion. But shh, here he goes. Oh my, look, look at how he moves! He plays the violin so fast just to show off, I'm telling you. And in the meantime, he's dancing like a fool on that damn plywood. He uses it to keep the beat, this idiot. He could have called someone to do it for him, but no, he has to amaze. Now he starts with something slower and bluesy, listen to him. Still with the violin and the plywood, he sings about long hot summer afternoons spent working on riverboats. He picks up the banjo and sings about an old southern man who worked down by the river and who voted for Nixon but now regrets it. Almost sentimental, I would say. You shouldn’t leave records in the sun or they’ll get ruined, this is a song about my boat Julia Belle Swain, I do everything to catch your attention, and other nonsense. These are the lyrics of the following songs. Here he goes with a stupid and useless a cappella, then a tongue twister that no one can understand, then he makes strange sounds with his mouth...Well. I express my doubts to him, I mean, doing everything alone, no love songs, the plywood... Mr. Hartford almost loses his patience, says I don't seem to appreciate such good fortune as I should, that it's truly wasted on me. So, I tell him I'm really sorry and promise I will do my best, and then Mr. Hartford and I go to sleep.