Midwest
Whatever You Bring We Sing

The sign planted in the ground reads "Whatever You Bring We Sing". I'm at the gates of a town in the middle of the American countryside, any Whiteriver or Dermotville, let's call it perhaps Blushtown, the fact is it's right in the heart of the Midwest.

As soon as I pass the sign, I start to hear music, and it can only be that of the classic and quirky country fairs, played by a cheerful band on a small wooden stage, folk, country, and bluegrass. I see a guitar, a small organ, strings, a harmonium, a slide guitar, and more. There are four of them playing, they are very young, they seem like strangers, and indeed the barber tells me they even come from overseas, "from Italy," he says, even though I find it hard to believe him.
He says they're on their second album and that the first, "Town And Country," was already splendid, just a bit foggier and metropolitan.

Here the light is clear.
Odd Fair is just the ideal piece to get into the atmosphere. The tuba marks its bouncy time, and the trombone accompanies the children wandering among the stalls.
Indeed, it sounds like one of those children singing, surely the most playful, who has fun being at times amused, at times scared (Release The Catch), at times rowdy (When The Motor Dies); but with that dreamy voice of his, it's not singing, it's enchantment.
There are jugglers performing drunkenly to the notes of Chewing Its Name, while the glockenspiel and farfisa captivate me.
There's a poet named Mark who comes from Virginia on a shimmering horse and whispers his sweet and surreal verses, and when he hears Warmed By The Coming Season he stops and is moved. That verse, "winter gently closes his eyes," amidst the slow violins, he would sing exactly like that.

There's a gentleman in his sixties wandering around the fair, no one seems to pay attention to him, he's wearing a strange hat and dusty pants, he seems at ease here, his grimace widens into a smile during J. Rides A Donkey and We're The Madcap, even though he hides a whiskey bottle behind his back and I bet he left the knife at home.
Wait, I figured out who he is, it's old Tom, and probably the four guys on stage know him well, but they themselves don't know he's here.
And I myself am not sure I am really here.