Norfolk & Western
A Collection Of

You enter an abandoned industrial warehouse, or rather the hall of an old disused station from the time of steam trains, from early twentieth-century America.

And you find someone, accompanied by a couple of friends, playing and singing songs with an ancient flavor, with a nostalgic melancholy of yellowish tones, folk waltzes, light hints of the Salvation Army band, distracted guitar notes that feel like rain coming through broken skylights, which seem to be torn from the grooves of an old vinyl found in a trunk bought at the pawnshop.

Almost a soundtrack to your embarrassment of finding yourself there by chance.

But in truth, you're not in an American station; you're in Rome, at a concert to listen to one of your musical idols from the hidden America of the early 2000s, Mark Linkous.

Then you return home five hundred kilometers further south, possessing an album from his supporting band at that concert, eight years before it hits the market, but you can't know that yet.

And that album apparently is very difficult to find today, even on YouTube (for this reason, dear friends, I can't share even a sample, and I'm sorry).

Bought directly at that concert, from the hands of one of the band members.

A beautiful disc in seeming to be almost one of those tapes recorded from the radio when you would sit there and wait for them to play your favorite song, first in the hit parade.

And usually, before it arrived, the tape would fill with other stuff, and in the end, apart from what you were looking for, you would still have at least another piece you didn't know, precious and equally beautiful, that would accompany your days and your memories.