Kevin Midgley: Home
Dunno how you got here, but you must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, twice. Since you are here you might as well take your shoes off and relax. Coffee's still hot, whiskey is over the fridge and there's beer and wine in the hallway until the end of the night. A river of snakes rattles and shakes, shines and hisses beneath a veiled moon. The trees turn their leaves and their faces and the devil´s paddlewheel slips past the papermill, leaving snakeblood and venom in its wake. A gangway made of the bleached bones of Cumberland county's finest departed unfolds and the Reverend Strong Waters and the Devil With No Tail, abandon ship, surrounded by the writhing moonlit river vipers, to take their music to the unsuspecting. Don´t forget the Rev. Strong Waters, and yes, that´s right, his oblique proselytizing. In his formative years Kevin brought the Rev. fresh eggs and various beverages, in exchange for his wisdom and unshaken faith in music. Strong Waters was well aware that dope and macrame were not enough to cure the ills of the disillusioned activists of the 60´s. He believed that music, the secret music of electrons, of insects, and of humans was a path out of ignorance and darkness, to an area less ignorant and only partly cloudy. No revelation is made without obscuring its source. Dolores the Snapping Turtle and Zeke, the Reconstituted Farmer. A dozen white doves that refused to fly and an almost empty half gallon of Kentucky jet fuel. Tito Puente, Palm Sunday, a violet corduroy sports coat. Son House´s church on the hill, a beautiful cloud, the lottery ticket that lost by one number, a snowball in a freezer in August, a business card from a prostitute. Giant 50 foot tall bluesmen drink incredible shrinking beverage! Strong Waters and The Devil (with no tail!) appear on the bun of a veggie burger. Meter readers turn into stacks of quarters. Lies have become truth, liars kings. Above the streetlights: moths, bats, airplanes, the milky way. Time doesn´t stand still; it stands on the ledge of a building. The blues is dead! Long live the blues.
Maine Blues Festival - June 3, 2013
National guitar, harmonica, vocals and mandolin for that country blues sound you can't get enough of!