We've been doing this for so long that as a band we are like a mature fruit tree dropping ripened, juicy seedpods into your lucky frugivorous hands. We are latter-stage lepers, dropping extremities for you, the curious medical scientist, to gather and observe.

We, itinerant musicians like gypsies of old take our journeys for you over deadly mountain passes, into carpeted forests, through the Reno-Tahoe International airport, under profound blue lakes that do not mirror the sky but try to steal its soul. Road-weary, we hole up somewhere with a plentiful supply of pretzel sticks, slugs gathered in the treads of our boots, and cinnamon whiskey. And then it happens: we crank up the amps, soak the reeds, plug in the plugs, and push some buttons. We take you, dear listener, along on our vision quest, crying for a dream! It comes rather naturally, as we're sure you'll hear.

And our odysseys, these songs, make your life livable. They give you sustenance and teach you of falconry and self-help, of ghost towns and tasers, of casinos and aliens. Walt Whitman and Al Green, the greatest oracles of the 19th and 20th centuries meet finally here in the grooves of a 21st century vinyl platter, as they were fated. Where else but here, our hearkeners, would you learn this shit? You are welcome - we insist.