Solo American Primitive steel-string guitar, untutored and endemic, drifting out of the Piedmont & Delta. The guitar's voice is nearly perfect as a medium for things of which otherwise we never speak, or, like Wittgenstein, cannot speak. As soon as lyrics get involved, the musical experience changes. Not that words are bad, it's just a different cognitive track, and I'm more interested in the wordless side. I try to play with at least the last couple centuries still attached, if not more. Trying to maintain a line to the past, to Americana and what remains of our older, more rural vitality. Impressionist mystery music -- as if it needs a label. :)