This particular Patrick Porter born in the Dixie sticks and of the Tennessee trailers, wind whoop train whistle cornpone Americana mixed a whiff with hinterland Dada Germany by way of mother's milk. Hijacked way out west to tramp the falling pinecones and Mount Roselee weeping one million horses' worth of reverb through a chilly window, suckle the edge of a King Biscuit Flour Hour and tramp a K-Mart parking lot, make a first memory. Ten hot breaths later malt a Fender Mustang twang long lost into country mice, icebox stars and adolescent pining (not to mention a hearty hea… read more
This particular Patrick Porter born in the Dixie sticks and of the Tennessee trailers, wind whoop train whistle cornpone Americana mixed a whiff with hinterland Dada Germany by way of mother's milk. Hijacked way out west to tramp the falling pinecones and Mount Roselee weeping one millio… read more
This particular Patrick Porter born in the Dixie sticks and of the Tennessee trailers, wind whoop train whistle cornpone Americana mixed a whiff with hinterland Dada Germany by way of mother's milk. Hijacked way out west to tramp the falling pinecones and Mount Roselee weeping one million horses' worth of reverb through a chilly window, suckle the edge … read more
